Title: And All the King's Horses
Genre: Mystery, Angst
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Draco/Hermione
Rating: T (But mostly because if The Dark Knight isn't R, then I really don't know what R means... Or M. Whatever)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to JKR. This work is for fun, not profit.
Summary: After Voldermort's fall, the world seemed full of hope and promise, and no one's star seemed brighter than Hermione Granger's. Twenty years later, her son tries to put back the pieces of a broken woman. The Marriage Law has gone terribly wrong.
Author's Notes: Blah! I'm tired of doing LSAT drills. Let's see if we can't pick up the pace. And by the way, thanks to all the people who reviewed last chapter. Sorry for making you put up with that ridiculous wait.
Chapter 25
In which a drink is prepared, and subsequently enjoyed
The book in his hands is old—two hundred years at least. The leather binding is cracked in places, and the spine is coming loose. The pages are yellow and brittle, and there's the smell of old books when he opens it. He's not the original owner, nor was the owner before him. There are notes in the margins. Notes in blue ink which are frighteningly stupid in nature, notes in faded brown that aren't quite so stupid, and even interesting to read, but they're terribly off topic. There are notes in bright red ink which have feathered and bled through the pages. The only notes worth reading, however, are those in crisp black in and Uncle Sev's familiar handwriting.
Poor Uncle Sev. He never gave Uncle Sev much credit when he was younger, and Uncle Sev made it out so badly. So badly in fact, that he didn't make it out at all. Didn't fall in battle, didn't pay the price for treason—nothing of the sort. The slimy monster killed him just because. Or, not just because. Not just because at all. Uncle Sev is one more entry on the list of people who died protecting him. As far as he knows, there's two people on the list, and it's already far too long. If Uncle Sev hadn't made that Unbreakable Vow, well maybe he wouldn't have killed the old fart, and then maybe You-Know-Who wouldn't have felt so compelled to kill him for the Elder Wand. And there's Mum, of course—no logic needed there. She died to protect him, like Potter's mother did for him. If Mum and Uncle Sev could see him now. What a fucking waste of love and talent. All that for a poor, broken sod.
Dammit.
That's not the issue at the moment. Not at all. He doesn't want to think about Uncle Sev and Mum. Or, for that matter, he doesn't want to think of Scorpius or Rose or Father. Especially not Father.
God. He fucking hates his father.
But, why? For the life of him he can't remember.
Ah—he's found it, the potion he was looking for.
Good old Uncle Sev. Too bad it's too late to thank him. Uncle Sev always gave him potions books for his birthday and for Christmas. Not this book of course—this one only got added to the Malfoy library when poor old Uncle Sev bit the bucket and no one else would take his stuff. Well Uncle Sev, you can do one last thing for me.
He reads through the ingredients list and directions and black notes. Yes. Yes. He can do this. Totally can. Potions was always his best subject. Everyone, even Father, always thought it was favoritism on Uncle Sev's part, but no. He was good at potions. Really good. Better than Pansy, better, even than Granger.
Granger.
Fuck. Where did that come from?
Granger.
When did fucking Granger become Mrs. Hermione Malfoy, the air he breathes?
Ha.
Ha ha.
HAHAHAHAHAHA—
It's only when the tears drop off his cheeks, that he realizes he isn't laughing. He'll never laugh again. How can he? Without her, without his lovely, lovely wife, there'll be no joy in the world. He's cold and he can't imagine that he'll ever be happy again. But he remembers being happy. So happy, and maybe, when she wakes up, he'll be happy with her. Yes. He'll be happy with her, but only then. Until then, he'd rather die than live without her.
And that's the idea.
Magic is so useful. How do the muggles manage without it?
He's got the ingredients ready, and the cauldron. Now he has to concentrate. He starts working on it, preparing everything, adding them into the mixture at the right time, keeping a steady eye on the fire. Part of him is nervous. He could really use something to drink. Brandy? Vodka?
NO!
No, no, no, he tells himself. He has to do this right. It's a hard potion to brew and if he screws this up, he can kill himself and blow the manner up to kingdom come. Or worse, he might not do anything at all, and then Father will find him and make sure he doesn't do anything else.
He hasn't had a drink all day long. He's sober.
The idea came to him when he was drunk, of course. But, now that he can think rationally, it still strikes him as a great idea.
Now how to administer the potion? The classic ways won't do. He hates apples almost as much as he hates needles, and frankly, he's not going to stick a comb into his head. Besides, those methods are easy to undo: dig the apple out, pull the needle free.
He'll just gulp it down.
Maybe he should write a note. No. It's all obvious.
When she's awake she'll come to him and he'll wake up.
He's left a note to the House Elves. It's a very nasty note, and he's sure he won't be disturbed. And Father's off all day at the Ministry. As long as father doesn't come back early, everything will go off without a hitch. After the first few hours, there's only one antidote, and if he can't have it, he doesn't want to live. It's that simple.
When the thing is done, he ladles the potion into a nice goblet. The drink is black, like the ink of Uncle Sev's notes. The glass is heavy and cold, like death, but living. He raises the glass:
"To true love! Eh, Professor?"
He brings the glass to his lips and
Author's Notes: So, it's not a terribly long chapter, but an important one. It's a bit disjointed. I like that. And yes, I intended to leave off in the middle of a sentence. ;-)
Now, as always, reviews would be lovely.