Chapter Eleven: Silent and Suffering Hearts
Author: alina290
Beta: dormiensa & unseenlibrarian
A/N: Features a description graciously borrowed from uniquepovblog
If Draco had been able to smell her again, he would have known that her scent had changed from freshly-laundered linen to one of salt-scented, bitter tears and misty-cold fog over the ocean. But he was trying to be unselfish by not revealing that he knew his mate’s identity and her proximity. All the same, she-his mate-was currently seven paces from his door, and if Pythagoras’ theorem was anything to go by, the quickest route to her was not via her heart but by bypassing the chest of drawers and following the narrow path to her bedroom door.
Still, he felt compelled to woo her and fall into her awaiting, jiggly arms. It would be a hard job-the wooing; the hugging would be easy-but he was willing to try, even if he failed at convincing her of his love. He was torn. It would be a life of Hell if he failed, but if he couldn’t win her and she would only ever look at him as a friend and nothing more, he would have to accept it. So long as she was happy, he would willingly suffer the consequences of a broken, lonely, and dejected heart.
Hermione, in her wish to escape as quickly as possible, didn’t notice the opaqueness in his eyes. She didn’t know what to think, how to act, or what to feel about the likelihood that she was not his mate. She hoped that it was her but couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts. The words “his friend, his friend” kept ringing ceaselessly in her ears like a torrential waterfall. She wanted to rage, to sling hot coals, or take up archery, anything to make the ache she was feeling go away. Why did it hurt-why should it hurt? It wasn’t fair. She always gave and gave, never really expecting anything in return, and now she felt empty.
She wanted to crawl under a rock or hide in a cave. Would it help? Would crawling into a cave and foraging for edible vegetation while wearing a poncho really help? She didn’t know. But for him, she would do anything. For him, she would duel all the Death Eaters as they stood to block their path. For him, she would enter a banana pie-eating contest, even though she had a mild allergy to bananas. For him, she would entertain the thought of a civil conversation with Charlie the Unicorn, despite knowing that it could happen over her dead body. She would do it all for him because she valued their friendship.
In her hasty retreat, she fled to the still-steamy shower and inhaled his scent.
She had a new purpose. She had helped Harry defeat the Dark Lord. Now, she would help Draco find his mate, even if deep down, her heart would be broken into a gazillion pieces never to be glued back again. How hard could it be? It couldn’t be any harder than the nuts she and Draco had cracked or turning into a hermit who lived in an outcropping of dank rocks. If it did prove more difficult than cracking nuts or turning hermit, than gee-by-golly she was Hermione Granger smartest witch of her age, brain extraordinaire, the smartiest pants that had ever walked the streets of Great Britain.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Draco had poured the Fargul Nut Paste into a jar, cleaned the cauldron, and set it to dry for future use. She approached him, and with as little trepidation in her voice as she could possibly managed asked, “Are you ready to go in search of your mate?... I am your friend and will help you find her... You can count on me,” she told him with a forced smile on her face that did nothing to transpose her stilted and alienated tone. Slowly, her tone took on an effortless quality, like a babbling brook shifting into a mellow stream, lulling Draco from listening attentively. “The first order of business is making sure you and the baby are healthy. We can’t put your bundle of joy into any type of situation that will endanger him or her. Second, we need to be absolutely certain that your soon-to-be-mate is someone of sterling character worthy of carrying the Malfoy heir. Third, she has to be a virgin like that awful Charlie has declared-bunch of rubbish, if you ask me. Now, to list the available candidates... Draco, Draco, DRACOOOOO!!!!!! Aren’t you even listening to me? I am trying to provide much-needed assistance here.”
Draco suddenly broke out into uncontrollable, gut wrenching tears, and loud sobbing punctuated every word. “Granger, I can’t focus. This is too much. Why has my life become so complicated? Why does my mate have to be a virgin? It’s not fair!” This rant was followed by more uncontrollable sobbing. It seemed like he would never stop or regain control of himself. If only he could let her know how unselfish he was trying to be, if only they weren’t merely friends... they were mates! He would shout it from the rooftop, if he could.
Hermione walked up to him. She had to do it. His emotions were too much. She slapped him. He was hysterical, and she missed the old days when she could not tell how he was feeling. She had always admired his self-control and she felt it her duty to return him to his pre-pregnancy state.
He stopped crying and rubbed his sore cheek, looking horror-struck. But he was also grateful. “Thanks, I needed that. You’re always so helpful.”
“I aim to please. Now, do I have you back with me or shall I slap you silly again so you can regain your lost sense of decency?” Hermione asked him most pleasantly, adding, “I do understand that your hormone levels are fluctuating wildly, how new this must be for you, and how scary it is to your manly sensibilities. I apologize for slapping you, but it was necessary.”
