For rit_globe: A Conversation in the Waiting Room for the Purpose of Killing Time
Title: A Conversation in the Waiting Room for the Purpose of Killing Time
Author: crucio_4_coffee
Giftee: rit_globe
Word Count: 3075
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Warnings: Mpreg, silliness
A/N: Dear rit_globe -- I really wanted to grant your request for MPREG because you seemed so hopeful, but combining it with your additional requests for IC-ness, believable romance, forced marriage, and a happy ending with this pairing meant that I needed to lean on your request for "humor" as well. Hopefully, Tom isn't too "wimpy" for you here. After all, he can't exactly help it -- pregnancy hormones tend to make one emotional. ;) Many thanks to A. for her willingness to beta.
You look as if you've never seen a pregnant wizard before.
Oh. You haven't seen a pregnant wizard before? I thought that might be the case. I sensed your inexperience in the Wizarding World as soon as you sat down. I know what you are. I can almost smell the dirt in your blood. Normally, that smell might make me nauseous, but right now, I can't help but think that it might be good mixed with ice cream and bean porridge. Surely, you understand.
How? Well that's a bit rude, is it not? After all, you don't hear me asking you how you came to be in your condition. Exactly the sort of inferior behaviour I would expect from one of your kind.
Are you going to continue to stare at me? If the Ministry allowed me to bring my wand when I go out alone, I assure you that I would have already taught you a painful lesson in the use of Unforgivables by now, but ...
Fine. We've nothing to do but wait, anyway. Healers' offices are insufferably slow. But I won't be mentioning any names, so hang that right up. And some of the more ... intimate details, I will be keeping to myself. So you can hang that up, too. I'm not here to fuel your sordid female fantasies.
It all started with Helga Hufflepuff. Yes, that Helga Hufflepuff, and no, I don't care that you were a Hufflepuff, although I don't doubt it at all. It seems that she once had a fantastic cup just overrunning with healing, earth magic, and in my younger days -- that is, in my original younger days, I happened to get my beautifully thin fingers on it.
What? My fingers are not fat! They're swollen, you miserable, Muggle-shagging harpy!
Anyway, as I was saying ...
Between a foolish House Elf and my dashing good looks, I was able to procure this cup to add to my own personal collection of Founders' relics. But what does one do with an object as fantastic as Hufflepuff's cup? I tried drinking from it, and while I have to admit that I enjoyed the greatest cup of tea ever experienced in this universe, the magical effect caused me to hug trees.
Needless to say, I found that to be unacceptable.
It just so happened that I had been working on a bit of a ... project, an idea that had stricken my fancy back when I was attending Hogwarts. I had a particular ... career path in mind for myself and I knew, even back then, that there would be certain ... hmmm ... occupational hazards, but being the highly advanced, very powerful wizard that I was, I determined how to preserve myself and follow my chosen profession at the same time.
What was that you sa-? Oh - yes. "What profession?"
I - I - I'mnotallowedtorevealthatforreasonsIshallattempttoexplainlater.
Damn. This is going to be difficult.
Why don't I just get back to the cup? Very well. As I was saying, I found a way to use Hufflepuff's cup for my little self-preservation project. And it went well. Perfectly, actually. I was able to keep myself safe and hidden away for several decades, preserving myself exactly as I was, just as you see me now.
What? Oh? Do you really think so? But I'm so swollen. My face is just entirely too puffy, and you were right earlier - my fingers do look like sausages, but ... thank you, I suppose. I guess your kind do have a bit of discernment every now and again.
Anywho, being hidden away for the world for decades might seem very appealing at first, I have to confess that I grew a bit lonely. I've never been much of a people person, but when I say "hidden away," I mean that I was completely isolated from every aspect of society. I had no real way of knowing what was going on in the outside world. You really don't know how dreadfully boring it can be spending decade after day just drifting around inside a ... place. So imagine my insane delight when, about one year ago, a rather attractive and obviously quite powerful wizard suddenly appeared in my ... place. Of course, my first reaction was surprise. After all, even with all the research and preparation that I had done, I had no idea that two sou- people could even occupy the same ... hor- place. It was quickly apparent that he hadn't expected to be there, either. I had never witnessed such a combination of shock, confusion, panic, and rage.
