Chapter 67
Saturday 23 March 2003: PM
Ron alternates between staring at the polished wooden floor of Malfoy's townhouse, and looking at the coat rack beside the staircase… anything to keep from making eye contact with the tall blonde Auror standing silently next to the door. He decides to stick with tracing the patterns in the wood grain when he realizes that he recognizes the expensive black woollen pea coat hanging from the first peg on the rack: Hermione wore it to dinner at Grimmauld Place, last month.
And I had a go at her for seeing someone new… I acted like an immature, green-eyed berk. As if I had any claim on her, after royally fucking up our romantic relationship… not to mention our friendship. He knuckles at his sore eyes until black spots dance across the inside of his eyelids.
"Are you about to freak out?" Gus Gilmont addresses him coolly. "Sit against the wall, put your head down, and focus on your breathing. And leave your eyes alone – if they get any redder, they'll fall out."
Her detached, unsympathetic advice effectively snaps him out of the incipient panic attack. Ron shuffles up against the wall, letting his hands fall stiffly to his sides.
"Sorry – I'm alright. I mean, I'm not about to wig out. I'm just– never mind." He studies the flooring again.
"You'll feel better, once you get it off your chest. Confession's good for the soul, and all that," Gus dryly remarks. "Or so I've heard."
"Yeah… I hope so." They lapse back into awkward silence.
"Are there… are there a lot of people here? For brunch, I mean," Ron falters as Gilmont fixes him with a shrewd glance.
"Worried they'll gather pitchforks and form a mob? Relax, I'm joking," Gus sighs, as Ron blenches. "There are fourteen humans, five elves, and one kitten currently in residence, including Hermione's parents, and Draco's mother. And yes, Harry and Pansy are both here… plus your sister, and her new boyfriend."
"Oh. Right. Thanks," Ron's fortitude takes a nose-dive upon hearing of the attendees. Don't be such a gutless wonder – you have to do this. What did Ginny say, last night? 'I hope this is your true rock bottom'? She was right, it is… and I have to dig my own way out of this mess. He agitatedly chews at the hang nail on his right thumb, making it bleed anew.
"Here they come," Gus mutters, as rapid footsteps approach from the kitchen. "Look sharp, Weasley – you're about to go live in front of a studio audience. I hope you're ready," she cryptically states, stepping slightly in front of Ron.
Malfoy is barrelling in the lead, Hermione close behind; followed by Harry, Pansy, Luna, Ginny, and Viktor. Swallowing hard, Ron steels himself for the ordeal ahead.
"You've got a hell of a nerve, Weasley – you dare to come to our home, after what you did last night!? Move aside, Gus – I'm going to flatten this brazen prick," Malfoy snarls, rage emanating off him in near-tangible waves.
"Draco – please, let Ron speak. Luna said he promised he's not here to cause any trouble… I think it must be terribly important, for him to risk your wrath," Hermione slips her arms around Malfoy in a calming hug. "Look at him, mon coeur – he's devastated."
"So he fucking should be," Malfoy growls. His eyes are pure ice as he clips, "We'll do this in the lounge, with the door closed. Weasley: If you say or do anything – ANYTHING – that I deem inflammatory or aggressive, I'll knock you into next week."
"Fair enough," Ron nods jerkily. "Erm...thanks, Auror Gilmont. I'll be alright."
Gus shrugs. "Your call. I'd like to hear whatever it is you've come here to say – but it's not imperative."
"Whatever – let's get this over with," Draco glacially commands.
The small group sombrely files into the living room. Draco waits until everyone except Ron is seated on the lounge or armchairs, before firmly closing the door. He glares impatiently and makes a 'wind-up' gesture.
Maybe this wasn't my greatest idea – ah, fuck it. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Ron slips his hands into his trouser pockets and begins to speak, directing his gaze to a spot on the back wall of white bookcases.
"I want to apologize – unreservedly, to all of you – for my selfish, thoughtless, and inexcusable behaviour last night... well, not just last night, but for years. When Ginny told me what happened to Hermione and Pansy – Cormac's foul schemes – I– I was appalled. I am appalled... by myself, and my cruel, petty motivations," Ron husks, forcing himself to look at both the women he's recently wronged.
Hermione appears sorrowful, but composed; Pansy's face is a blank, cool mask. Ron forges on, trying to not rush his speech.
