Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy	By : AnasellaEmm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 75943 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related characters, places and themes belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic.
A/N: sorry, sorry, sorry for the long wait! Sad to say, but the story is very quickly coming to an end, and I believe there are two more chapters left before the epilogue. I do have a sequel already planned focusing on Zane’s life after Hogwarts, so just to give you guys a heads up on that. Thank you for the continued reviews and the many kind words! Oh, and a happy belated birthday to chrisadda and Losername! The chapter title comes from the song, “If You’re Not the One” by Daniel Bedingfield.
Chapter 22: Never Know What the Future Brings
Blaise looked up from his paperwork when Margie, his secretary, walked in and called for his attention. “You have a visitor, Mr. Zabini.”
He looked down at his desk, to the agenda-sheet Margie wrote out for him every morning. “I’m not scheduled for an appointment.”
“He says that it is urgent,” Margie replied in a tight tone. “Should I send him away?”
Blaise shook his head wearily and gestured for her to let the visitor in.
She gave him a frown and proceeded to bring the visitor in to the grand office, closing the door behind her as she left.
The tall man, dressed in black robes, stepped forward and stuck his hand out to Blaise, introducing himself quickly. “Victor Reid, sir. I was told you could help me.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Reid,” Blaise said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. “What exactly can I help you with?”
“Actually, it’s more along the lines of me helping you,” Victor said.
“I don’t have time or the patience for riddles, Mr. Reid,” Blaise drawled. “Why are you here?”
“The Malfoys need a witness for their Appellate Analysis,” he said plainly, receiving a surprised look from the handsome lawyer. “I can be that witness.”
“And you are acquainted with the Malfoys? You have seen their parenting up close?”
“I am acquainted with them,” Victor said. “I’ve known Draco for a long time and have had the recent pleasure of meeting his wife.”
“The witnesses have to be close to the family, Mr. Reid. I am Zane’s godfather and have been friends with Draco since we were boys. I have never even heard your name mentioned before.”
“Ah, Mr. Zabini, but I have one thing that the other witnesses don’t have,” Victor said with a genuine smile. “Due to a slowly diminishing personality disorder, I have long ago developed an immunity to all truth-forcing potions, spells and magic.”
“You can withstand the power of veritaserum?” Blaise asked skeptically.
“Indeed, I can,” Victor replied. “I have lived most of my life lying through my teeth, so I can safely say that I’m very skilled at it.”
“Why would you do this for the Malfoys? What’s in it for you?” Blaise asked.
“I’d like to settle a few immoral affronts I’ve caused them,” he answered.
“How did you hear about their need for a witness?” Blaise continued his line of questioning. He was always known for studying a subject to death, needing to know everything in order to go forward. It was one of the reasons why he had the second-highest position of judicial advocacy at the Ministry.
“My mother is a friend of Narcissa Malfoy; I overheard a conversation of theirs over tea. I asked Madame Malfoy who was representing their case and she directed me to you.”
“All witnesses are subjected to a background check. Do you have anything on your record that I should know about, before I submit your name?”
“I’ve been jailed before for assault, but I was told that it would be removed from my record if I attended psychological rehabilitation sessions, which I have.”
Before Blaise could ask another question, Margie knocked on the door and poked her head into the room. “A visitor for you, Mr. Zabini. She says she doesn’t have an appointment but that it’s urgent.”
“Aren’t they all?” Blaise murmured beneath his breath. “You can show her in once Mr. Reid has left.”
Margie’s lip curled. “She said it can’t wait and that she’s terribly sorry she’s interrupting, but she really needs to see you.”
Blaise ran a hand down his face and nodded. “I’m sorry for that, Mr. Reid. It’s been a busy few days.”
“I don’t mind,” Victor said with a nonchalant shrug. “Please, see to this person and I’ll wait.”
Blaise stood up from behind his desk to greet his visitor when he suddenly stopped and stared at the open door and the woman standing in the middle of the doorway.
“Miss Westin?” Blaise asked in a surprised voice. “What are you doing here?”
Rhonda bit her lip and pushed her glasses up her nose, making them even more crooked than they were before. “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Zabini, for intruding, but I just came back from a departmental meeting and had to come talk to you.”