And I'd never been so aroused in my life.
Oh, I do mean that. I was quite serious earlier when I said I've never been a people person. I'd never fancied anyone for any purpose other than procuring more power for myself. Oh, stop looking at me like that. Remember, I'm from a different decade. There were no Anti-Psychotic Spells in my day, and Glaxo Smythe hadn't even thought of the Anti-Depressant Charm yet. Therapy? Oh, you are a mudbl- OW!
The little bastard kicks me every time I attempt to use that word. It's as if he knows.
Where was I?
Oh, right. My unexpected guest.
In spite of what I said before, I am a master of seduction when I want to be. The problem now, however, was two-fold. One, I hadn't needed to seduce another person in, oh, about thirty or forty years. And two, he wouldn't shut up long enough to listen to a thing I said. He seemed to hate me with a level of disgust that I had only ever seen in myself. Of course, that just made me more attracted to him and more determined to have him. But he kept on and on about how he wasn't supposed to be there and how he needed to find a way out and how he knew who I was and everything I had ever done and that he hated me, something about how I'd killed his parents, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Well of course I didn't kill his parents! I'd been in a bloody c-c-hor-c-fuc-PLACE for thirty years!
No more questions from you, or I'll stop the story altogether.
Right, then. I quickly surmised that if I left him alone, time itself would do my work for me. And true enough, it did, but only partially. He never quite reached the point of returning my interest, but he did become willing to talk to me. And it was strange how many things we had in common. We were both orphaned as infants, we could both speak to snakes, we were both natural leaders. We had our differences, too. Mainly that he wanted to use his abilities for "good" and I wanted to use my abilities for myself. He had what he said his friends called a "saving-people-thing" while I had a ... well, we'll just call it a "thing," shall we?
Three months passed in just that way, with us trying to make the best of what was a truly precarious situation. We still weren't sure how he had come to be where I was. All he could determine was that it was an accident resulting from a tracking spell that was extraordinarily powerful in its inception. He had thought that he was finished with all the tracking that he needed to do, several years ago, but forgot to extinguish the spell. The last thing he remembered from before appearing in my presence was having a cup of tea at a reunion for members of some little society of his.
And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, we were both just ... not there anymore. Instead, we were lying next to one another in a bed at St. Mungo's Hospital, surrounded by a very puzzled group of people. Now, I didn't know a single one of them, but my companion recognised them right away. There was a lanky, ginger-haired young man, a girl who was one of your kind and in desperate need of a hairbrush and an honest mirror, and a greasy-skinned, dark-haired, older man with a rather hawkish nose and a devilish smirk. They were the ones who were responsible for getting us out of the ... place.
"Did I not tell you it would work?" the older man asked and the other two looked as if agreeing with him equalled the consumption of broken glass. Whatever they had done to retrieve us had obviously been highly unconventional, possibly dark, and no doubt immoral. I was impressed.
One would have thought that there would have been some sort of obnoxiously sentimental reunion. But there was silence. And then snickering from the greasy fellow. It was at just that instance when I perceived a strange tingling feeling in my chest and an overwhelming sensation, which, prior to that moment, I had never experienced. It was as if the man next to me, for whom my previous attraction had been only physical, had become the single most important person in the world. More important than myself, if you can imagine such a thing. And I wanted, no I needed to touch him, to stroke his hair and look in to his eyes and sigh and whisper all sorts of nonsense.
And when I looked at him, he seemed to be experiencing the very same thing. He looked at me in the queerest way, gulped, and then stuttered, "I - I - I think I love you."
The greasy man laughed in a manner most unholy, and the other two were shrieking with rage and apologies. Sputtering out things like, "We're so sorry" and "He said it was the only way." Sheer pandemonium. Utter chaos. Rage. Accusations. Defensiveness. Confusion.
Thinking about it still makes me a tad bit giddy.