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness or attempting to excuse my behaviour. I've been an utter arse... and I'm disgusted with myself, that it took me this long to see how immature and hurtful I've been. I'd like to– I'd like to address my failings, individually... if you don't mind hearing me out a little longer," he entreats.
"I'm listening, Ron." Hermione doesn't smile, but her tiny nod is reassuring, nevertheless. Malfoy sourly mutters something incomprehensible as he stands behind her, his thumbs caressing Hermione's neck in soothing circles.
"Hermione, I am so sorry for treating you unkindly… ever since we were kids. I took you for granted constantly, and I never appreciated just how awesome you are... I was disrespectful and callous. I'm really sorry."
"Pansy, I apologize for deliberately embarrassing you in public last night – I deeply regret that my nastiness provided the opportunity for Cormac to hurt you. I never thought– but that's my problem, not considering the consequences of my actions. I am truly sorry for meanly trying to humiliate you at the ball – the shame is all mine."
"Harry... you've forgiven me my childish jealousy and poor decisions for years – and you shouldn't have. I've been a bad friend, and I wanted to hurt you last night, too." Ron chokes out a ragged breath. "I hated seeing you with Pansy, even though she'd given me no reason to think I ever had a chance with her. I'm sorry, mate."
Harry stares at him stonily. Ron gulps, turning to Luna.
"Luna, I'm sorry I used to call you 'Looney'. You're really smart and perceptive, and way too nice to people who've been awful to you. I don't deserve your friendship, but I'm extremely grateful for it."
"That's OK, Ronald. I know you didn't mean anything by it," Luna quietly replies.
Ron closes his smarting eyes, hoping he hasn't made the situation worse. His mother's severe words from their acidic argument early this morning echo through his tired brain.
"You can't keep blaming me and your father for your shortcomings, Ronald Bilius Weasley – we made mistakes... what parent hasn't?... but you're an adult now. It's time you started acting like one and stop lashing out when you don't get what you want, my boy," the disappointment on his mother's face had cut deeper than her scathing words.
"How would you have lived with yourself, knowing you'd been the catalyst for that devil McLaggen hurting Hermione, and the Parkinson girl?! You're incredibly lucky they saved themselves, Ronald. I don't know what else to say to you, truly," Molly had shaken her head in bitter frustration.
"Mum – I'm moving out," Ron had blurted. "You're right – I'm not arguing the point – but living here isn't helping. Look, I'm not saying I don't appreciate everything you do for me – far from it – but I can't learn how to do things for myself if you keep doing them for me, can I?" he'd contested.
"If that's what you want, Ronald – we'll not stand in your way." Back rigid, Molly had busied herself preparing another cuppa, her back shaking slightly. "Remember that you're our son, and you're always welcome here."
Aaaaand I've made my mother cry... again. Feeling like the lowest of heels, Ron had blundered to the bench and folded his parent in a clumsy hug. "I'm sorry for not measuring up, Mum."
"Oh, Ronald! It's never been a competition, love!".
Didn't feel that way, sometimes. Deciding against sharing that unpopular sentiment, Ron had disengaged from the embrace. Pacing out to the garden, he'd spent a long hour thinking about the muddled fiasco he'd made of his life.
Now, he straightens his spine as he glances about the room. Time to grin and bear the backlash, Ronniekins.
"What's brought this on, Weasley? Are we expected to believe you woke up this morning and miraculously decided to embark upon some half-arsed Grand Apology Tour?" Draco snipes. "Redemption isn't achieved with a few platitudes and piteous tears, you know."
"Yeah... yeah, I know. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. If you want to hit me, I won't retaliate." Ron offers a weak grin. "Go on, Malfoy – you'll feel better, I reckon."
"Draco's not going to strike you, are you, mon chéri?" Hermione murmurs, leaning her head against Malfoy's twitching hand. "Ron, I appreciate your courage, in coming here today; I know you're not seeking forgiveness... but consider mine given. You're not responsible for Cormac McLaggen being an evil scumbag, you know."
"It is my fault for creating the drama that led to the kidnapping, Hermione," Ron doggedly rebuts. "I wanted to mess up the night – and mess it up, I did. I'm sorry."
Pansy sniffs. "You were a puerile, spiteful dickhead last night, Weasley – but Pollyanna's correct: the abduction, and revolting roofie plot is all on Cormac, and Flint. I accept your apology, but forgiveness isn't something I'm ready to grant you. That's all I want to say to you."
