Chapter Fourteen: And if you do not know me, then how could you be my friend?
Author: pokeystar
Beta: dormiensa
A/N:
[Thanks and Notes]
Many grateful and deeply felt thanks to dormiensa for the excellent beta; many grateful and deeply felt thanks a helluva lot to my fellow RR writers, in a most definite and particular order - kansol_encore (I’m still waiting for the hook up, G), leopion (see? I got your name right this time! Now will you stop torturing me?), unseenlibrarian (magical chiropractors for cricks in the neck), captainraychill (get away from him, you dirty whore!), justthedreams (shmelly, yo.) and alina290 (the lady who made my schmoopy possible). Here’s to nutsacks and howler monkeys, gals - let’s do this again sometime, yes?
Home again, home again. Jiggity jig. - From “To Market,” a Mother Goose Rhyme.
Wankoninnydoodles - small, hairy, bear-like men-creatures with fairy wings that cause the cessation of marital relations by inciting wives to resentment and abstention.
Cupid Valentino and chapter title-courtesy “Happy Valentine’s Day” by Outkast. Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/outkast/happyvalentinesday.html
Summary: Rocks fall, everyone dies.
After ditching his father, Draco returned to an empty flat. Hermione was gone. Most of her clothes were gone. Crookshanks was gone.
She’d left.
He slumped into the kitchen to put on the kettle and found a note on the counter next to the tea.
D -
Am at H & G’s. Do not come.
Do not send owls. I------------
- H
The forlorn little scrap of paper was water-stained in spots and several words were scratched over to his utter relief. Words like hate and never and most chillingly, get out. At least she’d left a note. He had hope. He fell asleep on the sofa, clutching the note to his chest, the beginning of a smile quirking his lip upwards.
A week later, hope was on holiday in Ibiza and despair had come calling. He was abiding with her edicts: no owls, no haunting the Potters’ doorstep. Nonetheless, he had tried cornering Harry, Ginny and even the Weasel at work-none of them would have anything to do with him. A rabid Blast-Ended Skrewt would have received a warmer welcome.
How could he apologise-how could he explain-if he couldn’t even see her?
Despair settled into the comfy chair and invited depression round for tea.
*****
“And then what did he say?” Luna leaned over her bowl of pea soup, her slightly bulging eyes wide and unblinking.
Hermione sighed and crumbled the slice of crusty bread into crumbs onto her plate of ploughman’s lunch. She didn’t have much of an appetite these days. “He’d rather die a virgin than marry a filthy whore like me.”
Luna looked thoughtful rather than gasping in horror as Hermione expected. “How long have you and Draco been roommates?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
It was Luna’s turn to sigh. “You aren’t very fluent in Slytherin, are you? Despite living with one. I’d thought you were clever enough to be a Ravenclaw, but apparently you’re as observant as the average Gryffindor.” She nearly sneered.
Hermione’s jaw dropped and she regarded her friend in shocked offense. “My god, Snape has really rubbed off on you.”
Luna looked down at herself with mild curiosity. “We do rub against each other often, but usually we shower or Scourgify after. Can you smell him on me?”
“Eeeeewwwww, Luna. No.” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I know he’s your husband, and you love him, but that’s a mental picture I do not need, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Luna, absently removing a strand of her hair from the pea soup’s hungry maw. “It’s obvious that Draco was lying to keep his father from interfering. How many times have his parents tried to fix him up in the last two years?”
Hermione wrinkled her brow in thought. “Um… six?” She nibbled her lip. “No. Nine.”
Luna arched an eyebrow at her and tugged the spoon out of her bowl. It had bite marks on the handle.
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, finally taking a bite of the excellent Stilton on her plate. “And he’d want me to make my own choice, of course.”
Luna snorted. “Inexplicably, it seems so. Slytherins ordinarily couldn’t give a shite, as long they get what they want.”
“I must be rubbing off on him.”
“I thought you said Malfoy is a virgin?”
Hermione nearly choked on a bit of pickle.
*****
The fire flared bright green and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. It almost stopped completely as his godfather stepped on the hearth.
“Oh. It’s you,” he said glumly.