After the uproar peaked and crested, the new object of my deepest affection and I were able to determine what had happened. My darling had collapsed at his little meeting and had been rushed to St. Mungo's. The Healers were completely befuddled by his situation, but his clever friends eventually deduced that his spirit wasn't there, it was-
Well of course he wasn't dead! Haven't I just told you that he was spending the time with me in my hidden little corner of reality? Have you listened at all, or have I just been rambling on and on for no reason at all?
Don't bother answering. I'm moving on to the next point. Do keep up.
His friends were at a complete loss at how to bring his spirit back to his body, and just as they were thinking of giving up, the Muggleborn witch made the connection that he had gone to where I was, although she still didn't know why. I understand that a lot of disagreement went on between various concerned parties, and they were surprised when Sir Sallow reminded them that the most important thing was to get my loveling back to his body. Furthermore, it was Sir Sallow that informed them that due to the nature of the ... er ... places, they wouldn't be able to bring my inamorato back without pulling me along with him.
And do you believe that they actually had to think about it? They honestly thought about letting my swain die rather than bring me along too. Sir Sallow again had the answer. They would magically bond us to one another without our consent as soon as I appeared and my dearest heart awakened, primarily so that I would be rendered incapacitated by the new emotions and sensations long enough for them to administer lots of Anti-Psychotic Spells and Behaviuor Modifying Charms. Rather rude, when you think about it, but I take it as a testament to my personal power that they would fear me so highly.
Supposedly, this bonding was to be temporary. We were to remain in this magically matrimonial state for three months, under the close supervision of Sir Sallow himself, after which time I would be put through all sorts of examinations to insure that the Anti-Psychotics and the Behaviour Modification was working. Then, if it seemed that I presented no threat to anyone, the medicinal spells would continue and the bond would be dissolved.
That Sir Sallow -- he's a very wily fellow.
Three months we stayed with him. And because the Bonding Spell between us was so very strong, my paramour and I only really saw one another. We spend our days talking at great length about magic and politics and how things like courage and ambition had more in common than contrast, drinking tea and making cynical jokes about the ineptitude of Seers. At night, we took one another to heights of ecstasy that could never be reached by magic alone, or by love alone, but only by magic and love together. We barely noticed our host's presence at all.
When our three months were up, I went through my examinations and tests and was found to be acceptable, provided that I continued with my medicinal spells. I was told that I would have to remain in residence with the greasy fellow, but that my precious petal would be free to go on about his life. The Bonding spell would be removed immediately.
My dearest and I were outraged. Why in Salazar's name would these people think that we would want to separate at this point? We had not only bonded magically at that point -- we had also bonded em- emo- e- e- ... well, at a deeper level. And what's more, I was expected to remain under the supervision of the scowling, smirking, depressing, and might I add, slightly odorous man at whose mercy I had been for the past three months?
Yes, that's exactly it. Very suspicious, the entire thing.
And here's the twist. My dearest love and I have another thing in common -- we are both highly skilled in the art of making other people do what we want. We're both master manipulators.
And we can tell when someone else is at least trying to do the same.
Too bad for Sir Sallow that he is more gifted with potions than he is with manipulation. When my adored lover and I cleared our heads enough to think on it together, the truth was nearly blinding. Sir Sallow had tainted my darling's tea with a potion, causing the tracking spell to switch itself back on and amplifying its effects. He knew all along that I would have to be brought along were they to retrieve my loving duckie from his banishment. He thought that a simple binding spell would keep us both under control long enough to get the Ministry to release me solely to him. The entire series of events was constructed simply to bring me to him.
Why? WHY? BECAUSE I'M LORD VO-
Ahem.
That is to say, er, because I'm lor-ve-ly. Lovely. Yes. I'm extremely physically attractive and he fancied me a great deal.
Annnnyway. We quickly exposed him. And when I say we exposed him, what I mean is that my paramour and I left Sir Sallow hanging mid-air by his ankle, with his robe banished and his tattered underwear on display like a cake in a shop window. He really is lucky that all of those Anti-Psychotic Spells actually did work on me. Otherwise, things would have been much worse for him.