“Well, please, come sit down. If Mr. Reid has no other questions, then my meeting with him is through.”
Victor stood up and smiled at the two of them. “I’ll see you at the hearing, then. Goodbye Mr. Zabini, thank you for your time.”
Blaise nodded cordially at the man and then heaved a sigh of relief once he had left. “Sorry about that, Miss Westin. I’ve had a few unexpected visitors as of late. Now, what can I do for you?”
She pushed her glasses from the side, throwing them off-balance yet again. “I needed to go over the Malfoy case with you since I just finished speaking with the Wizengamot member watching their case. I told him we were filing for an Appellate Analysis, and he said that that is completely legal and as long as we can procure the five witnesses then we’re doing okay.” Rhonda smiled slightly and occupied her nervous fingers with an errant lock of hair. “I asked Mister Perez if I could possibly fill in for the fifth member, but he said I don’t qualify since I would be on the panel that decides their fate.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Blaise smiled. “But, thankfully, we’ve got all our witnesses; I’m going to submit their names for their background checks today.”
“Then everything is working out smoothly,” she said. “I can drop off the names at Mister Perez’s office. I’m on my way back there to pick up my contracts and some extra forms.”
Blaise shuffled through the papers on his desk and pulled out the scrap of parchment with the four names written on it. He quickly jotted down Victor Reid’s name and handed it to Rhonda. He looked up at her and couldn’t help but smile at her disheveled appearance. Many blonde strands of hair had escaped the tight chignon she had tried to make and her glasses were still crooked against her face, highlighting one eye more than the other.
He was used to glamorous women, supermodels, actresses, high society dames, the crème de la crème. He had never met anyone who worried less about their appearance. Rhonda seemed to be living in a world where she didn’t really care what she wore or how tousled she seemed. He actually liked that about her. She just didn’t care, and it gave her a sense of maturity he never seemed to find with those other women.
“Mr. Zabini?” she asked cautiously. “Did you hear me?”
He blinked twice and then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry… I was distracted.”
“Oh,” she said with a small smile.
Damn it all, does she have a nice smile, or what? All straight teeth with those full lips…
“Mr. Zabini, are you alright?” she asked, a worried look on her face.
“Perfectly fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head of those ridiculous thoughts. “Been working a bit too hard, I’m guessing.”
She nodded in understanding. “Yes, that is something that could very well rob you of normal functioning. I sometimes feel like maybe a stint in Azkaban would be better than coming to work every day.”
He laughed at that and noticed her surprised look. She seemed surprised that she could make him laugh. He liked that about her. Her insecurity was endearing.
“Um, I should get going. I’ll take those names and I’ll be in contact with you for the Malfoy case anytime I hear something new or important,” she said, standing up and knocking down the cup of coffee on his desk with her notebooks. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
He waved away her busy hands as he pulled out his wand and cleaned everything up with a swish and point. “Don’t worry, Miss Westin, everything is back to normal.” He was hiding a smile at her frazzled energy, her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her shaky hands travelling to try and fix her crooked glasses.
“I’m such a bloody klutz,” she sighed, knocking her glasses askew just once more. “I really am sorry, Mr. Zabini.”
“Again, you have nothing to worry about,” Blaise smiled. “I knock things down all the time.”
“You’re just saying that,” she murmured.
“No, it’s true. I’m always driving Margie crazy with how clumsy I can be. She’s always picking up after me,” he explained.
“Margie? Your receptionist?” Rhonda asked tentatively.
He nodded and noted the hint of relief on her face. For some reason his feet moved him closer to her, her eyes widening slightly as he approached her. They didn’t say a word to each other as he stepped up and adjusted her glasses until they sat straight on her face. Her cheeks were bright pink and her eyes were wide, bright brown, staring up at him.
She gulped as his fingers slid down and caressed her cheeks. He smiled at her and then stepped back.
“I’ll be on my way,” she said with several cracks in her voice, “before I do something like burn your entire office down or something equally destructive.”
“Goodbye Miss Westin,” he called out cheerfully as he leaned against his desk.