Nodding silently, Ron lifts his sore, swollen eyes to Harry.
"I appreciate that you've comprehended how badly you fucked up last night, Ron... I know this is an important moment for you, and I can see how sincere you are in wanting to change," Harry monotonously affirms. He pauses, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"I realize that you never intended to place Pansy and Hermione in danger... but you've admitted you wanted to hurt Pansy and upset me. I'm struggling with moving past that, honestly. You say you care about me – that you care about Hermione – but when push comes to shove, you disregard our feelings in favour of your own motivations or impulsive emotional reactions."
Harry restively tunnels his fingers through his black mop, scratching at his scalp.
"We've briefly touched on it before... but it still rankles. You left us, Ron. When we were hunting Horcruxes, and that wretched necklace was wearing us all down – you ran. I know, I know you immediately regretted it, and you tried to get back to us almost straightaway... but you still left, mate."
Blinking hard, Ron scrubs at his hot cheeks as tears well in his aqua eyes. I did leave – I hate myself for it – I'll always regret it. Hunching his shoulders, he listens to the rest of Harry's response. Every word smites like a hammer blow.
"I don't trust you anymore, Ron. I love you like a brother, and your friendship has been integral to my existence for the last twelve years… but I can't continue to shrug my shoulders and excuse your self-absorbed, thoughtless, and downright ugly behaviour."
Curving his arm protectively around Pansy, Harry adds, "If our friendship is to survive… we need a break from each other, Ron. I won't tolerate you taking out your frustrations and inadequacies on me, or the people I care for. Good luck, mate."
It's better than I'd hoped for – but Merlin, it stings. Ron acknowledges Harry's decision with a convulsive dip of his head, squinching closed his eyes. He flinches as a pair of slender arms encircle him.
"Hey – it's just me," Ginny says gently. "I'm proud of you, Ron. It'll get easier from here – you'll see."
He allows himself the brief comfort of her sisterly hug, before slowly withdrawing. "I hope so, Gin. I'm sorry I haven't been the best big brother to you. I'm going to be a better sibling – and a better person," he vows determinedly, voice hoarse.
"Give yourself some time, Ron. I believe in you," Ginny pats his back affectionately. "Did you get into it with Mum, when you got home?".
"Yeah – she was beside herself when I told her what happened," Ron divulges. "She told me I was a disgrace to the name Weasley."
"Oh, Ron… that's unfair. Mum's always been too hard on you," Ginny remarks sorrowfully. "Did you make peace, in the end?".
"Sort of – I told her I was moving out. As soon as I find a place, I'll leave."
"Let's move out together – I'm a rubbish cook, but I do know how to do laundry," Ginny impulsively offers. "If we split the rent, we should be able to afford somewhere decent, yeah?" she offers.
"You don't have to do that for me, Gin – I'll be OK," Ron demurs.
"Nah – I want to. I need to spread my wings too, remember?". Leaning forward, she whispers in his ear, "I can't really bring home Viktor to the Burrow, hmmm? Imagine the look on Mum's face! Nope – you've got yourself a flatmate, brother o' mine," she winks.
"Thanks, Ginny," Ron rasps. He peers about the room; everyone's eyes are upon him, with varying degrees of cynosure. Hermione is watching him sadly, a tremulous smile upon her lips; Malfoy still looks as if he'd enjoy ripping off Ron's head from his shoulders with his bare hands. Viktor's expression is contemplative, while Gus remains impassive. Harry's emerald eyes are heavy and troubled; Pansy stares back at him disdainfully.
"I appreciate your time, and patience. I'm sorry I interrupted your gathering; thank you for hearing me out." Ron moves quickly for the door. His freckled fingers pause on the handle as Hermione speaks.
"You're stronger than you think, Ron – you always have been," she softly attests. "We'll be here… when you're ready."
Choking back his involuntary sob at Hermione's kindness, Ron nods a final time and makes his escape, half-blinded by tears. It isn't until he reaches a bus stop shelter that he fully succumbs to his topsy-turvy emotions, ignoring the curious regard of passers-by as he sobs brokenly on the wooden seat.
Fuck, I'm a mess. They went easy on me, all things considered… but I'm bloody terrified I've cocked things up too badly to ever repair our fractured friendships.