“Good evening, Draco.” Snape smirked at his forlorn charge. The whelp had it bad. Nearly as bad as he did, not too long ago. Not that a broken heart excused poor manners. Narcissa would be appalled if Draco neglected a guest-even if he just happened to be mauled by a herd of Hippogriffs. “I feel quite welcome. Shall I have a seat? Or some tea?”
Draco shrugged. “I don’t want any more tea.” It was amazing how much pressure an embryo the size of a mushy pea could put on a delicate male bladder. The toilet was Draco’s best mate these days. “What’re you here for?”
Severus eyed Draco closely. The boy was unshaven and his clothes were more wrinkled than not. His eyes were bloodshot and his face bore creases from the sofa cushions. He had a crumpled piece of parchment sticking out of his shirt pocket. There was an empty bottle of Lucius’s premium reserve bubbly apple cider on the sofa table. At least the prat wasn’t drinking alcohol, for the baby’s sake.
“Medical emergency.”
Draco looked at Severus with bleary eyes. “Ish someone hurt?”
“I’m here to remove your head from your arse.”
*****
Home again, home again. Jiggity jig.
Hermione put Crookshanks’ carrier down and unpacked her beaded bag with a flick of her wand. Mr Peanut, her childhood confidant, tumbled out last. She scooped him up and hugged him close as she sat on the edge of her bed.
Are there Horcruxes for broken hearts?
Hermione knew all about worst case scenarios and planning accordingly. Love was a curveball she hadn’t expected. A big part of her never wanted to see him again. He’d said meaner things to her before, but somehow, this cut deeper. No. Not somehow. She knew exactly how: after two weeks at Harry and Ginny’s, she’d finally admitted to herself that she loved Draco. And now she understood his motivation better-at least she hoped she did-but she was still hurt, despite her talk with Luna.
“Is that a purple elephant?”
Hermione startled from her reverie and looked up. Draco was leaning on her doorframe, Crookshanks weaving figure eights around his bare feet. He looked good, damn him.
“His name is Mr Peanut,” she said frostily. “He’s my best friend.”
Draco flinched and Hermione’s eyes narrowed in bitter satisfaction.
Then, he took a deep breath and stepped forward into an elegant bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
When he looked up, a purple streak of glittering furriness was flying at his face. It bopped him square in the forehead, mussing his fringe. Draco clutched his head, dropping to his knees. “Ow.”
He fell onto his side as dramatically as possible.
Hermione stood over him, hands on her hips. “Are you dead?”
“Yes,” he said, closing his eyes with a rapid flutter of impossibly long eyelashes.
“Good.”
He heard her stomp out to the lounge and abruptly stop. He clambered to his feet to follow.
Hermione stared at the state of the lounge-the empty cider bottles (he was thinking of the baby!), the rumpled sofa cushions, the multitude of stained teacups. Her expression softened, and her eyes grew moist.
Draco owed his godfather a box of cigars and a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch, the beaky buzzard. Snape was always right, even about this.
But it was possible she’d teared up because she hadn’t blinked in a while.
He stopped behind her, mere centimetres away, and concentrated on keeping his hands by his side. “Is that all it would take?”
She turned to face him, clearly distracted. “What?”
He waited until her eyes met his. “I would die for you.”
Hermione froze, staring at him without breathing for several long minutes. He started to worry about her body’s lack of autonomy. Her knack for concentration was singular. Would she keel over if she forgot to breathe or blink? She shook her head in denial and Draco realised she was responding to what he’d said.
Things were not proceeding as Snape had predicted. Panic rang the doorbell.
Oh shite.
She backed away from him, with her hands out in the universal sign for stop, putting space between them. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
Draco opened his mouth to respond but Hermione cut him off.
“I can’t hear this right now. I can be roommates with you, but I can’t-well, it’s impossible, isn’t it?”
Draco edged closer to her in minute increments. Panic stopped ringing and eyed the flat across the hall. “What’s impossible, Hermione?”
He took a risk and dared switching on his Veela power, dribbling pheromones from every pore. Crookshanks purred, rubbing his arse on Draco’s trouser leg.
She refused to look at him. “I’m not your mate.”
“How do you know that?” His voice was soft and liquid; it flowed over her like warm honey. She looked up and was caught in the laser intensity of his gaze.