Now, my loveling does carry a bit of weight with the current political administration. Once Minister Weasley heard the entire story and viewed all of the evidence, he agreed to change the rules a little bit. We were allowed to go free together, my love and I, but I was still to receive my medicinal and rehabilitative spells and charms, and really, thank Salazar for that part -- those Anti-Depressants really do help. Do you take them? Well you should. They're divine.
And I would not be allowed to carry a wand any time that I was to be alone. We were to keep the state of our affairs private and not give our information to the press or the public. There are a few other things -- additional wards, travel restrictions and the like.
Why all the restrictions? Oh look, what's that over there? Is that a butterfly?
But most importantly, we would not only be allowed to stay magically bonded, but we would be given the legal, non-magical status of "married" as well. That's right -- my beloved, my inamorato, my pet, my wicked, fantastic petal could now become ... my husband.
Yes, it is romantic, I agree. Not that I would normally have gone in for that sort of thing, but like I said, I'd spent nearly half of a century locked away from the world. Experiences like that can have an effect on people.
And not a moment too soon, because within a week of our official wedding, we discovered that I was expecting a sneaky little slitherling of our own. I was elated. Of course, he was elated, too, but we're talking about me here, aren't we. Yes, I was thrilled. After all, the hand that rocks the cradle does rule the world.
So here I am, and that's the tale. And I hear the Healer calling for me, so I'd-
What's that? What do you mean "I haven't answered your question?" I've just told you the entire bloody story! What more do you want, you ungrateful peasant?
Ooooohhhhhh. You were being literal about how two men could conceive a child together? Really? Why in the world would you bother me with such an inane question when you could ask a Healer? It isn't my job to teach you the basics of wizarding reproduction! For the love of Ravenclaw, read a book, trollop, or did your Muggle parents fail to teach you that, too? You see, this is exactly the problem with you people coming into our world, crossing the border into Diagon Alley and then not even bothering to wholly acquaint yourself with the magical world. You want all of the advantages of our community and our lifestyle but you haven't fully learned our language and our customs! Someone should put a stop to this! Someone ought to....
end
Author: crucio_4_coffee
Giftee: rit_globe
Word Count: 3075
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Warnings: Mpreg, silliness
A/N: Dear rit_globe -- I really wanted to grant your request for MPREG because you seemed so hopeful, but combining it with your additional requests for IC-ness, believable romance, forced marriage, and a happy ending with this pairing meant that I needed to lean on your request for "humor" as well. Hopefully, Tom isn't too "wimpy" for you here. After all, he can't exactly help it -- pregnancy hormones tend to make one emotional. ;) Many thanks to A. for her willingness to beta.
You look as if you've never seen a pregnant wizard before.
Oh. You haven't seen a pregnant wizard before? I thought that might be the case. I sensed your inexperience in the Wizarding World as soon as you sat down. I know what you are. I can almost smell the dirt in your blood. Normally, that smell might make me nauseous, but right now, I can't help but think that it might be good mixed with ice cream and bean porridge. Surely, you understand.
How? Well that's a bit rude, is it not? After all, you don't hear me asking you how you came to be in your condition. Exactly the sort of inferior behaviour I would expect from one of your kind.
Are you going to continue to stare at me? If the Ministry allowed me to bring my wand when I go out alone, I assure you that I would have already taught you a painful lesson in the use of Unforgivables by now, but ...
Fine. We've nothing to do but wait, anyway. Healers' offices are insufferably slow. But I won't be mentioning any names, so hang that right up. And some of the more ... intimate details, I will be keeping to myself. So you can hang that up, too. I'm not here to fuel your sordid female fantasies.
It all started with Helga Hufflepuff. Yes, that Helga Hufflepuff, and no, I don't care that you were a Hufflepuff, although I don't doubt it at all. It seems that she once had a fantastic cup just overrunning with healing, earth magic, and in my younger days -- that is, in my original younger days, I happened to get my beautifully thin fingers on it.
What? My fingers are not fat! They're swollen, you miserable, Muggle-shagging harpy!