Silently, she steered him towards their apartment’s hearth. The work of finding his mate needed to get underway soon and there was no better place than a pub to find a bride ready to incubate. Draco, crestfallen, allowed himself to be led, mum about his true intentions. They travelled through the Floo to Hogsmeade. Maybe it was just a hunch, but she had a feeling that he would find his mate there. As soon as they stepped out of the Floo at the commune station, two elves dusted them clean of soot. They both thanked them and made their way to the Three Broomsticks.
Hermione hoped that the place would be jammed pack with eligible ladies so that the pain of suspense would go away and Draco would be happy again and implant his unborn child into the awaiting virgin womb. Draco was doing his best to keep a clear mind and not get emotionally distressed again. He really hated being pregnant and couldn’t believe that women continued to want and to produce the next generation. His inner Veela sulkily told him that he was wasting his time. What he needed was a way to let Hermione know that she was his mate and not just his friend.
Before opening the door to the local pub, he decided that he’d make Hermione jealous. Alternatively-who knows?-he might get so sloshed that he might spill that she is his one true mate.
Hermione was surprised when they walked into the pub and were greeting by cackling and high-pitched chatter. It seemed that The Three Broomsticks had a full house of a surprisingly all-female variety. From left to right, top to bottom, there were no Wizards in sight. Hermione resigned herself to a dull night while Draco delighted in the lack of competition for attention from all the witches.
Under close observation, Hermione noticed that the pub was full, hosting all the female professors from Hogwarts. Curiously, Hermione approached Rosmerta to find out the reason for the unusually high attendance of that particular population. Upon turning, however, she didn’t have to ask the proprietor, and her jaw dropped. On the farthest wall, a big banner with blinking lights in different colours announced in bold letters:
“VIRGINS OF THE WIZARDING WORLD UNITE”
Never in her wildest dreams or imagination had she thought that all of the female professors could be “unsullied,” as that bastard Charlie would say. She’d always assumed that most, if not all, were married or in a relationship. This was unreal.
Draco, for his part, was not at all surprised that they were virgins and was looking forward to using his Veela charm. He knew that none were his mate; this could be a spot fun and boost his ego. He would start with Professor McGonagall and go down the line to Irma Pince, the librarian. The last one on the list would be the one that was rumoured to have a “thing” going on with Filch.
Continue or ToC
Beta: dormiensa & unseenlibrarian
A/N: Features a description graciously borrowed from uniquepovblog
If Draco had been able to smell her again, he would have known that her scent had changed from freshly-laundered linen to one of salt-scented, bitter tears and misty-cold fog over the ocean. But he was trying to be unselfish by not revealing that he knew his mate’s identity and her proximity. All the same, she-his mate-was currently seven paces from his door, and if Pythagoras’ theorem was anything to go by, the quickest route to her was not via her heart but by bypassing the chest of drawers and following the narrow path to her bedroom door.
Still, he felt compelled to woo her and fall into her awaiting, jiggly arms. It would be a hard job-the wooing; the hugging would be easy-but he was willing to try, even if he failed at convincing her of his love. He was torn. It would be a life of Hell if he failed, but if he couldn’t win her and she would only ever look at him as a friend and nothing more, he would have to accept it. So long as she was happy, he would willingly suffer the consequences of a broken, lonely, and dejected heart.
Hermione, in her wish to escape as quickly as possible, didn’t notice the opaqueness in his eyes. She didn’t know what to think, how to act, or what to feel about the likelihood that she was not his mate. She hoped that it was her but couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts. The words “his friend, his friend” kept ringing ceaselessly in her ears like a torrential waterfall. She wanted to rage, to sling hot coals, or take up archery, anything to make the ache she was feeling go away. Why did it hurt-why should it hurt? It wasn’t fair. She always gave and gave, never really expecting anything in return, and now she felt empty.
She wanted to crawl under a rock or hide in a cave. Would it help? Would crawling into a cave and foraging for edible vegetation while wearing a poncho really help? She didn’t know. But for him, she would do anything. For him, she would duel all the Death Eaters as they stood to block their path. For him, she would enter a banana pie-eating contest, even though she had a mild allergy to bananas. For him, she would entertain the thought of a civil conversation with Charlie the Unicorn, despite knowing that it could happen over her dead body. She would do it all for him because she valued their friendship.
In her hasty retreat, she fled to the still-steamy shower and inhaled his scent.