“You said I smelled,” she muttered in a dull monotone.
He pressed his wand against his nose. “ Finite Incantatem.” He leaned in close and inhaled deeply. “You do.”
She gasped in dismay, and his arms snaked around her waist, holding her-nearly crushing her-to his chest. “You smell divine. Like rainy days, chocolate frogs, and a new Quidditch broom all in one delectable package. I get drunk shmelling you.”
His voice was slurred. She put her hands on his chest and leaned back a little. His eyes were glassy at half-mast. His grip tightened on her waist and he groaned.
Lust yodelled a Victory cry and burst in through the window.
“What about the nut paste?” Hermione asked.
“Screw the nuts,” Draco whispered and slanted his lips over hers. He wanted to devour her, heart and soul. She completed him.
What the freaking hay, Malfoy?!
Bugger off, disco donkey.
Don’t make me come over there, you lily white prat. Back away from the hussy, this instant.
For the last time, you flea-bitten, judgemental nag, she’s NOT a hussy. She’s my mate. So suck it, my little pony. Draco’s inner child made an obscene gesture in emphasis.
Charlie’s tone became wheedling. You could roast the nuts before making the paste. That will nullify the allergic reaction.
Draco mentally rolled his eyes and ran his tongue along the seam of Hermione’s lips, seeking entrance. Her mouth opened with a squeak of happiness.
Now you tell me. Well, O Horny One-too little, too late. Ever heard of Free Will? Draco made another note to give Snape a case of hundred-year-old scotch. He really was the most brilliant godfather ever, despite his bedside manner needing improvement. Though that was Luna’s problem, wasn’t it? I’m exercising mine. You can take your bloody prophecy and shove it up your sparkly arse.
Charlie went all Darth Vader-y, breathing heavy with the Voice of Terror and Doom. You are breaking an ancient covenant with Unicorn Clan, young whelp.
Oh really? Why should I care?
Draco came up for air and nibbled Hermione’s ear, inducing panting breaths and little squeals of giggles.
Lust roared and pawed the flokati rug under the sofa table. MMMMMMMM, sooooooft. Lust likey.
You are leaving future generations of Malfoys unprotected! They’ll make bad choices! Ruin will rain down upon thee and thine!
Ruin will rain down upon thee and thine? Seriously? Where was the Unicorn Clan while the Dark Lord squatted in our house and made our lives a living hell? Sorry, Charlie. Hermione and I will teach our children to think for themselves.
*****
Charlie the Unicorn Chief had nothing to say to that. What could he say, really? Free Will trumps Destiny, every time.
Once a certain voyeuristic equine had departed telepathically for purer pastures, Draco’s Free Will got busy rubbing up against Hermione’s. The Flokati rug was very soft, indeed. It was also ever so slightly mortified. And incredibly envious.
Crookshanks didn’t get fed until midnight. He was disgruntled and put out, so he shat in Draco’s best Italian loafers. They always smelled of tinned tuna after that.
Poor Mr Peanut got caught up in the melee, when the action moved to Hermione’s bedroom, and had to be Scourgified. Twice. Still, better that than being a Horcrux, any day of the week.
Three days later, Snape was up to his oversized nostrils in hundred-year-old scotch and the best Cuban cigars money could buy. Luna made him smoke them on the back porch. She claimed they kept the Wankoninnydoodles out of the house. Whatever they were.
The Guatemalan Black Howler monkeys threw a party to celebrate Draco and Hermione’s engagement. Many breadnut leaves and a mountain of filet mignon were consumed. The Emperor penguins were still hungover a day later. The cost of the entire party was put on the company tab. Including the DJ-a certain Cupid Valentino. The Howlers figured it served the Malfoys right - everyone knew to roast the nuts first.
*****
Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy
joyfully announce
the birth of their daughter
Cassiopeia Malfoy
Saturday, December 7, 2002
at two o'clock in the afternoon
seven pounds, ten ounces
twenty inches
*****
We joyfully announce
the birth of our son
Scorpius Severus Malfoy
Friday, February 14, 2003
at 11:14 p.m.
8 lb., 14 oz.