Ron rests his heavy head in his trembling hands, wishing he had a Time-Turner.
But even if I did, no magical device in the universe is going to fix my problems. I'm the only person who can do that….
I will, this time. I swear it.
Standing at the townhouse's front door, Draco glowers at the Weasel's back until the redheaded git barrels around the corner and disappears from sight. Keep walking, cockhead. You're damned lucky my girl is an angel, with a heart large enough to somehow forgive your constant fuckwittery. Trou du cul.
He relaxes his tensed stance when Hermione slips her arm around his waist.
"Thank you, Draco… for letting Ron speak. He's a dear friend, and a good person… he's saved my life more than once. I know you have an especial antipathy for him, but I think you'd like him, if you ever gave him a chance."
Hermione quietly chortles at Draco's appalled expression. "You should see your face… never mind, I'm not suggesting you join him and Harry for drinks on a Friday evening. Perhaps… after Ron gets his act together…" Hermione smiles wistfully.
"You mean 'if' he gets his act together; I remain unconvinced. The proof is in the pudding – and Weasley's blancmange is yet to set, Granger. You're too soft with him," Draco utters the words more harshly than he'd intended, regretting his admonition immediately as Hermione steps back a pace.
"You're too hard on him. He's not had it easy – living in the shadow of his family, and Harry's fame. As much as I love Molly, she's not always treated her children with true impartiality. Moving out of the Burrow is a clever, courageous decision on Ron's part." Hermione's mouth is set in a stubborn line, her brows drawn together.
Managing to douse the wild flare of raging jealousy at her loyal defence of her ex-boyfriend, Draco cobbles together his composure with no small effort. He lightly rests his hands on Hermione's hips, gazing deeply into her beautiful, mulish, chocolate brown eyes.
"I'm willing to give Weasley the benefit of the doubt, for your sake," he keeps his tone unemotional. "It's difficult for me to forgive the part he played in last night's horror, though; and the hurt he's inflicted upon you in the past. I know more of your history than you think, ma petite." Draco kisses her forehead, vastly relieved when Hermione submits to his tentative hug.
"May I ask what you meant by that?" her curious question is muffled against his chest.
"Later, sweetheart. I've something else I'd like to discuss," Draco deflects.
"I'd like to speak to you about something, too – but please, you go first. No, I insist," Hermione urges.
Drawing a calming breath, Draco exhales slowly before he answers. "Hermione, would you mind if I attended an AA meeting, this evening? I'd much prefer to spend the night cuddling up to you in our home; but after last night… I need to touch base with Ewan, and spend some time in group. I– I craved a drink a few times – I didn't touch a drop – but the urge… the stress triggered me, and I want to ensure I don't relapse," he confesses.
"Oh, Draco – of course I don't mind – please, you never need ask my permission. Would you like me to come with you? You have my unqualified support – whatever you need, I am here," Hermione closes the small gap between their bodies, hugging him fiercely. "Please tell me how I can help, mon amour."
Please, never stop loving me. Draco buries his face in her petal-soft, springy curls, revelling in their closeness. I mustn't hug her too tight – I wish I never had to let her go.
I never will. You're mine now, Draco.My brave, beautiful man. Hermione squeezes him back with surprising force. The special little moment stretches into a minute of silent intimacy.
"I'd prefer to go alone, for now; not that I don't wish for you to be involved, but I'm feeling a bit raw at present, and I'd rather introduce you to Ewan when I'm not so unsettled," Draco says aloud, pleased when Hermione nods understandingly.
"I'll miss you; but it will make your homecoming all the sweeter," she kisses the hollow of his pale throat delicately. "I'm going to schedule a counselling session with Dr Rica as soon as I can; I'm still ebullient that the roofie drama is essentially resolved, but I know I'm going to be at emotional sixes and sevens for a while yet."
"Excellent: I was going to suggest it, but you've beaten me to it, as usual," Draco grins. "Plus… I was ravished by a brazen temptress this morning, which played dreadful havoc with my memory," he tickles at her ribs playfully.
"Desist, please – a temptress, you say? Ravished, even?! You poor, helpless, puling creature," Hermione scoffs, pinching his bum as she giggles.
"Yes, she was quite the hussy. I suffered through her bold ministrations as best I could," Draco sighs. "Ow! Sheathe your claws, ma petite lionne… Stop it, stop it – you have something you wish to tell me, yes?" he reminds.