She had a new purpose. She had helped Harry defeat the Dark Lord. Now, she would help Draco find his mate, even if deep down, her heart would be broken into a gazillion pieces never to be glued back again. How hard could it be? It couldn’t be any harder than the nuts she and Draco had cracked or turning into a hermit who lived in an outcropping of dank rocks. If it did prove more difficult than cracking nuts or turning hermit, than gee-by-golly she was Hermione Granger smartest witch of her age, brain extraordinaire, the smartiest pants that had ever walked the streets of Great Britain.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Draco had poured the Fargul Nut Paste into a jar, cleaned the cauldron, and set it to dry for future use. She approached him, and with as little trepidation in her voice as she could possibly managed asked, “Are you ready to go in search of your mate?... I am your friend and will help you find her... You can count on me,” she told him with a forced smile on her face that did nothing to transpose her stilted and alienated tone. Slowly, her tone took on an effortless quality, like a babbling brook shifting into a mellow stream, lulling Draco from listening attentively. “The first order of business is making sure you and the baby are healthy. We can’t put your bundle of joy into any type of situation that will endanger him or her. Second, we need to be absolutely certain that your soon-to-be-mate is someone of sterling character worthy of carrying the Malfoy heir. Third, she has to be a virgin like that awful Charlie has declared-bunch of rubbish, if you ask me. Now, to list the available candidates... Draco, Draco, DRACOOOOO!!!!!! Aren’t you even listening to me? I am trying to provide much-needed assistance here.”
Draco suddenly broke out into uncontrollable, gut wrenching tears, and loud sobbing punctuated every word. “Granger, I can’t focus. This is too much. Why has my life become so complicated? Why does my mate have to be a virgin? It’s not fair!” This rant was followed by more uncontrollable sobbing. It seemed like he would never stop or regain control of himself. If only he could let her know how unselfish he was trying to be, if only they weren’t merely friends... they were mates! He would shout it from the rooftop, if he could.
Hermione walked up to him. She had to do it. His emotions were too much. She slapped him. He was hysterical, and she missed the old days when she could not tell how he was feeling. She had always admired his self-control and she felt it her duty to return him to his pre-pregnancy state.
He stopped crying and rubbed his sore cheek, looking horror-struck. But he was also grateful. “Thanks, I needed that. You’re always so helpful.”
“I aim to please. Now, do I have you back with me or shall I slap you silly again so you can regain your lost sense of decency?” Hermione asked him most pleasantly, adding, “I do understand that your hormone levels are fluctuating wildly, how new this must be for you, and how scary it is to your manly sensibilities. I apologize for slapping you, but it was necessary.”
Silently, she steered him towards their apartment’s hearth. The work of finding his mate needed to get underway soon and there was no better place than a pub to find a bride ready to incubate. Draco, crestfallen, allowed himself to be led, mum about his true intentions. They travelled through the Floo to Hogsmeade. Maybe it was just a hunch, but she had a feeling that he would find his mate there. As soon as they stepped out of the Floo at the commune station, two elves dusted them clean of soot. They both thanked them and made their way to the Three Broomsticks.
Hermione hoped that the place would be jammed pack with eligible ladies so that the pain of suspense would go away and Draco would be happy again and implant his unborn child into the awaiting virgin womb. Draco was doing his best to keep a clear mind and not get emotionally distressed again. He really hated being pregnant and couldn’t believe that women continued to want and to produce the next generation. His inner Veela sulkily told him that he was wasting his time. What he needed was a way to let Hermione know that she was his mate and not just his friend.
Before opening the door to the local pub, he decided that he’d make Hermione jealous. Alternatively-who knows?-he might get so sloshed that he might spill that she is his one true mate.
Hermione was surprised when they walked into the pub and were greeting by cackling and high-pitched chatter. It seemed that The Three Broomsticks had a full house of a surprisingly all-female variety. From left to right, top to bottom, there were no Wizards in sight. Hermione resigned herself to a dull night while Draco delighted in the lack of competition for attention from all the witches.
Under close observation, Hermione noticed that the pub was full, hosting all the female professors from Hogwarts. Curiously, Hermione approached Rosmerta to find out the reason for the unusually high attendance of that particular population. Upon turning, however, she didn’t have to ask the proprietor, and her jaw dropped. On the farthest wall, a big banner with blinking lights in different colours announced in bold letters:
“VIRGINS OF THE WIZARDING WORLD UNITE”
Never in her wildest dreams or imagination had she thought that all of the female professors could be “unsullied,” as that bastard Charlie would say. She’d always assumed that most, if not all, were married or in a relationship. This was unreal.
Draco, for his part, was not at all surprised that they were virgins and was looking forward to using his Veela charm. He knew that none were his mate; this could be a spot fun and boost his ego. He would start with Professor McGonagall and go down the line to Irma Pince, the librarian. The last one on the list would be the one that was rumoured to have a “thing” going on with Filch.
Continue or ToC