She turned to look at him, her head tilted to the side. “Goodbye,” she squeaked.
He smiled, watching her leave the room in a hurry, her knee-length business skirt molded to her derriere quite nicely and her long legs tripping slightly on the door ledge as she finally disappeared.
Pansy adjusted the hairpiece on her head, looking into the mirror with a grimace on her face. How could she have lost her hair? She had visited seventeen Healers and even a couple of muggle doctors, and none of them knew why she had suddenly gone bald.
“Pansy?” she heard the tiny voice of her son behind her.
“What?” she asked a little too harshly as she turned to find Zane standing in the doorway staring at her blonde hairpiece.
“I like that color on your hair,” he said. “It’s like Daddy’s.”
She stared at him and frowned. “Uh, thank you, Zane.”
“Can you take me to the park?” he asked, walking into the room and passing by her open closet. He lingered there, looking at all the clothes and running his hands over the silky fabrics. “I want to play outside, please.”
“Ask Angelo,” she said distractedly. “I have to visit the damn wigmaker again.”
“Uh-oh, Pansy, one bad word,” he giggled. “You have to sit in time-out.”
“Oh, I’ll do that immediately,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Now, go away. Angelo will take you somewhere.”
“I can’t find Jello,” Zane explained. He made sure she wasn’t looking when he slipped the everlasting dungbomb into her closet.
“He should be in the study,” she said, swiping away the fake bangs from her face.
Zane ran his hand over an extra soft dress and then left the room, his short legs accelerating once he neared his room. He walked over to the bed and looked under it, smiling when he found the identical faces peering back at him.
“Did you put the dungbomb in her closet?” Fred Weasley asked, crawling out from under the bed.
“Yes, I put it in there and right in the middle like you told me to,” Zane said, jumping up onto the bed and bouncing a few times on it. “What is the dumbomb going to do, again?”
“It’s going to make all of her clothes smell really nice,” George explained, climbing onto the massive bed and bouncing next to Zane. “The smell will never come off unless she buys a special perfume from us for only three hundred galleons.”
Zane’s eyes widened considerably. “That’s a lot of moneys! One time, Gampa and Gamma gave me ten gallons, and I got to buy anything in the whole store!”
“Galleons, mate, not gallons,” Fred smiled. “Now, we’ll be back tonight to check up on you and read you your bedtime story, okay?”
“Okay!” Zane said.
He watched them leave the room through the floo. He jumped off the bed and ran to find Jello to see if he would take him to the park. Jello wasn’t a bad man, just very boring. He liked to talk about moneys and pretty ladies and a lot of boring stuff, but Zane usually just tuned him out.
Twirling the piece of graphite in his hand over and over, Draco watched the dark substance stain his fingers, leaving them a dark grey mess. His mind wasn’t focusing on the graphite stains, or the blueprints sitting in front of him. He was supposed to finish the sketches for a project he had started weeks prior, but couldn’t seem to focus on the task at hand.
His guilt was starting to eat at him. He had done something unforgivable. He had done something sneaky, underhanded, immature, and completely irrational. It had been two weeks since Zane had been taken to France and two weeks since Draco had done that one unforgivable thing.
He looked up at the clock near his desk and sighed with the realization that he couldn’t keep his guilt at bay any longer. He had to tell Hermione the truth, had to confess his deplorable deed. She would probably hate him, would most likely hurt him, and would definitely want to smack him. He deserved it all.
Throwing down the piece of graphite, he rolled up the blueprints and handed them to Roger, his right-hand at the company, and left the office building in a hurry, his cloak clutched in his hand as he turned the corner and apparated straight home.
He arrived to an empty flat, a note from Hermione left on the coffee table telling him that she was out shopping with her mother. He changed out of his work clothes and slipped into a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt, leaving the flat again to run. He had been slacking in his exercise habits, not doing his usual three-times-a-week run through their neighborhood.
Maybe running would empty his head of the guilt… of the pain… of the loss. True, he did have Hermione, who loved him, whom he loved back. But, he needed his son. He also had to tell Hermione what he had done. He wouldn’t be able to look at her one more moment without her knowing.
