A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and comments. They mean so much. Thank you Vino Amore for the beta read. Please enjoy Chapter 11.
Is it Too Late to Apologize?
Hermione found it difficult to sleep that night, after Rabastan's confusing revelation when he put her to bed. She spent hours overthinking what he meant by his statement to do better and his tender care for her. What did he mean by the remark? What was he intending to do? Why was he so uncomfortable to share this side of him? The questions in her mind filled the night with her thoughts instead of the sleep she desperately needed and craved for. When she woke, it was still early and it was with the sudden urge to run to the restroom and empty the contents of her stomach. Morning sickness. Wonderful.
She groaned when she was through vomiting and she leaned against the edge of the sink as she flushed the toilet. Notty appeared a moment later and instantly began barking orders when she took note of Hermione's green complexion.
"Bed, bed, bed. Back to bed Missus," Notty ordered and ushered Hermione to the great bed. "Notty will bring you something to help."
Hermione, now awake, was loath to return to bed, when she knew sleep was futile, but did as the elf commanded and realized that it actually felt nice to lay in the comfort of blankets and not move around. She was miserable with the waves of nausea, turning around in her gut like the ocean tides, wreaking havoc in her stomach cavity. The littlest thing caused her to dash madly for the bathroom and spew the evidence of her sickness into the wash basin. In keeping with her usual research standards, Hermione had naturally read up on the subject of morning sickness, realizing that the title was a misnomer. Morning sickness was not limited to the early hours of the day, instead could occur all day long. It was true that in some cases it was worse for women in the morning and would improve throughout the rest of the day, but it wasn't a fact. Hermione didn't know which scenario she would have, but she hoped it wasn't an all-day event. Morning sickness usually occurred in the first trimester of pregnancy, in some witches it didn't occur at all, but she was aware she wasn't so lucky. The truth was she had always hated being sick, there was nothing more revolting to her than vomiting and this baby seemed to think it was funny to make her do so. This really sucked. She pulled the covers around her for more warmth and comfort and sat propped up by a cluster of pillows considering that the sensation was much greater if she laid on her side.
Hermione had just settled into and made herself comfortable when Notty returned. The elf carried a tray laden with a slice of plain sourdough bread, a bowl of assorted fruit slices and some oatmeal kept warm by a stasis charm. There was also a small amount of tea, decaffeinated of course, but bless the little elf for knowing exactly what Hermione longed for. Hermione ate the bread first, knowing that the carbohydrates and dryness would decrease the churning in her tummy. When it was gone and she was satisfied that she could absorb other food groups without upsetting her stomach more, Hermione finally took a gulp of her tea. She nibbled on the fruit mixing some of the berries into the plain, unflavored oatmeal to make it more appetizing before she consumed that as well. She was just setting her spoon down in the empty ceramic dish when the door connecting her room to Rabastan's opened and he poked his head in.
"Are you well, Madame?" He asked her. Notty had disappeared after leaving the tray by her bed and, Hermione assumed, informed him of Hermione's current state of health. Hermione was far from overjoyed to see him, but receptive to the notion that he was genuinely concerned for her. She remained outwardly civil towards him.
"I am feeling better now. It's morning sickness, nothing to worry yourself over Rabastan." Hermione replied. "Notty however, has put me back in bed."
"Good for Notty. You should rest. You fell asleep in the library last night." Rabastan informed. Hermione momentarily considered telling him she knew, that she had heard what he said to her. She decided that while it would be temporarily satisfying to make him uncomfortable, that it would ultimately cause too much awkwardness between them. He had obviously thought she was asleep when he spoke the words and wasn't ready for her to know. She bit the inside of her cheek and held her tongue.
"Oh?" She questioned instead. "I wasn't aware, did you carry me back here then?" Rabastan flushed slightly before he recovered himself and nodded slowly in the affirmative.
"I did. I was coming to talk to you last night but found you in the most uncomfortable looking position."
"Well, thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. What did you wish to speak to me about?"
"I feel I owe you an apology. I snapped at you at dinner and it was unnecessary." Rabastan said. "I'm sorry."
Hermione was suddenly conscious to the realization that her husband's gentle affection the previous night was in part a reparation. She wasn't clear on the best way to interpret his full-fledged apology. She comprehended he was sincere in wanting to make this relationship, if you could call it that, work. He probably meant it when he said he would do better, as far as she was concerned he was a day late and a galleon short. She wasn't about to back down just because he was being contrite.
"Well," she said eventually, "I appreciate the apology Rabastan, however, I don't think I'm ready to forgive you just yet. I feel that I have the right to point out that somebody's public drunkenness makes me uncomfortable when I live in the same house, and I was chastised for doing so."