23 inches
Proud parents
Hermione and Draco Malfoy
*****
ToC
Beta: dormiensa
A/N:
[Thanks and Notes]
Many grateful and deeply felt thanks to dormiensa for the excellent beta; many grateful and deeply felt thanks a helluva lot to my fellow RR writers, in a most definite and particular order - kansol_encore (I’m still waiting for the hook up, G), leopion (see? I got your name right this time! Now will you stop torturing me?), unseenlibrarian (magical chiropractors for cricks in the neck), captainraychill (get away from him, you dirty whore!), justthedreams (shmelly, yo.) and alina290 (the lady who made my schmoopy possible). Here’s to nutsacks and howler monkeys, gals - let’s do this again sometime, yes?
Home again, home again. Jiggity jig. - From “To Market,” a Mother Goose Rhyme.
Wankoninnydoodles - small, hairy, bear-like men-creatures with fairy wings that cause the cessation of marital relations by inciting wives to resentment and abstention.
Cupid Valentino and chapter title-courtesy “Happy Valentine’s Day” by Outkast. Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/outkast/happyvalentinesday.html
Summary: Rocks fall, everyone dies.
After ditching his father, Draco returned to an empty flat. Hermione was gone. Most of her clothes were gone. Crookshanks was gone.
She’d left.
He slumped into the kitchen to put on the kettle and found a note on the counter next to the tea.
D -
Am at H & G’s. Do not come.
Do not send owls. I------------
- H
The forlorn little scrap of paper was water-stained in spots and several words were scratched over to his utter relief. Words like hate and never and most chillingly, get out. At least she’d left a note. He had hope. He fell asleep on the sofa, clutching the note to his chest, the beginning of a smile quirking his lip upwards.
A week later, hope was on holiday in Ibiza and despair had come calling. He was abiding with her edicts: no owls, no haunting the Potters’ doorstep. Nonetheless, he had tried cornering Harry, Ginny and even the Weasel at work-none of them would have anything to do with him. A rabid Blast-Ended Skrewt would have received a warmer welcome.
How could he apologise-how could he explain-if he couldn’t even see her?
Despair settled into the comfy chair and invited depression round for tea.
*****
“And then what did he say?” Luna leaned over her bowl of pea soup, her slightly bulging eyes wide and unblinking.
Hermione sighed and crumbled the slice of crusty bread into crumbs onto her plate of ploughman’s lunch. She didn’t have much of an appetite these days. “He’d rather die a virgin than marry a filthy whore like me.”
Luna looked thoughtful rather than gasping in horror as Hermione expected. “How long have you and Draco been roommates?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
It was Luna’s turn to sigh. “You aren’t very fluent in Slytherin, are you? Despite living with one. I’d thought you were clever enough to be a Ravenclaw, but apparently you’re as observant as the average Gryffindor.” She nearly sneered.
Hermione’s jaw dropped and she regarded her friend in shocked offense. “My god, Snape has really rubbed off on you.”
Luna looked down at herself with mild curiosity. “We do rub against each other often, but usually we shower or Scourgify after. Can you smell him on me?”
“Eeeeewwwww, Luna. No.” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I know he’s your husband, and you love him, but that’s a mental picture I do not need, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Luna, absently removing a strand of her hair from the pea soup’s hungry maw. “It’s obvious that Draco was lying to keep his father from interfering. How many times have his parents tried to fix him up in the last two years?”
Hermione wrinkled her brow in thought. “Um… six?” She nibbled her lip. “No. Nine.”
Luna arched an eyebrow at her and tugged the spoon out of her bowl. It had bite marks on the handle.
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, finally taking a bite of the excellent Stilton on her plate. “And he’d want me to make my own choice, of course.”
Luna snorted. “Inexplicably, it seems so. Slytherins ordinarily couldn’t give a shite, as long they get what they want.”
“I must be rubbing off on him.”
“I thought you said Malfoy is a virgin?”
Hermione nearly choked on a bit of pickle.
*****
The fire flared bright green and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. It almost stopped completely as his godfather stepped on the hearth.
“Oh. It’s you,” he said glumly.