He ran for two hours, never slowing his pace, never letting the burning in his chest and legs slow him down or tempt him to stop. Every time his foot hit the cement, he thought of his son, far away, living with a woman who probably could have brought down Voldemort with the power of her nagging alone.
By the time he reached the flat, he was beyond exhausted; his breath came in short bursts as he clutched his side and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his arm. He unlocked the door and walked into the foyer, wincing as he realized he had forgotten to stretch before running, his muscles now screaming at him to not walk so slowly.
“Draco?” Hermione’s voice permeated through the walls from the bedroom. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he called back, throwing his wand onto the coffee table and collapsing on the couch.
She appeared in the doorway, the light behind her, highlighting the frizz that never seemed to want to go away no matter how many times she used the conditioner Donny gave her. “Where have you been? I was a bit worried.”
“Sorry; I went running, lost track of time” he sighed, stretching his legs out in front of him and taking a steadying breath.
“Did you have a good run?” she asked, coming to sit next to him on the couch and then leaning away from him. “Goodness, you smell like the outside.”
“Yeah,” he replied tonelessly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked suddenly.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, looking directly at the blank television.
“What is it?”
“I did something foolish,” he said slowly. “I haven’t been able to tell you, because well, for one, I didn’t recall doing it until yesterday, and because I haven’t had the courage to. That’s something you remember about the teenage Draco, right? I was a coward?”
She tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I couldn’t face the truth that my son was taken away from me,” he continued. “I wasn’t entirely in my right mind when I left that hospital room two weeks ago. I went and … and …”
“Draco, what did you do?”
“I went to a Healer,” he said simply, never meeting her curious gaze. His eyes focused straight ahead, unblinking. “He took off the semi-permanent contraceptive charm I had.”
She stayed silent for a moment, digesting his words.
“We’ve been having unprotected sex for two weeks now,” he continued.
More silence.
“I think I may have lost a bit of my sanity when they said they were taking Zane away. I had felt like my mind was disconnected from the rest of my body, doing things its own way. Thinking about it now, I’m pretty sure my subconscious thought to replace Zane with another child. I barely remember doing it. I suddenly remembered last night before I fell asleep, that I had gone to the Healer and asked to have the contraceptive charm reversed. That’s why I think I might have gone or am going crazy.”
Even more silence.
“If I had remembered reversing the charm, I would have said something, Hermione,” he said, his voice still without emotion. “But, now I’m not so sure I regret doing it. The thought of you having my child doesn’t sound so repulsive.”
He was starting to worry about her silence. Where were the nine million questions, the yelling, the screaming, the cursing?
He didn’t dare look at her. He knew what he had done was wrong, beyond wrong, and he wasn’t going to look her in the eye until he knew how she felt about it all.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
“What do you want me to say?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I have to get out of here,” she said quickly, moving to get off the couch.
Draco’s warm hand caught her wrist, dragged her face to look at him. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do, what to say,” she said in a controlled voice. “I have to get away from you.”
His hand fell limply from her wrist, his eyes burning with a hatred she hadn’t seen since they were children, since the time they had reunited when Zane was first enrolled in school. “Then, go.”
“Draco…”
“Go!” he snarled, lifting himself off the couch and leaving the room.
“I just need time to think!” she yelled back at him. “You can’t have expected me to take this all in stride!”
“Get the hell out!” he screamed through the closed door.
She rolled her eyes. Yeah, like I’m going to leave now because you order me to. Think again, buddy. She sank back against the couch, her heart starting to catch up with her mind, beating irregularly with the news that Draco had kept from her.
She hadn’t had any symptoms of pregnancy; nothing had felt different for the past two weeks. She thought to herself, using a mental calendar: her last period had ended the day Zane had fallen off the balcony.
She pressed a hand to her flat belly, her fingers tracing the width of it. She could imagine a little boy, just like Zane… big, trusting eyes; a wide, innocent smile… She could imagine a little girl with guilty grey eyes, a smirk ready to erupt at a moment’s notice, and out-of-control hair the color of an angel’s halo.
