Author's Notes:
So a reader messaged me today to ask about my missing D/Hr Remix fic. I was like, "What fic?" and then I remembered. I haven't written nearly that much D/Hr that it warrants my completely forgetting about a 12,000-word story. But this is exactly what happened. Anyway, it belongs with its brothers and sisters here on FFnet, and so here it is. To the reader who requested it, thank you again for your kind words and I hope you still find the same merits in your more recent reading of this story.
Title: Sane and Satisfactory (originally written for Dramione Remix 2011)
Author/Artist: Rizzle
Original Couple/Prompt: Anakin/ Padmé
Disclaimer: This work is intended to be a transformative commentary on the original. No copyright infringement is intended; no profit is being made from this work.
Rating: R (for adult themes)
Word Count: ~12k
Warnings: AU/Alternate Reality, main character death
Summary: Two enemies find themselves thrown together in a situation neither of them could have predicted.
Notes: I wasn't exactly sure how to incorporate the Anakin/Padmé prompt into a D/Hr story, but I knew from the beginning that it was going to have to be an epic and ultimately tragic love affair. The similarities to Anakin and Padmé's story within the Star Wars saga are mostly technical, but there are some parallel themes as they relate to Hermione's character, Draco's responsibilities to Voldemort, and his belief in the power and entitlement of Purebloods. The title of this fanfic and the line spoken by the woman that Draco kills is from a quote by the philosopher and humanist, Erich Seligmann Fromm.
Hermione sipped at her cup of tea, put it back in her saucer and then, with a small smile, carefully balanced it on her enormous abdomen. She took two large breaths and watched the cup rise and then fall. If she left it there long enough, the tea cup would eventually jiggle in its saucer, as one of the babies (or both, perhaps?), practiced in-utero calisthenics.
Large pregnant bellies were good for all sorts of things. In addition to being great stable tables, they were also a handy platform for folding tiny onesies, for getting a seat on the bus, and for making their owners the recipient of all manner of pre and post-natal advice from well-meaning strangers. The last one wasn't so much handy as slightly annoying. Everyone had wisdom to dispense. It was as if being Hermione Granger counted for nothing. She was just another unmarried witch suffering from an Oh Dear.
Make that a set of double Oh Dears.
She'd actually fainted when the Mediwitch told her she was expecting twins. It'd been a dead faint and if it hadn't been for Harry's reflexes, she'd have kissed the clinic's green laminate flooring and probably knocked out a few teeth.
Poor, sweet Harry. He'd made all sorts of promises to her the week they'd lost Ron. And he'd stuck to them, too. He would be there for the babies, he'd said. She'd want for nothing. He'd patted her hand all through the clinic check-up, repeating the mantra, "It's going to be alright."
Harry Potter didn't know how to fail at anything.
She'd thanked him. She'd cried and hugged him. All she knew how to do in her first trimester, seemingly, was weep. It was the damned hormones. People were more than sympathetic. For Hermione, arguably, there was a lot to cry about. There was the war and the untimely death of her childhood sweetheart. If the public knew she was also pregnant… Well, her sympathy cup would runneth over.
The war was an all-consuming worry. It was the dark cloud that sucked all the unmitigated happiness from a room. It was evil and unnecessary and not a night went by that Hermione didn't wish Voldemort would just die in his sleep and save both sides more lives lost.
Hermione wept for Ron, who was brave, kind, and should have lived to a hundred and twenty at least, with grandchildren piled up to the Burrow's lopsided ceiling. It didn't matter that they hadn't been in love. Ron knew who the real father was, of course. Harry was the first person she told, and he had handled the news with his usual grace. She'd told Ron soon after and he'd judged her. Fair enough. She certainly judged herself. He'd forgiven her. Hermione would have preferred his understanding too, but he was only human.
And then he'd proposed.
She had politely declined, because she didn't need a husband to assist her.
She needed friends.
