Chapter 10 – The one where we find out Hermione's secret
Like as a ship that through the ocean wide, Sonnet 34
By conduct of some star doth make her way,
When as a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide,
Out of her course doth wander far astray:
So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,
Do wander now in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast.
Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past,
My Helices the lodestar of my life,
Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief,
Till when I wander careful comfortless,
In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.
Shakespeare
Hermione Granger once had a dream… not a dream, actually, more a fervent wish or desire. It was a secret wish that she kept wrapped up in the unused section of her heart, reserved for heartache and pain. Her wish – dream – hope – desire, whichever the case may be, was to have a house full of children someday.
In truth, she knew she was a well-rounded person with or without a family of her own. She knew she wasn't lacking for much, except since both her parents were dead – her father having died two years ago, her mother four – she felt a certain, hollow emptiness which couldn't be filled with work or anything else. She was respected, smart, brave, a good friend, and loved by many. She also knew that many thought of her as 'having it all' because she had a job she loved, was successful, and had a reputation of being the supposed 'brightest witch of her age'. However, none of those things precluded the dim desire that she had buried so long ago in which to have a family of her own.
In retrospect, she realized that it was a baseless, 'hopeless' wish, but it belonged to her all the same. It was also a secret wish, one in which she had only shared once, with one person, and whom she regretted telling to this day. For that person took her secret dream and trampled on it without so much as a by-your-leave, telling everyone else, and leaving Hermione Granger feeling less than perfect, less than loved, and less than whole.
Her secret wish was left abandoned in the vast wasteland of her heart, leaving her to make many mistakes, such as being engaged more times than she would like to admit. It left her afraid of forging a true commitment to another human being, afraid of failing at marriage and love because she knew that first came love, then came marriage, then came a baby in a baby carriage… for everyone except for her.
All the healers and curse breakers were baffled by her lack of conception, but many blamed a combination of things: things such as fate, heredity, and exposure to dark magic, of which she was well acquainted.
When she told Ron Weasley, the one time love of her life, that she could not conceive, (for she had secretly been trying for years with him) he comforted her, patted her back, told her he loved her, and then he promptly told everyone they knew of her 'defect' – his words exactly. Then, she found out he had an affair with another woman, although she didn't know that until two weeks later.
For one night, she actually heard Ron tell Harry her dark secret, and he concluded with, "I already told my mum that I won't be able to give her grandchildren if I marry her, because of her defect, but what can I do? You know I come from a big family. It's expected of me. If I can't have children with Hermione, I don't see any reason we should be together."
That one sentence validated her feelings of uselessness, right or wrong, and Hermione wanted to curse him without further ado. Instead, she waited to hear with Harry had to say in return. Then, good old Harry, her best friend in the world, told Ron that he didn't deserve her anyway, that a woman wasn't defined by her ability to conceive children, and since he was having an affair with Pansy Parkinson, perhaps it was time to tell Hermione goodbye.
In that one moment, her second secret wish, to be married to the love of her life, went up in smoke, and turned to ashes in the pit of her soul, along with her other secret wish. She knew right then that she would probably never marry, and not just because she couldn't conceive, but because she couldn't withstand the pain of knowing that the person she might marry might want children more than they wanted her.
Sitting on the balcony outside the bedchamber she'd been assigned, she looked out upon the green, lush meadows down below, and thought about Draco Malfoy and his recent attention to her. Why did HE want her? She had to wonder, even as she tried to convince herself that everything would be all right. It really would.
Susan Bones stepped out on to the patio where they'd taken their dinner the night before. House elves were preparing it for another dinner this evening. Draco Malfoy was sitting quietly in one of the chairs to the side of the table, his head bent, his hands folded in his lap. Smiling grimly, she pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.
"You have a daughter," she stated. It wasn't as if she expected him to say anything in return, still she waited. "Hermione told Harry, although to be honest with you, Ron had already told me about it before I got here this weekend."
"Nice to know that Weasel feels free to tell other people's secrets. Yes, I have a daughter. Her name's Fiona and she's five years old. She's currently living with my parents, a fact I want to rectify." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I've only know about her for a short while. And before you ask, Pansy Parkinson is the mother."