“Good evening, Draco.” Snape smirked at his forlorn charge. The whelp had it bad. Nearly as bad as he did, not too long ago. Not that a broken heart excused poor manners. Narcissa would be appalled if Draco neglected a guest-even if he just happened to be mauled by a herd of Hippogriffs. “I feel quite welcome. Shall I have a seat? Or some tea?”
Draco shrugged. “I don’t want any more tea.” It was amazing how much pressure an embryo the size of a mushy pea could put on a delicate male bladder. The toilet was Draco’s best mate these days. “What’re you here for?”
Severus eyed Draco closely. The boy was unshaven and his clothes were more wrinkled than not. His eyes were bloodshot and his face bore creases from the sofa cushions. He had a crumpled piece of parchment sticking out of his shirt pocket. There was an empty bottle of Lucius’s premium reserve bubbly apple cider on the sofa table. At least the prat wasn’t drinking alcohol, for the baby’s sake.
“Medical emergency.”
Draco looked at Severus with bleary eyes. “Ish someone hurt?”
“I’m here to remove your head from your arse.”
*****
Home again, home again. Jiggity jig.
Hermione put Crookshanks’ carrier down and unpacked her beaded bag with a flick of her wand. Mr Peanut, her childhood confidant, tumbled out last. She scooped him up and hugged him close as she sat on the edge of her bed.
Are there Horcruxes for broken hearts?
Hermione knew all about worst case scenarios and planning accordingly. Love was a curveball she hadn’t expected. A big part of her never wanted to see him again. He’d said meaner things to her before, but somehow, this cut deeper. No. Not somehow. She knew exactly how: after two weeks at Harry and Ginny’s, she’d finally admitted to herself that she loved Draco. And now she understood his motivation better-at least she hoped she did-but she was still hurt, despite her talk with Luna.
“Is that a purple elephant?”
Hermione startled from her reverie and looked up. Draco was leaning on her doorframe, Crookshanks weaving figure eights around his bare feet. He looked good, damn him.
“His name is Mr Peanut,” she said frostily. “He’s my best friend.”
Draco flinched and Hermione’s eyes narrowed in bitter satisfaction.
Then, he took a deep breath and stepped forward into an elegant bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
When he looked up, a purple streak of glittering furriness was flying at his face. It bopped him square in the forehead, mussing his fringe. Draco clutched his head, dropping to his knees. “Ow.”
He fell onto his side as dramatically as possible.
Hermione stood over him, hands on her hips. “Are you dead?”
“Yes,” he said, closing his eyes with a rapid flutter of impossibly long eyelashes.
“Good.”
He heard her stomp out to the lounge and abruptly stop. He clambered to his feet to follow.
Hermione stared at the state of the lounge-the empty cider bottles (he was thinking of the baby!), the rumpled sofa cushions, the multitude of stained teacups. Her expression softened, and her eyes grew moist.
Draco owed his godfather a box of cigars and a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch, the beaky buzzard. Snape was always right, even about this.
But it was possible she’d teared up because she hadn’t blinked in a while.
He stopped behind her, mere centimetres away, and concentrated on keeping his hands by his side. “Is that all it would take?”
She turned to face him, clearly distracted. “What?”
He waited until her eyes met his. “I would die for you.”
Hermione froze, staring at him without breathing for several long minutes. He started to worry about her body’s lack of autonomy. Her knack for concentration was singular. Would she keel over if she forgot to breathe or blink? She shook her head in denial and Draco realised she was responding to what he’d said.
Things were not proceeding as Snape had predicted. Panic rang the doorbell.
Oh shite.
She backed away from him, with her hands out in the universal sign for stop, putting space between them. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
Draco opened his mouth to respond but Hermione cut him off.
“I can’t hear this right now. I can be roommates with you, but I can’t-well, it’s impossible, isn’t it?”
Draco edged closer to her in minute increments. Panic stopped ringing and eyed the flat across the hall. “What’s impossible, Hermione?”
He took a risk and dared switching on his Veela power, dribbling pheromones from every pore. Crookshanks purred, rubbing his arse on Draco’s trouser leg.
She refused to look at him. “I’m not your mate.”
“How do you know that?” His voice was soft and liquid; it flowed over her like warm honey. She looked up and was caught in the laser intensity of his gaze.