Hermione ceases her sportive assault, bending her head as she captures his fingers, nervously playing with them.
"Feel free to tell me it's a poor idea – or that it's too soon to formalize – well, not formalize, so much as categorize – or specify, I suppose you could apply any of those terms with equal accuracy…" she broods.
"Spit it out, before you fall down a linguistic rabbit hole," Draco shakes his head with indulgent pride.
Raising her head, Hermione exhales sharply. "OK… Would you be averse to the idea of me subletting my apartment to Ron and Ginny?" the query hastily tumbles from her lips.
"Sorry – I'm getting ahead of myself – maybe you'd prefer me to move back to Bexley, now the danger has passed – I don't mean to presume, you probably want your space – damn, I shouldn't have said anything –" She drops his fingers, turbulently flapping her hands in an unco-ordinated gesture of uncertainty and rue.
"You're not going anywhere. I forbid it." Draco shakes his head ferociously, gathering his flustered lover flush against his lean body. She stands passively in his possessive hold, eyes huge in her worried face.
"This is your home – here, with me – or at Hogwarts – you live with me now, Hermione Jean Granger. You can lease your old apartment to squirrels, for all I care – Weasels, moles, shrews, hedgehogs – whichever rodents you wish. You live with me, and I shan't listen to any more of your nonsense," he barks sternly.
"You… you really mean that? You want me to stay?" The fact that Hermione still appears uncertain of how integral she is to his existence is insanely infuriating.
"Of course I bloody want you to stay! I spent two nights apart from you recently and it felt like two sodding years – this is your home, it's our home, and you'll have the very devil of a time shaking me loose; don't bother to try, I shan't countenance it," Draco growls, pausing his tirade to pepper indignant smooches over Hermione's cheeks and jawline, nipping a little viciously at her neck as she gasps.
"My genius, adorable, insecure, silly little witch – I was planning on telling you this tomorrow (when our home wasn't inundated with two score of our nearest and dearest), but I'll inform you now: the townhouse is already in both our names. No strings attached… it's as much yours as it is mine, do you understand? Nod once for yes," he instructs.
Hermione slowly complies, her stunning eyes filling with tears faster than he can kiss them away. "Draco – you didn't have to do that – but I love that you did," she sobs, tightly winding her arms around his neck. "You– you really want me– you really love me, don't you?" she whimpers.
"Love you?! The single verb is insufficient to express the depth of my feelings for you, Hermione. I worship you, I adore you, I honour and admire you… I love you more than Macdolas loves food, and that's saying something," Draco includes a little levity to cover his own trembles.
"I love you–" kiss – "Je t'aime–" kiss – "Te quiero–" with this kiss, Hermione cups his nape and eagerly reciprocates.
"I didn't… know… you spoke… Spanish," she pants, between heated lip-locks.
"I'll learn how to say, 'I love you' in all the languages of the world, if you promise to never tire of hearing the phrase," Draco pledges, fervidly groping at her pear-shaped bum (delectably defined by her blue jeans) and nudging her against the side of the still-ajar door. In response, Hermione snakes her right leg up his calf, salaciously rubbing up and down the back of his limb in slow passes.
"Are you convinced… of your foolishness… in thinking… I'd ever want you to move out?" Draco sucks a love bite into Hermione's collarbone, nosing aside the collar of her teal cotton shirt.
"Yes, yes! Maybe… we should… go upstairs," Hermione squeaks as Draco nuzzles the other side of her throat.
"Macdolas reminds Master Malfoy and Her Golden Grace that a multitude of revered guests yet occupy the back garden," the judgemental sprite chirps from a few feet away.
Whomever taught the rascally rotter his entrance timing needs a good kick up the arse. Draco reluctantly lifts his head from the upper swell of Hermione's pretty breast. He rearranges her shirt front before he turns to face their oh-so-helpful Scottish butler… and his companions.
Blaise Zabini is holding his big mitts over Tavi's eyes; the child giggles as he drawls, "Look away, Miss Octavia – Lord Malfoy and the soon-to-be-Lady Malfoy are exhibiting what not to do when you are hosting a party."
"Pi– Piddle sticks," Draco hastily revises his instinctive rude retort at Zabini's razzing, choosing to ignore the 'Lady Malfoy' gibe. "We were just about to return to the party; Hermione was showing me how the door is sticking slightly," he shamelessly fibs.