"Oh, I know," she mumbled. "I know all about that." He looked up at her. "As I said, I knew about it before this weekend. Ron told me."
"Weasel has a big mouth," Draco repeated contemptuously.
"Too true, as does Astoria, who told him," she agreed. "What are you planning to do about her?"
He made an inarticulate sound in the back of his throat, leaned backwards in the chair, crossing his legs as he did. "Why is that any of your concern, Miss Bones? It's not as if we're friends. We're barely acquaintances. We have people in our lives, which are common to us… yes, that's our connection. Why do you feel you have the right to ask me anything regarding my daughter?"
She didn't know how to respond, because he had a point. Still, she forged onward. "It matters to me, because I see you forming an attachment to Hermione Granger, and I wanted to make sure it was for the right reasons, not because you want an instant mother for your child."
He laughed, although he didn't smile. "And again, I ask, how is any of this your concern? You barely act as if you even like Hermione Granger, and don't deny it. She's standing in the way of you and Harry, although I rather think it's all in your mind because they're merely friends. So again, why do you care if I have a daughter, or if I'm courting Miss Granger for the wrong reasons?"
Feeling as if she had been put in her place, she said, "It's not my concern, and I do like Hermione." Her heart was hammering hard in her chest. "She's always been uncommonly kind to me and Rose. And no matter what you think, I don't want her to be hurt."
"How is my having a daughter going to hurt her?" He raised one eyebrow while waiting for her answer.
Pushing back from the table, she stood. "Have you ever wondered WHY Hermione has yet to marry? Why she becomes engaged, but then doesn't make it to the altar?"
"Are you going to enlighten me, or keep asking stupid questions?"
That made her smile. "I'll answer. Ron likes to tell everyone's secrets, and he once told me hers. She's unable to have children. She confided that to Ron before they married. He didn't like it, so he broke their engagement. In his opinion, there's rules to engagement, just as there are rules in life. He felt as if she wasn't playing by those rules – if she couldn't give him the children he wanted."
He exhaled another false laugh. "Does he think Astoria's going to give him the large family he's waiting for, because I think I can promise you that won't happen?"
Brushing a stray hair from her face, she responded, "I don't think it matters when it comes to Astoria, or maybe it does. My daughter told me she saw him kissing Pansy Parkinson last night."
Draco nodded. "Interesting." He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "No, I lie. I could care less. Tell me more about Granger. What does her inability to have children have to do with anything?"
"I'm only projecting my theories here, and I know she's smart enough to realize that it shouldn't matter, but I feel that one thing plays a major role in her inability to stay committed to a man. She once told Rose that she wants a child more than anything, but I rather think what she really wants is a man who will accept the fact that she can't have children."
"Well, what do you know," he asked, standing up beside her, "I'm a man with children to spare, and I could care less if Hermione Granger can have children or not. My interest in her is sincere, not that I owe you that bit of information, but you seem like a good sort. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have someone I must speak with," and with that, Draco Malfoy started walking around the side of the house.
"Well done," a man standing behind Susan said.
She turned quickly, hitting her hip sharply on the side of the chair. While rubbing away the pain with her hand, she noticed that he was stepping closer to her. She frowned at him. "How much did you hear, Potter?"
"Enough. By the way," he said, a slow grin spreading over his face, "Hermione is my best friend, that's all she is to me. Just thought you would want to know."
Frowning more, she said, "As if I needed to be reminded of that." Before either could say another word, they were spared of further explanations when a crowd of guests started pulling out chairs, to sit down for dinner.
Harry Potter pulled out Susan Bone's chair. She sat down and after she sat, he leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Maybe I want to explain. Malfoy was right, that's all I have to say. She's just a friend. Nothing more. I love her like a sister." He moved his hand across her back lightly, and then sat down next to her. "And thank you for thinking of her," he added louder, his hand still on the back of her chair, his thumb lightly touching her shoulder.
It would seem that Susan Bones had misjudged a few people this day, ranging from Draco Malfoy to Harry Potter.