Anyway, as I was saying ...
Between a foolish House Elf and my dashing good looks, I was able to procure this cup to add to my own personal collection of Founders' relics. But what does one do with an object as fantastic as Hufflepuff's cup? I tried drinking from it, and while I have to admit that I enjoyed the greatest cup of tea ever experienced in this universe, the magical effect caused me to hug trees.
Needless to say, I found that to be unacceptable.
It just so happened that I had been working on a bit of a ... project, an idea that had stricken my fancy back when I was attending Hogwarts. I had a particular ... career path in mind for myself and I knew, even back then, that there would be certain ... hmmm ... occupational hazards, but being the highly advanced, very powerful wizard that I was, I determined how to preserve myself and follow my chosen profession at the same time.
What was that you sa-? Oh - yes. "What profession?"
I - I - I'mnotallowedtorevealthatforreasonsIshallattempttoexplainlater.
Damn. This is going to be difficult.
Why don't I just get back to the cup? Very well. As I was saying, I found a way to use Hufflepuff's cup for my little self-preservation project. And it went well. Perfectly, actually. I was able to keep myself safe and hidden away for several decades, preserving myself exactly as I was, just as you see me now.
What? Oh? Do you really think so? But I'm so swollen. My face is just entirely too puffy, and you were right earlier - my fingers do look like sausages, but ... thank you, I suppose. I guess your kind do have a bit of discernment every now and again.
Anywho, being hidden away for the world for decades might seem very appealing at first, I have to confess that I grew a bit lonely. I've never been much of a people person, but when I say "hidden away," I mean that I was completely isolated from every aspect of society. I had no real way of knowing what was going on in the outside world. You really don't know how dreadfully boring it can be spending decade after day just drifting around inside a ... place. So imagine my insane delight when, about one year ago, a rather attractive and obviously quite powerful wizard suddenly appeared in my ... place. Of course, my first reaction was surprise. After all, even with all the research and preparation that I had done, I had no idea that two sou- people could even occupy the same ... hor- place. It was quickly apparent that he hadn't expected to be there, either. I had never witnessed such a combination of shock, confusion, panic, and rage.
And I'd never been so aroused in my life.
Oh, I do mean that. I was quite serious earlier when I said I've never been a people person. I'd never fancied anyone for any purpose other than procuring more power for myself. Oh, stop looking at me like that. Remember, I'm from a different decade. There were no Anti-Psychotic Spells in my day, and Glaxo Smythe hadn't even thought of the Anti-Depressant Charm yet. Therapy? Oh, you are a mudbl- OW!
The little bastard kicks me every time I attempt to use that word. It's as if he knows.
Where was I?
Oh, right. My unexpected guest.
In spite of what I said before, I am a master of seduction when I want to be. The problem now, however, was two-fold. One, I hadn't needed to seduce another person in, oh, about thirty or forty years. And two, he wouldn't shut up long enough to listen to a thing I said. He seemed to hate me with a level of disgust that I had only ever seen in myself. Of course, that just made me more attracted to him and more determined to have him. But he kept on and on about how he wasn't supposed to be there and how he needed to find a way out and how he knew who I was and everything I had ever done and that he hated me, something about how I'd killed his parents, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Well of course I didn't kill his parents! I'd been in a bloody c-c-hor-c-fuc-PLACE for thirty years!
No more questions from you, or I'll stop the story altogether.
Right, then. I quickly surmised that if I left him alone, time itself would do my work for me. And true enough, it did, but only partially. He never quite reached the point of returning my interest, but he did become willing to talk to me. And it was strange how many things we had in common. We were both orphaned as infants, we could both speak to snakes, we were both natural leaders. We had our differences, too. Mainly that he wanted to use his abilities for "good" and I wanted to use my abilities for myself. He had what he said his friends called a "saving-people-thing" while I had a ... well, we'll just call it a "thing," shall we?