She had always heard women saying that they had these “feelings” when they became pregnant, like they just knew that they were with child. She didn’t feel anything like that. That was probably a good thing, she told herself. She wasn’t ready to have kids… was she?
She was already a mother, already a wife… so her rationale didn’t completely make sense. She was very prepared to have a child. She loved children, would love any child given to her. It had only taken days for her to fall completely in love with Zane, and he didn’t even have her blood running through his veins.
She really didn’t know what to do about Draco, sulking in his room. He probably thought she was angry with the news he gave her. To tell the complete truth, she was a bit angry, never liking to have no control over her life. She would have liked to have been aware ahead of time of the possibility of getting pregnant, but ever since marrying Draco, things tended to be taken out of her control, out of her hands.
“You’re still here,” she heard Draco’s voice say from the entryway of the living room.
“Yes,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“I’m not going to apologize,” he said bluntly.
She looked up at him, he was freshly showered, his hair still wet and pushed off his face. He looked remarkably like he used to when they had first started at Hogwarts, his face in a scowl.
“I’m not asking you to,” she replied.
“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked.
“Because you did that job for me,” she said.
“I don’t like you,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, I don’t like you much either,” she told him.
They stayed quiet, their breathing the only sound in the room.
He came to sit beside her on the couch, not touching her, not saying a word. They sat side-by-side, their thoughts going in every possible direction.
“Do you know if you’re…”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t know.”
“I want to say I’m sorry for not knowing about this sooner, but I can’t. I want it too much. I want you to have my child. You know my selfishness knows no bounds.”
“I’m not angry, Draco,” she said.
“I know. You stayed.”
“You forgot to add arrogance along with selfishness.”
He gave a short laugh at that.
“I need to talk to someone,” she said, “most preferably another woman.”
“Whatever you need,” he shrugged.
She stood up and toppled back down when Draco caught her around the waist and smashed his lips to hers, as always, showing her what he had a hard time saying in words. He pulled away slowly, dragging his hands off of her waist, slowly lingering against her stomach.
They exchanged a subtle look and she left him on the couch, walking to the door with haste lest she turn around and shag her husband despite his mental lapses.
“I miss you oodles and oodles,” Donny said to the green flames, smiling at Oliver’s head. “The shirt I stole from you has lost its smell.”
“Ye stole my shirt? Is it the one I use fer trainin’?” he asked.
She smiled widely. “Yes.”
“Ach, I’ve been lookin’ fer that shirt, Donatella,” he said with a betraying smile. “Tell me it was washed before ye filched it.”
“Nope. It smells like you after a nice, rough, training session. I fall asleep with it,” she explained. “It smells so manly.”
“Ye’ll be the absolute death of me, lass,” he laughed. He stopped when he heard the knock at Donny’s door. “Expectin’ someone?”
“No,” she said. “Maybe it’s my boyfriend rental delivery.”
“Ha-ha,” he said dryly, watching her walk to the door.
Donny opened the door to find Hermione, who smiled wanly at her. Oliver watched the two of them talk and then watched as Donny walked over to the floo and blew him a kiss. “It’s girl-talk time! Bye, Woodie! Have fun in Lafayette!”
He waved and his head disappeared from the hearth, the flames turning back to a brilliant, deep orange.
Donny turned back to Hermione and pointed to the couch for them to sit. “What’s on your mind, love?” she asked as she grabbed her wand and conjured up two glasses of juice.
Hermione shrugged and accepted the juice with a polite nod. “I came to ask you a few questions.”
“Yeah, sure--” Donny stopped when she heard another knock on the door. “Oh, that must be Narcissa.”
“Narcissa?” Hermione choked. “Here?”
“Yeah, I invited her over for tea. It’s like a gossip explosion whenever she comes around. I love it,” Donny smiled as she walked to the door.
Hermione put the glass of juice down on the coffee table, her hand shaking too much to keep it steady. She heard the two women at the door greeting each other warmly. She had become used to Narcissa’s loving nature, something that still somewhat surprised her to this day.
“Hermione, my darling!” Narcissa’s sing-song voice said as she walked into the living room. Floated into the living room would be more appropriate, her robes swaying behind her gracefully. “How are you?”