“You said I smelled,” she muttered in a dull monotone.
He pressed his wand against his nose. “ Finite Incantatem.” He leaned in close and inhaled deeply. “You do.”
She gasped in dismay, and his arms snaked around her waist, holding her-nearly crushing her-to his chest. “You smell divine. Like rainy days, chocolate frogs, and a new Quidditch broom all in one delectable package. I get drunk shmelling you.”
His voice was slurred. She put her hands on his chest and leaned back a little. His eyes were glassy at half-mast. His grip tightened on her waist and he groaned.
Lust yodelled a Victory cry and burst in through the window.
“What about the nut paste?” Hermione asked.
“Screw the nuts,” Draco whispered and slanted his lips over hers. He wanted to devour her, heart and soul. She completed him.
What the freaking hay, Malfoy?!
Bugger off, disco donkey.
Don’t make me come over there, you lily white prat. Back away from the hussy, this instant.
For the last time, you flea-bitten, judgemental nag, she’s NOT a hussy. She’s my mate. So suck it, my little pony. Draco’s inner child made an obscene gesture in emphasis.
Charlie’s tone became wheedling. You could roast the nuts before making the paste. That will nullify the allergic reaction.
Draco mentally rolled his eyes and ran his tongue along the seam of Hermione’s lips, seeking entrance. Her mouth opened with a squeak of happiness.
Now you tell me. Well, O Horny One-too little, too late. Ever heard of Free Will? Draco made another note to give Snape a case of hundred-year-old scotch. He really was the most brilliant godfather ever, despite his bedside manner needing improvement. Though that was Luna’s problem, wasn’t it? I’m exercising mine. You can take your bloody prophecy and shove it up your sparkly arse.
Charlie went all Darth Vader-y, breathing heavy with the Voice of Terror and Doom. You are breaking an ancient covenant with Unicorn Clan, young whelp.
Oh really? Why should I care?
Draco came up for air and nibbled Hermione’s ear, inducing panting breaths and little squeals of giggles.
Lust roared and pawed the flokati rug under the sofa table. MMMMMMMM, sooooooft. Lust likey.
You are leaving future generations of Malfoys unprotected! They’ll make bad choices! Ruin will rain down upon thee and thine!
Ruin will rain down upon thee and thine? Seriously? Where was the Unicorn Clan while the Dark Lord squatted in our house and made our lives a living hell? Sorry, Charlie. Hermione and I will teach our children to think for themselves.
*****
Charlie the Unicorn Chief had nothing to say to that. What could he say, really? Free Will trumps Destiny, every time.
Once a certain voyeuristic equine had departed telepathically for purer pastures, Draco’s Free Will got busy rubbing up against Hermione’s. The Flokati rug was very soft, indeed. It was also ever so slightly mortified. And incredibly envious.
Crookshanks didn’t get fed until midnight. He was disgruntled and put out, so he shat in Draco’s best Italian loafers. They always smelled of tinned tuna after that.
Poor Mr Peanut got caught up in the melee, when the action moved to Hermione’s bedroom, and had to be Scourgified. Twice. Still, better that than being a Horcrux, any day of the week.
Three days later, Snape was up to his oversized nostrils in hundred-year-old scotch and the best Cuban cigars money could buy. Luna made him smoke them on the back porch. She claimed they kept the Wankoninnydoodles out of the house. Whatever they were.
The Guatemalan Black Howler monkeys threw a party to celebrate Draco and Hermione’s engagement. Many breadnut leaves and a mountain of filet mignon were consumed. The Emperor penguins were still hungover a day later. The cost of the entire party was put on the company tab. Including the DJ-a certain Cupid Valentino. The Howlers figured it served the Malfoys right - everyone knew to roast the nuts first.
*****
Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy
joyfully announce
the birth of their daughter
Cassiopeia Malfoy
Saturday, December 7, 2002
at two o'clock in the afternoon
seven pounds, ten ounces
twenty inches
*****
We joyfully announce
the birth of our son
Scorpius Severus Malfoy
Friday, February 14, 2003
at 11:14 p.m.
8 lb., 14 oz.
23 inches
Proud parents
Hermione and Draco Malfoy
*****
ToC