Three months passed in just that way, with us trying to make the best of what was a truly precarious situation. We still weren't sure how he had come to be where I was. All he could determine was that it was an accident resulting from a tracking spell that was extraordinarily powerful in its inception. He had thought that he was finished with all the tracking that he needed to do, several years ago, but forgot to extinguish the spell. The last thing he remembered from before appearing in my presence was having a cup of tea at a reunion for members of some little society of his.
And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, we were both just ... not there anymore. Instead, we were lying next to one another in a bed at St. Mungo's Hospital, surrounded by a very puzzled group of people. Now, I didn't know a single one of them, but my companion recognised them right away. There was a lanky, ginger-haired young man, a girl who was one of your kind and in desperate need of a hairbrush and an honest mirror, and a greasy-skinned, dark-haired, older man with a rather hawkish nose and a devilish smirk. They were the ones who were responsible for getting us out of the ... place.
"Did I not tell you it would work?" the older man asked and the other two looked as if agreeing with him equalled the consumption of broken glass. Whatever they had done to retrieve us had obviously been highly unconventional, possibly dark, and no doubt immoral. I was impressed.
One would have thought that there would have been some sort of obnoxiously sentimental reunion. But there was silence. And then snickering from the greasy fellow. It was at just that instance when I perceived a strange tingling feeling in my chest and an overwhelming sensation, which, prior to that moment, I had never experienced. It was as if the man next to me, for whom my previous attraction had been only physical, had become the single most important person in the world. More important than myself, if you can imagine such a thing. And I wanted, no I needed to touch him, to stroke his hair and look in to his eyes and sigh and whisper all sorts of nonsense.
And when I looked at him, he seemed to be experiencing the very same thing. He looked at me in the queerest way, gulped, and then stuttered, "I - I - I think I love you."
The greasy man laughed in a manner most unholy, and the other two were shrieking with rage and apologies. Sputtering out things like, "We're so sorry" and "He said it was the only way." Sheer pandemonium. Utter chaos. Rage. Accusations. Defensiveness. Confusion.
Thinking about it still makes me a tad bit giddy.
After the uproar peaked and crested, the new object of my deepest affection and I were able to determine what had happened. My darling had collapsed at his little meeting and had been rushed to St. Mungo's. The Healers were completely befuddled by his situation, but his clever friends eventually deduced that his spirit wasn't there, it was-
Well of course he wasn't dead! Haven't I just told you that he was spending the time with me in my hidden little corner of reality? Have you listened at all, or have I just been rambling on and on for no reason at all?
Don't bother answering. I'm moving on to the next point. Do keep up.
His friends were at a complete loss at how to bring his spirit back to his body, and just as they were thinking of giving up, the Muggleborn witch made the connection that he had gone to where I was, although she still didn't know why. I understand that a lot of disagreement went on between various concerned parties, and they were surprised when Sir Sallow reminded them that the most important thing was to get my loveling back to his body. Furthermore, it was Sir Sallow that informed them that due to the nature of the ... er ... places, they wouldn't be able to bring my inamorato back without pulling me along with him.
And do you believe that they actually had to think about it? They honestly thought about letting my swain die rather than bring me along too. Sir Sallow again had the answer. They would magically bond us to one another without our consent as soon as I appeared and my dearest heart awakened, primarily so that I would be rendered incapacitated by the new emotions and sensations long enough for them to administer lots of Anti-Psychotic Spells and Behaviuor Modifying Charms. Rather rude, when you think about it, but I take it as a testament to my personal power that they would fear me so highly.
Supposedly, this bonding was to be temporary. We were to remain in this magically matrimonial state for three months, under the close supervision of Sir Sallow himself, after which time I would be put through all sorts of examinations to insure that the Anti-Psychotics and the Behaviour Modification was working. Then, if it seemed that I presented no threat to anyone, the medicinal spells would continue and the bond would be dissolved.
That Sir Sallow -- he's a very wily fellow.
Three months we stayed with him. And because the Bonding Spell between us was so very strong, my paramour and I only really saw one another. We spend our days talking at great length about magic and politics and how things like courage and ambition had more in common than contrast, drinking tea and making cynical jokes about the ineptitude of Seers. At night, we took one another to heights of ecstasy that could never be reached by magic alone, or by love alone, but only by magic and love together. We barely noticed our host's presence at all.