"Sticking to your backs, it looked like," Blaise snickers. "Macdolas and Ruibby are escorting Tavi to the downstairs toilet, and I wanted to ask Gus something," he explains, eyes tracking to the open lounge room door.
"Ruibby takes Miss Tavi; Macdolas may begin to clear the tables," the blonde maidservant trills, adeptly steering Tavi back along the corridor. "Ruibby advises to hold off on serving the selection of cakes for at least another half hour; full bellies need resting, my valiant Scotchman."
"But… Oui, ma douce reine," Macdolas diffidently concedes. "Macdolas defers to his dear Ruibby's wisdom." He trudges out through the kitchen again.
"They're in the living room, I imagine. Hey, Blaise?" Draco pinches the other man's sleeve as he pivots in that direction. "We meant well, before – you know, about the Gilmonts. No one wants to see you get hurt, either," he quietly pronounces. "Just tread carefully, yes?".
"I got the message, Draco. Didn't much appreciate being verbally ambushed and ganged up on – but I understand where you were coming from." He impatiently brushes off Draco's hand. "You'd best get back out there – Hermione's dad is threatening to re-enact his performance as 'Willy Wonka', and he's trying to persuade Kreacher to be an Oompa Loompa."
"Oh, no!" Hermione darts out of Draco's light hold and sprints for the yard, her mien thoroughly alarmed.
"Your future father-in-law… is he completely sane?" Zabini idly enquires. "I get the impression not all his beagles are howling – or perhaps, they never stop."
"Bernard is… kooky, but he's not mad," Draco admits. "He's an acquired taste, but he has a good heart. Don't let him at your teeth, though," he warns. "Nor allow him to inspect Gelsy's – she'll never forgive you."
"Got it." Blaise hustles into the lounge.
Wandering out to the bruncheon gathering, Draco hides his smile behind a yawn as he witnesses Hermione leading away a bristling Kreacher. The ancient elf has his black kitten secured in the cleverly crafted sling, and is grimly glaring at a disappointed Bernard.
"I never expected him to sing, Little Wendy – he was only going to be a silent extra," a crestfallen Bernard protests; Hermione ignores him altogether.
Wirey is prudently hiding beside Narcissa and Jane… 'fawning over them' would be a more accurate description. Draco drops into the seat between the two women, effectively forcing the German elf to let go of the women's wrists and desist his practised, overly-effusive compliments.
Unctuous little varmint. "Why don't you assist Signorina Gelsomina in helping Macdolas to clear the banquet, Herr Wireceaster?" Draco encourages. "You appear to have finally rallied, after your big night out on the tiles."
"Herr Wireceaster was led astray by an accomplished Isebel… and his own hubris," he stiffly replies. "The Macdolas has the cleaning-up well in hand, he assures Wireceaster."
"Go re-tie Gelsy's ribbon, then – it's coming loose," Draco sniggers. "And I would not refer to her as a 'Jezebel' ever again, if I were you."
Wirey twirls angrily at his waxed moustache. He stomps off to snatch up an unused silver ladle, peeping critically at his reflection and adjusting the black silk cord affixed to his right ear.
"You were rather sharp with him, Draco; is something the matter?" Narcissa coolly enquires. "Who was at the door?".
He hesitates before revealing, "Ron Weasley – hellbent on grovelling to all and sundry, after his disgraceful performance at the Gala last night." He fills them in on Ron's part in the drama with a few succinct sentences.
"Hermione readily forgave him; but Potter and Pansy weren't as lenient. He fled with his tail between his legs once he said his piece. I didn't lay a hand on him, Mother," Draco pre-empts Narcissa's likely interrogation. "Not that I didn't want to," he grumbles under his breath.
"Ronald has the makings of a fine young man – but he needs to address the large chip still wedged on his shoulder, and rethink his place in the world," Jane Granger sagely comments. "I never thought he was the true match for my daughter, Draco; they never… connected, the way you and Hermione have."
"You need to learn to let go of your raging jealousy, darling. Perhaps you could extend some empathy to the Weasley boy – from all I've read, he experienced many hardships during Voldemort's second reign of terror… and lost a beloved brother," Narcissa contributes. "You of all people should understand that redemption is a torturous road to travel… Be the better human, mon fils."