“I’m… fine, Narcissa,” Hermione said, standing up to hug the older woman.
“How is Draco?” Narcissa asked, taking the seat next to her daughter-in-law. “Are the two of you doing well?”
“We’re… fine,” Hermione said, feeling repetitive. “Draco still has his bouts of gloom and I sometimes find him sleeping in Zane’s room, but I think he’s trying to adjust.”
“Oh, my poor child,” Narcissa sighed. “Donny, sweetheart, come sit down. We can drink tea later.”
Donny obeyed, leaving the small kitchen to take the seat across from the two Malfoy women. “Have you two found your fifth witness.”
Hermione shook her head sadly. “Blaise said he had to speak with us later tonight… I think he needs a fifth name soon, but we really can’t think of anyone.”
“Everything will turn out for the best,” Donny assured her. “Zane is meant to be with you and Draco; fate is just taking a little while longer to get everything sorted out.”
“Our little, spiritual optimist,” Narcissa chuckled.
Donny smiled and lifted her arms in a careless gesture. “I just think that good things happen to good people if they are patient enough.”
“You’re starting to sound like a fortune cookie,” Narcissa said with a roll of her eyes.
Hermione watched them chat and laugh, her nerves building to mention her problem. She wanted to tell someone, find out if she was worrying for nothing. She blew a frustrated breath out. She should have just read a book on pregnancy to find a pregnancy check spell or potion… or screw that, she should have just walked to the closest chemist and picked up a pregnancy test to take a piss on and find out the old-fashioned way.
“Hermione!” Donny finally yelled. “Come back to us, doll-face!”
“Sorry,” Hermione said.
“I was just telling Narcissa that I don’t know why you’re here, not that you’re not welcome,” Donny said. “Before I answered the door, you said you had to ask me something?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I just wanted to know how you were doing,” Hermione said lamely. “I feel like the only time I see you these days is at work.”
“I’m as fine as I was yesterday when we talked,” Donny laughed. “You sure you’re okay, Hermione? You don’t seem yourself.”
“Actually, I think it’s just this headache,” she said. “I think I’ll stop by the chemist and pick up some pain reliever.”
“I think I may have some…” Donny said.
“No, it’s alright, I have to pick up a few things anyway,” Hermione said. “I’ll see you two soon.”
Narcissa and Donny watched Hermione leave the room at an unnatural pace. They turned to look at each other with curious looks. “You think she’s lying?”
“Oh, there is most definitely something going on with her,” Narcissa said. “Maybe she got into a fight with Draco? I know when Lucius works my last nerve, I tend to flee the manor and use his galleons on a nice spending spree… but then I end up buying lingerie and Lucius is the one who benefits from that!”
“That somehow doesn’t disgust me,” Donny said seriously. “You married one fine specimen of man there, Narcissa. If I didn’t love Woodie, I would definitely ask you to hand over Lucy-pie when you tire of him.”
“What’s this? You love young Oliver?” Narcissa asked excitedly. “When did this happen?”
Donny actually blushed. The first time Narcissa, or anybody for that matter, had seen her do it. “Um, yeah. I really do. He actually said it first.”
“Tell me everything,” Narcissa gushed. “I thought he was in the States for that camp.”
“Well, it was our one month anniversary a few weeks ago and he was in Des Moines, so I knew we wouldn’t be together for that, but I was never really into the whole anniversary thing. I mean, it had only been a month, and I don’t really care about celebrating or anything, but Woodie internationally apparated just for our anniversary! You know how difficult it is to get a license and approval to internationally apparate, but he did it, and he took me out to dinner, gave me a silver necklace that I have yet to take off and told me how he felt about me. He was all shy and stumbling over his words, Narcissa… I swear, I never cry, but the minute he finally got the words out, I burst into tears like some drama queen.”
“That’s fantastic, darling!” Narcissa said with a smile. “I knew you two would hit it off from the beginning.”
“I am beyond ecstatic. At first, I was worried that it was too soon for us to be saying we love each other after only a month, but Woodie just rolled his eyes at me, ‘Ach, lass, yer worried aboot nothin’!’” she said in a great imitation of her boyfriend.