Rabastan flinched. He realized he had fucked up. He didn't expect to be let off the hook just like that, but he didn't know what else to do. Rabastan was raised to believe that witches desired one thing above all else, material goods. He grew up surrounded by a gaggle of women who were vicious in getting these things from him and every other wizard he knew. How many times had he seen his father, brother and friends pull out expensive gifts to reward their mistresses or placate their wives? How many times had it worked? The witches often took their shiny baubles and were content for the moment, any offense forgiven. He was tempted to go back to this strategy now, but knew deep down it wouldn't have the effect he wanted.
"What do you want me to say, or do?" Rabastan instead groaned out with morose. He was frustrated with this, with her. He wanted her to be happy, realized he upset her and had no clue how to tie things over.
"I don't know," Hermione sighed heavily. "Right now, I just want some space." She decided.
Sensing the finality of her statement, Rabastan was fully aware there was not going to be any resolution right away. He nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "But please call for me if you need anything." He rose reluctantly from where he had sat on the edge of her bed and retreated through the adjoining door shutting it firmly behind him.
There were no words Rabastan had to describe how he felt as he faced the closed door to his wife's room. A surge of panic crept into his skin, agitating his normally calm reserve and causing him to pace the length of his own bedroom. What if she never forgave him? What if they couldn't ever move past their differences? Had he been too hasty in choosing her to be his bride and by consequence doom himself to a lifetime of isolation? He had to be faithful to her, the vows made sure of it. Monogamy was an odd concept to him as he had been a rake before he married Hermione, not carrying where he got it or from whom. Now, he would never be able to touch another witch intimately, at least not if he didn't want to be crippled by pain. If Hermione never moved past this he would be fated to nothing more than self-pleasure, always a temporary fix and never sating. He almost cried at the thought. He berated himself for acting like a horny teen and stood straighter, ceasing his mindless wandering and decided that he would find a way to fix this.
Determined to make amends he contemplated how to best win Hermione over, for good this time. He was sick of waiting for her. It may have only been mere days since the bonding, but Rabastan had waited years for the witch, and it was grating on his last nerve. He wouldn't force himself on her, but he was bloody well going to make her love him. He had played the ace he had up his sleeve already and could have kicked himself for so quickly returning her wand to her. It sure would have come in handy right now.
Rabastan hadn't slept the night before, dark circles were already forming under his eyes. He carried his witch to her bed and tucked her in, but couldn't sleep himself, attempting to figure out how to make good on his secret promise to her. He was going to do better, acknowledging that he was making a blasted mess of the arrangement up until now. When Notty had apparated in and explained that Hermione was sick he was overcome by worry. He logically knew it was symptoms of the pregnancy, but it still ate at him to know she was suffering. He cared for her, he couldn't deny it any longer. She was more to him than a captive he married, more than a witch he lusted after, more than a plaything. She was to him what nobody had ever been, his everything, and he was her worst nightmare. He had rushed to see if she was okay, and found that the witch wasn't receptive to him.
Relived that she was doing okay, and in bed where she belonged, he had taken the opportunity to show he was sorry. Hermione looked at him like he had grown two heads. Words themselves were not enough to patch this up. However, neither were gifts, so the wizard was at a loss as to what he could do. Gestures were always good he thought. If he could show her that he did mean what he said to her and that he was trying, then she may come over. But how could he do that? Suddenly an idea struck him and he curved his lips into a shit-eating grin.
The morning shifted into late afternoon, and Hermione had spent it all in bed. She had recorded an entry in her diary, putting onto parchment her confusion at Rabastan's confession. She wrote down her displeasure about morning sickness and she spoke of once again, the overwhelming stress she endured. After her latest entry she lost herself in the pages of her old friend, Hogwarts, A History.
Feeling much better, not to mention giddy, that she no longer was under the effects of the nausea, she was adamant that she would leave the bedroom and do something useful. Notty, on the other hand wouldn't hear of it.
"Missus, you must stay put. Yous needs to rest!" the creature was shouting at her.
"Notty, enough," Hermione sighed, hating to argue with the sweet elf, but not enough to listen. "I will be getting out of this bed, and I will be going downstairs for tea, and I will not take no for an answer." She refuted.
"Fine, I'll tells master!" Notty said in outrage and popped out of the room before Hermione could object. Not wanting to wait long enough for Rabastan to stop her, she quickly transfigured her gown and stomped out of the room.
However, her pounding footsteps echoed alone the narrow corridor and betrayed her location. She was about two yards away from reaching the stairs when a crack of apparation sounded behind her and two masculine arms reached out and pulled her against a body. She was enveloped by Rabastan's scent and didn't fight against his hold.
"Where are you running off to Ma Cherie?" he chuckled the question and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. What had gotten into him, Hermione wondered. He wasn't supposed to be kissing her in any way shape or form. She rolled her eyes.
"I will not stay in that blasted bed a second longer!" She spat.
"Okay," he allowed. "You still didn't answer my question."
"I'm going downstairs for tea," she said haughtily
"Good. Because you have company downstairs for just that very thing."
Hermione rose her eyebrow incredulously before she asked, "company?"
"It's a surprise," her husband said and left it at that, offering her arm and escorting her to the tea room.