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Draco clutches the back of his neck as he eventually replies, "I'll think on it." His mother's gentle reproach is… disconcerting, he accedes.
"Hermione's beckoning to you, Draco; and you should probably leave anyway, before Jane and I recommence discussing our husbands'… comparative sprightliness," Narcissa cackles evilly as Draco rockets off his chair, shooting Jane an apologetic look for his precipitate departure.
Not that Jane Granger appears to mind; she is tipping back her head and slapping her knee in mirth. Shuddering, Draco unwillingly recalls the image of Hermione's parents enthusiastically testing the weight-bearing limits of that heinous car seat couch in the Grangers' study.
I'll never deliberately embarrass our children in such a dreadful fashion – I swear it.
"Malfoy? What's happened? You've gone from appearing aghast to looking positively dreamy," Hermione wonders.
"Our mothers are diabolical, Granger – you don't want to know their current gossipy topic," Draco points to where the two women are chattering and… making measuring gestures? Oh, no.
"Never mind," he blocks her view with his tall form. "You called me over?".
"Yes… would you mind if I set up Tavi and the elves in the lounge to watch a video together, please? Kreacher's worried she's getting a little tired, and in need of a rest," Hermione says.
"Of course not – that's a wonderful idea. Come, we'll clear the living room of the malingering humans and pick a film." Draco wraps his arm around Hermione's shoulder, nodding to Kreacher to accompany them. "We'll advise Macdolas to round up the others once we're inside."
"Thank you, Draco."
Harry tries to dismiss Ron's pitiful face from his mind, as the distant sound of his best friend's rapidly retreating footfalls begins to fade. He resolves to harden his heart against the guilt and regret he is experiencing.
I meant what I said – we do need a breather. Ron will never be motivated to change his selfish ways unless he truly understands that his rash actions often have damaging consequences. I'm really going to miss the big pillock, though.
Harry's deep sigh is cut short when Pansy shyly curves a hand around his neck, rubbing at his ear lobe. "Hey. Don't beat up on yourself – you did the right thing, Harry. He'll be alright – and hopefully he'll use the time apart to work on his issues," Pansy softly assures.
"I guess…" Harry shrugs, struggling to cast off his pervasive sense of melancholy and loss.
"Hop up," Pansy tugs him upright with her. "Let's talk privately – out of range of your ex, preferably," she nods to Ginny, who is absorbed in a quiet conversation with Viktor, Luna, and Gus.
Harry obediently lets Pansy lead him from the room, giving a little wave as they pass the others. "Are you leading me astray, Pansy?" he teases, as she bypasses the staircase and continues down the back hallway.
"You wish," the brunette quips, opening and closing a couple of doors before deciding upon one. "This will do." She plunks down on the small single bed, flicking on the lamp… which in turn triggers the illumination of multiple strings of fairy lights.
Squinting, Harry observes, "This must be Macdolas's bedroom… I think he might have a Gryffindor fetish." Almost everything is red, crimson, scarlet, or cerise, including the bedding and the curtains.
"I think it's his love nest – check this out," Pansy hands him a framed Polaroid photograph of Mac and Ruibby, snogging each other to the point where their long noses appear to be somehow fused. The angle is odd; Harry realizes that they must have taken the snapshot at arm's length.
Malfoy talks tough about his house elf… but this room proves beyond a doubt how much the blond prat cares for his cheeky little steward. Harry shakes his head, amazed by the difference between poor Dobby's treatment, and Macdolas's customized living quarters.
"Are you OK, Harry? I know that was a difficult confrontation for you," Pansy interrupts his musings. She keeps his hand in hers, delicately outlining his palm lines with her fingertips. "Ron's been your friend – your brother, in actuality – for half your lifetime."
"He has – but just because I love him, doesn't mean I can continue to tolerate his behaviour," Harry replies. "Last night was the final straw for me, Pansy. Yes, I understand – in my head – that Ron didn't mean for Cormac to snatch you, and hurt you; but my heart is still enraged," he confesses.
"Harry – I never want you to feel you have to choose between me, and your bestie – shit, I don't mean to presume that I'm that important to you – what I'm trying to say, is that I'm not expecting –"
"Pansy – never doubt you are of the utmost importance to me," Harry urgently interrupts. "I haven't chosen between the two of you – but you will always come first. And– erm– I want to tell you– I want to ask you if I can– court you properly, for want of a better term," he shuffles closer on the bed, dismissing his nerves to gaze intensely into her gorgeous jade eyes.