When our three months were up, I went through my examinations and tests and was found to be acceptable, provided that I continued with my medicinal spells. I was told that I would have to remain in residence with the greasy fellow, but that my precious petal would be free to go on about his life. The Bonding spell would be removed immediately.
My dearest and I were outraged. Why in Salazar's name would these people think that we would want to separate at this point? We had not only bonded magically at that point -- we had also bonded em- emo- e- e- ... well, at a deeper level. And what's more, I was expected to remain under the supervision of the scowling, smirking, depressing, and might I add, slightly odorous man at whose mercy I had been for the past three months?
Yes, that's exactly it. Very suspicious, the entire thing.
And here's the twist. My dearest love and I have another thing in common -- we are both highly skilled in the art of making other people do what we want. We're both master manipulators.
And we can tell when someone else is at least trying to do the same.
Too bad for Sir Sallow that he is more gifted with potions than he is with manipulation. When my adored lover and I cleared our heads enough to think on it together, the truth was nearly blinding. Sir Sallow had tainted my darling's tea with a potion, causing the tracking spell to switch itself back on and amplifying its effects. He knew all along that I would have to be brought along were they to retrieve my loving duckie from his banishment. He thought that a simple binding spell would keep us both under control long enough to get the Ministry to release me solely to him. The entire series of events was constructed simply to bring me to him.
Why? WHY? BECAUSE I'M LORD VO-
Ahem.
That is to say, er, because I'm lor-ve-ly. Lovely. Yes. I'm extremely physically attractive and he fancied me a great deal.
Annnnyway. We quickly exposed him. And when I say we exposed him, what I mean is that my paramour and I left Sir Sallow hanging mid-air by his ankle, with his robe banished and his tattered underwear on display like a cake in a shop window. He really is lucky that all of those Anti-Psychotic Spells actually did work on me. Otherwise, things would have been much worse for him.
Now, my loveling does carry a bit of weight with the current political administration. Once Minister Weasley heard the entire story and viewed all of the evidence, he agreed to change the rules a little bit. We were allowed to go free together, my love and I, but I was still to receive my medicinal and rehabilitative spells and charms, and really, thank Salazar for that part -- those Anti-Depressants really do help. Do you take them? Well you should. They're divine.
And I would not be allowed to carry a wand any time that I was to be alone. We were to keep the state of our affairs private and not give our information to the press or the public. There are a few other things -- additional wards, travel restrictions and the like.
Why all the restrictions? Oh look, what's that over there? Is that a butterfly?
But most importantly, we would not only be allowed to stay magically bonded, but we would be given the legal, non-magical status of "married" as well. That's right -- my beloved, my inamorato, my pet, my wicked, fantastic petal could now become ... my husband.
Yes, it is romantic, I agree. Not that I would normally have gone in for that sort of thing, but like I said, I'd spent nearly half of a century locked away from the world. Experiences like that can have an effect on people.
And not a moment too soon, because within a week of our official wedding, we discovered that I was expecting a sneaky little slitherling of our own. I was elated. Of course, he was elated, too, but we're talking about me here, aren't we. Yes, I was thrilled. After all, the hand that rocks the cradle does rule the world.
So here I am, and that's the tale. And I hear the Healer calling for me, so I'd-
What's that? What do you mean "I haven't answered your question?" I've just told you the entire bloody story! What more do you want, you ungrateful peasant?
Ooooohhhhhh. You were being literal about how two men could conceive a child together? Really? Why in the world would you bother me with such an inane question when you could ask a Healer? It isn't my job to teach you the basics of wizarding reproduction! For the love of Ravenclaw, read a book, trollop, or did your Muggle parents fail to teach you that, too? You see, this is exactly the problem with you people coming into our world, crossing the border into Diagon Alley and then not even bothering to wholly acquaint yourself with the magical world. You want all of the advantages of our community and our lifestyle but you haven't fully learned our language and our customs! Someone should put a stop to this! Someone ought to....
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