“He’s absolutely right. I am so sick of society putting rules on how long it should take to fall in love. Goodness, just fall in love and don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s that simple.”
Donny nodded in agreement. “Now, if only Hermione had been here, she would have agreed. You know Draco was barely in the country a few weeks before those two got married. Simply amazing.”
Narcissa coughed lightly into her hand. “Yes, amazing.”
No need to tell Donny that it didn’t even happen until after the wedding…
Zane scrunched up his nose when he ran down to dinner that same evening. The smell in the dining room was disgusting. “Yuck!” he shouted, his fingers clamping his nose shut.
“Don’t run, Zane,” Pansy snapped, her face contorted in the most evil scowl he had ever seen.
“It’s stinky in here,” he said.
The man named Jello held his napkin over his face as he looked over at his wife. “Yes, I believe something has happened to your mother’s clothes.”
“Did you poop in your clothes, Pansy?” Zane asked, climbing up onto his chair, trying hard not to let go of his nose.
“Don’t use that type of language!” she shrieked, “and no, I didn’t poop in my clothes!”
“Pansy said poop,” Zane told Jello.
Jello said nothing, the look he got from his wife clearly predicted death if he said a word.
“Angelo, could you pour me some wine?” Pansy asked through her teeth.
He did as asked, dropping the napkin to do as she bid. He started coughing without the cloth barrier to protect his senses from the rank odor of the everlasting dungbomb. “Excuse me,” he coughed, quickly leaving the room.
“Where is Jello going?” Zane asked, still holding his nose and taking a bite of his food.
Pansy clenched her jaw and uncorked the wine bottle, drinking directly from it, tilting her head far back enough to lean the wig on her head a few inches.
“I can’t taste my food,” Zane complained.
“I don’t care,” Pansy said. “Go eat somewhere else.”
“Can I eat on my bed?” Zane tried.
“Fine,” she shrugged, knocking back another gulp of wine.
“Can I eat in your bed?” he asked.
He expected her to yell, to immediately say no, or to just glare at him. He didn’t really expect her to burst into tears.
“Uh-oh,” he said quietly to himself, watching her hands cover her face as her shoulders quivered in shaken sobs. “Don’t cry, Pansy.”
She ignored him, kept on crying.
He pinched his nose harder as he got down from his seat and walked over to his birthmother. He walked right up to her chair and put his small hand on her knee. “Don’t be sad,” he said in a nasally voice, his nose as closed as it could get. “It’s okay that you’re stinky and that you have no more hairs.”
She sobbed harder, her hands falling down to look at his hand on her knee. She looked at him, the boy who was her son, the boy who didn’t really belong with her. “I’m ugly, hideous… Angelo won’t even sleep in our bed!”
“You’re not ugly!” Zane said quickly, his innocent honesty taking precedence over every other instinct he had. “You have pretty eyes and they’re blue! Blue is my favoritest color second and then green is my favoritest first!”
She blinked at him, her tears staining her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said slowly, looking him in his own grey eyes, so very much like his father’s. “Go… uh, go eat your dinner, Zane. Then go to bed.”
He nodded and then ran to grab his plate. He walked out of the room, carefully holding the plate in one hand and closing his nose with the other.
She watched him leave, his short legs very skinny in the shorts he had dressed himself in that morning. She hiccoughed and dabbed at her face with her dinner napkin. That little boy had done something to her in that moment. She didn’t like what she was feeling. She didn’t like that unknown emotion… was it guilt? Was it a maternal emotion? Was it indigestion?
She had no idea her son was currently in his room, eating his dinner and talking to Fred and George Weasley, telling them that she had smelled very, very stinky at dinner and that she had started crying. She also didn’t know that Fred and George were currently telling Zane that his next mission was to play mirror until Pansy went slightly crazy. She didn’t know about the explanation they gave Zane of the game, that the sole rule was to repeat everything a person said back to them. A lovely game indeed.
Hermione closed the front door to the flat and clutched the paper bag in her hand tighter as she locked the door and listened for any sound. She heard Draco in the kitchen, the sound of silverware clanging against a plate. She walked in and found him sitting at the small breakfast table eating a quick dinner and reading a Quidditch magazine.