"C-Court me? Harry, I don't expect– " Pansy's eyes are enormous, reflecting both shock and cautious joy.
"I do. I want to know you, Pansy – I want to know your mind, and your spirit… I want to know all the things that make you, you… the big and the small, the silly and the substantial. I want to know if you like pickles on your burger; if you prefer windy days to rainy nights; if you'd rather watch a sunset, or a sunrise. I want to take you to the movies; I want to watch you at work; I want to know what's your favourite meal… and I want to stop making impassioned speeches like an absolute tosser," Harry wryly laughs at his earnest monologue.
"No one's ever… been interested in me like that, before," Pansy looks like a lost puppy; she splays her fingers over the near side of her face, hiding her expression.
Gently lifting away her hand, Harry waits for her eyes to connect with his.
"Their loss. We're going to do this properly, Pansy."
"I don't know how I feel about that, Harry," she hesitantly conveys. "Does that mean you don't want to have sex with me?" she baldly asks.
"Of course I want to– I mean, I want to make love with you, Pansy… when we know each other. Properly. With– with true intimacy, I mean." Harry blushes as Pansy lifts a quizzical black brow.
"Like – we wait a fortnight, or until some other arbitrary marker has been met?" she seems genuinely baffled.
"No: I mean, we'll know when we're both ready." Harry's tender heart aches thinking of the lack of care Pansy's been shown, in the past. He impulsively pulls her onto his lap, deciding a little kiss will help to seal the deal.
Leaning in, Harry hovers his lips a quarter inch from hers; not closing the distance is agonizing, but he must ensure Pansy wants this as much as he does. Her minty, strawberry fragrance is heady and beguiling.
Harry has just closed his eyes when Pansy launches forward, toppling him onto his back. She twines around him, making his breath hitch as she ardently drinks freely of his parted mouth. Any vestigial thought he has of taking things slowly is blown out of the water. Harry meets her explorative hands with his own fevered strokes, thoroughly enjoying charting the graceful curves of Pansy's bum and hips beneath her borrowed black stovepipe trousers.
Pansy's kisses are an enchanting mix of sweet and savage; she nips at his lower lip one moment, her tongue tip soothing the tiny sting in the next instant. Harry's head is swimming, his glasses knocked askew, and his breathing frayed.
By Merlin – this woman sets me afire every single time… how on earth am I to restrain myself from wanting to tumble her into bed whenever I see her?! Harry groans internally as he considers how he's just narrated a pretty speech resulting in basically cockblocking himself. I am a total fucking idiot.
Disoriented by their mounting passion, Harry fails to notice the door opening.
"Macdolas does not object to The Most Revered Excellency Auror Harry Potter and the Perfectly Pulchritudinous Miss Pansy Parkinson utilizing Macdolas's bedroom as a libidinous rendezvous location – though he begs humble leave to be informed prior to such activities taking place!" Macdolas squalls. He skips to the bed to retrieve his elfish selfie, placing it carefully back in position atop his dresser. The mannikin's air of aggrieved affront is evident in his crossed arms and beetled brow.
Pansy lazily lifts her head from Harry's liberally hickey-marked throat, smirking wickedly. "Sorry, Mac. Give us a couple of minutes, and we'll be on our way." She ignores Macdolas's unintelligible grumble as she bestows a last scorching kiss to Harry's damp, puffy mouth. Her smooth dark locks gloriously tickle his inflamed skin as she turns her head to address Macdolas.
"We're getting to know one another… it was all Harry's idea," she teases. "I adore what you've done with the place, by the way."
Ire forgotten, Macdolas preens and begins touting the 'special features' of the converted boxroom.
Harry stares dazedly at Pansy as the perky elf's animated discourse on the benefits of his Extendable Wardrobe rambles on in the background.
She smiles back at him… a slightly bashful, vulnerable beam, imbued with trust, and hope. His breath catches as he realizes she's showing him her willingness to try for a real relationship… with him.
Harry sits up to hug her tightly.
Oh, Pansy… I am going to do everything I can to make you see how absolutely special you are.
I promise.
French translations:
Trou du cul – arsehole
Oui, ma douce reine – Yes, my sweet queen.