It was good to know.
Scorpius Malfoy sat down next to Rose Weasley toward the end of the long table. "Are you still upset with me?" he asked, leaning over his plate to reach for the potatoes. "I would never have told you about my father if I'd known you would become so upset."
Folding her hands in her lap, she said, "I wasn't upset with you. I'm sorry it seemed as though I was when I ran away from you on the hillside. It was only that I had to speak to your father."
"My father?" he asked. "You spoke with my father?"
She turned her smoky hazel eyes toward him. She didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. Instead, she nodded.
His eyes wandered from her rosebud little mouth, down to the creamy column of her neck. He wanted to kiss her so badly, even right here at his mother's table. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but then closed again.
Closing his eyes, he saw her, in his mind. He imagined sweeping her from her chair and brushing his lips against hers. He no longer cared what she had said to his father, or why. All he thought of was her mouth. Her mouth would be so sweet – innocent – and she would wrap her arms around his neck. They would both have trouble breathing, because he would be kissing her hard and thoroughly.
He had kissed quite a few girls. He was a good kisser. He bet she was, too. They would kiss and kiss and kiss some more. He would pull her so close that she would almost be boneless, her full weight upon his chest, because he would be on the ground, on his back.
He opened his eyes and noticed that she was still staring right at him, her eyes on his right before she glanced down quickly to his mouth. That small glance caused a tingle to form in his gut. He smiled at her, and then placed his hand under the table to grasp her hand.
She was trembling slightly. He didn't know if that meant he should pull back, or hold on tight. Girls were so hard to understand. Without thinking, he gave her hand a squeeze, leaned closer to her and said, "Let's go talk about what you said to my father. I'm not hungry, since we had such a large picnic for lunch. Are you?"
Her eyes were suddenly bright, alit with a brilliance he'd never known. She stood, announced that she was done even though she hadn't eaten a bite, and said, "Are you coming, Scorpius?"
Hell yes, he would say that he was.
Draco stood by the doorway that led from his bedroom to the balcony. Hermione was standing by the low wall, staring out at the waning afternoon. She must have known he was nearby, because she said, "Do you only want to marry me because of you have a daughter?"
"Who said I wanted to marry you?" he said lightly. Standing shoulder to shoulder, he said, "Although, that sounds like a good plan, marriage that is, I would never marry someone merely because I had to. Would you?"
"Before I answer, may I ask you a favour?" she inquired instead of answering his question.
"You may ask me for the stars and the moon, and if I could I would get them for you. But to answer your question, first, no, I don't want to marry you for any reason other than the fact that I think we would fit together nicely."
"How oddly put," she said, thinking it in her mind, saying it aloud. "Now, my favour?"
"Ask away." He stepped closer, and placed his hands on her arms, moving her to an angle so that he could stare down in to her big, brown eyes. She had remarkable eyes. He might like her eyes more than he liked her lips. Tilting her chin up with one finger, he dipped his head and placed a small kiss upon them, just to be sure. Fine. He liked them equally.
She sighed and leaned into his arms, her head upon his shoulder. She felt so miserable. She wanted to scream and rage at the frustration she felt. She wanted to believe him, yet she knew he was a master at manipulation and lies. She wanted to burst into tears at how unfair life was. She wanted to touch him gently, placing her mouth upon his, so he could sooth the hurt in her soul with the balm of his kisses.
She sighed again, his arms went tighter around her. He took advantage of that sigh and her open mouth to lean his head down to hers again. He kissed her longer this time, and she moved her hands up to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. He kissed away her sorrow, her pain, her fears.
His hands spread wide on her back, pressing her closer, his fingers pressing dangerously closer to the sides of her breasts. Pushing against his chest, she turned away from him. "My favour?"
He moved behind her, brought her back against his chest, and whispered in his ear, "Whatever you want." And she knew that he meant it. She could feel his heart beating against her back; his hands were moving slowly down her arms, up her stomach, embracing her firmly. He kissed the side of her neck.
"I want to meet your daughter," she said.
Turning her around in his arms, he said, "That's good, because my parents are on their way here, to bring her to me."