He looked up when she walked in, his eyes fixed firmly on her face as she gave him a tired smile. The paper bag in her hand caught his attention as he looked at it and then back at her face.
“Did you have a good talk?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied.
“Are you angry with me?”
“I don’t think I am,” she said. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I don’t know how I really feel. Isn’t that stupid? I don’t know if I’m upset or annoyed or happy or excited…”
“What’s in the bag?” he suddenly asked.
She looked down at the bag and then at him. “A pregnancy test.”
He said nothing.
“I want to make sure,” she told him.
“Would you be upset if the test was positive?” he said.
She thought about that for a moment and then shook her head.
“Would you be upset if the test was negative?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Would you?”
“If it made you upset, it would make me upset,” he told her, looking at the Quidditch magazine on the table. He didn’t explain or go on.
She took a breath and then left the kitchen, walking straight for the bathroom. She needed her wits about her to effectively pee on the little white stick without making a complete mess.
She wished she could hear Draco’s footsteps behind her, but they never came. Not that she wanted him to watch her pee on the stick… good God, no… but it would have been nice of him to wait outside the bathroom door like a good husband and tell her encouraging things.
Wait, for a second there, she forgot who she was married to. Draco sitting outside the bathroom door telling her nice, comforting things? Ha! He loved her and all, but he was still Draco.
She took the paper bag, opened it, took the bright blue box out of it, opened the box and pulled out the instructions. She read the instructions seven times, making sure she knew exactly what to do. Okay, she actually read it nine times, but who’s counting?
The little, white stick in her hand taunted her, carrying her future in its existence. She took a deep breath and glanced at the instructions one last time. They told her that she had a choice of peeing into a cup and dipping the stick into her urine, or she could just pee directly on the stick. She decided to just go for it, not wanting to have to clean up any more than she already would have to.
She willed her hand to stop shaking as she wiggled out of her pants and underwear. Sitting gingerly on the toilet seat, she nearly dropped the damn stick into the toilet bowl when she heard the knock at the bathroom door.
“What is it?” she asked shakily.
“You okay in there?” Draco’s voice asked through the door.
“Just peachy,” she called back.
“Sarcasm not needed,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes and then realized that she couldn’t go if he was standing there listening to her take a leak. “Could you go away for a second?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t you to hear me peeing!” she said loudly.
“I’ve heard you pee before,” he said.
“What?!”
“In the mornings, before we go to bed, a lot of times,” he said seriously. “Why? Are you embarrassed? Peeing sounds the same coming from everyone.”
She bit back a whimper of frustration. “Never mind, just forget it. Listen to me pee, for all I care!”
“Okay.”
She cursed under her breath and then pretended he wasn’t standing outside. She thought of waterfalls, faucets, rushing rivers, running water…
She closed her eyes and when she finished, she flushed the toilet and did all that neat stuff like wiping and pulling her pants back up.
“So?” Draco’s muffled voice said.
“We have to wait two minutes,” she said, placing the stick face-up on a piece of toilet paper on the counter. She washed her hands, three times, and then turned away from the evil, little stick, not wanting to actually watch the little window on the stick change colors.
She picked up the empty box and looked at the back. Blue meant no baby. Pink meant baby. Blue… no baby. Pink… baby.
“Are you going to open the door?” Draco asked.
“No,” she said. “I can’t… just, not now. When… I… later, just… later.”
He took that as a sign of her nervousness. “I still don’t like you,” he said softly.
She turned to the door and took two steps until she could touch it. She pressed her fingers against the wood. “I know, Draco,” she said with a gentle smile. “I still don’t like you, either.”
She heard his small laugh and then a silence. “It’s been two minutes.”
She looked down at her watch and gulped. “Yeah.”
“Well?”
She walked to the counter and picked up the little stick.
The new color was very clear-cut. It wasn’t a shade in between the two colors, but the exact shade that the box had shown.
She stared at the new color for a long moment and then slowly turned to the door. Draco was leaning against the doorframe when she opened the door. He looked at her and then at the white stick she held in her hand.
“So, what’s the answer?”
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A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy