Chapter 42 – Great Minds Think Alike
A/N: Please forgive me for the literal half-year delay and the disappointingly brief chapter. I wanted y'all to know I haven't forgotten about Metanoia and that this plot continues to live (chaotically) rent-free in my brain. I could give you all the reasons – COVID, health problems, mental issues, general exhaustion, other projects requiring my attention, etc. - but I doubt y'all have the free time to hear them all lol. I am absolutely over the moon for those that continue to like, give kudos/hits, commented, added this story to your favorite list, recommended on fanfic forums, and more. It means so much and keeps me going/brainstorming. I can't guarantee any posting schedule but know that I'm still here and my five houses in Capricorn practically panics every week I don't update!
P.s. I saw a tag that made me amused and sad at the same time, so here it goes:
#nobetawedielikehedwig (P.s.s. I am the worst I know and I have no beta, sooooo please ignore any grammatical/word issues)
Hermione had never labeled herself as a giddy schoolgirl, especially when it came to love. Not just in terms of romance, but passion that rippled unexpectedly deep within your belly that resulted in husky sighs and an annoyingly painful amount of goosebumps. She equated the feeling to her mother's breathy reaction to her secret stash of trashy romance novels hidden beneath an unassuming pile of old Dentistry Today journals or the enthusiastic yet hushed whispers of her Hogwarts' dormmates Lavender Brown and Parvarti Patil when a new installment of some steamy wizarding fantasy story had recently been released in Witches' Weekly. But the fluttering of an ungodly amount of butterflies in her stomach apparently gave her no exemption. She had felt faint, exhilarated, and utterly turned on by Draco's pronouncement of his love. Pleas of marriage aside, she had nearly come undone by his sincerity. The subtle pleading in his silvery eyes, the dejected curve of his shoulders as if already prepared for her refusal, and the absolute sincerity of the question.
With a case like that, plus it didn't help that he was absolutely gorgeous and supposedly her ancient equal half, how could she resist! Control yourself Hermione, she admonished indignantly!
Hermione felt a movement in her mind and scoffed internally, sensing the internal machination of Cerridwen.
Took you mortals long enough. In Medieval times, this would have happened much quicker.
"YOU are positively medieval", Hermione shot back, "You'd think an eternal goddess would be more of an equalist."
Child, I've lived every lifetime conceivable, every lifetime imaginable and unimaginable. Generations beyond your comprehension. From an all-powerful being who influenced the ancient civilizations of Sumeria and Babylon to worship the awe-inspiring power of divine fruitfulness then as the secret wife and politically slandered "whore" of the most famous prophet in recent philosophical and religious history, to the nameless Ultimate Mother on the edge of humanity as all stars in the universe blinked and burned out of existence. I have little patience for your outrage regarding marital complexes.
Hermione merely muttered angrily under her breath in response.
No matter. It is nearly done. Some spoken words and a simple ritual – then all shall be done.
Intuitively, Hermione knew it wouldn't be straightforward, in any sense of the word. Cerridwen had a way of oversimplifying things. Cunning goddess. Guess witnessing several millennia dulls the finer senses. Hermione impatiently waited for Cerridwen to speak again.
Make him yours and you'll both be infinitely more powerful than some diminutive so-called "Dark Lord" who was essentially defeated by an infant.
Hermione barely suppressed a giggle at Cerridwen's rumblings. She could have sworn she heard "ridiculous beings" and "other planets not this difficult" in the recesses of her mind. It was vaguely amusing that her kind could still infuriate a celestial being. However, Hermione was abruptly reminded of Olympian gods being frustrated, yet similarly fascinated, by the simple humdrum and mortality of humankind.
However, Hermione was not pleased with the notion that humans, while possibly including magical beings, were being compared to potentially single-celled organic beings like bacteria. It wouldn't surprise her if Cerridwen paired her species with such a simple organism.
Suddenly, Hermione swayed dangerously as Cerridwen's words sunk in.
Make him yours.
Cerridwen didn't mean…..THAT…did she?
Of course I did. How else has this species perpetuated? How else has it symbolized its bond? What else is the purest form of magic?
Hermione felt Cerridwen's anger flare in indignation, seemingly annoyed by a line of questioning she felt infantile and a perfect waste of time.
Blood magic, Hermione answered feebly despite already knowing the answer. Damn her. She waited once again, sensing Cerridwen had one last thing to add.
Despite your misgivings, I wholly understand your customs.
Here she paused, Hermione somehow sensed exactly what Cerridwen was hinting at.
Periwinkle will drive him crazy.
Draco could hardly believe his luck. Hermione Granger had agreed to marry him! Not only that, but she had also admitted she loved him. He couldn't believe it! She had chosen him. What a pair they would make…the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Princess. Cerridwen and Tegid Foel. Metaphorical and literal magical royalty. Not that it mattered in the least. The unexpected witch that had captured him body and soul had consented to be his partner for life.
The euphoric feeling was quickly replaced with a crashing apprehension, harshly reminded of his own parent's loveless union. His mother had briefly referred to their courtship, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
"I was thrilled to be matched to such an illustrious family. How could a family of such sophisticated and refined breeding produce such a disappointing son?" she had recalled bitterly, "No matter, I received a beautiful and thoughtful son that I wouldn't relinquish for the world." She finished with a gentle smile.
He had pressed her for more information, disappointed to hear such negative implications regarding his then-idol. She had refused to speak further but merely waved her slim hand as if brushing away a bothersome fly when he inquired further. Draco wasn't sure about the thoughtful part either, but he had hoped that Hermione had influenced him for the better. He'd never directly admit that to her though. He had to retain some semblance of that so-called Slytherin aloofness.
A wave of panic reared up at the thought of what to do next. They hadn't been formally courting, something his Pureblood bringing had stressed as absolutely mandatory prior to an engagement. Not to mention asking for the parent's permission. He wouldn't dare do Hermione the disservice of the discussion of a dowry. That was a one-way ticket to the full force of her wrath and indignation. He had no idea how to plan a wedding. He had always been under the assumption that his mother, and his bride-to-be's mother as well, would handle everything as required by old Pureblood traditions. He wanted Hermione to have everything her heart desired for that special day, but their cottage offered very little in the way of refinement and style. Not that he assumed she would want such an affair, but Hermione had her own way of doing things and he didn't pretend to know better.
Unexpectedly, a thought pierced his mind that struck fear into the very fabric of his being. So deeply, he was sure Hermione had felt his fear permeate their mental connection. Struggling to control his emotions, he took a deep breath and attempted to block his racing mind.
Merlin's great beard, he hadn't even presented her with a blasted ring!
Years of etiquette drilled into him, forgotten. His mother would be so ashamed. The bride's family would probably break off the courtship, taking that as a sign of the suitor's lack of intention or interest. Draco could basically hear Cerridwen's cackle of glee. A mental image of Tegid stamping in exasperation at his lack of tact played like a Muggle film across his mind.
He had fumbled out some poorly strung together words, awkwardly asking for her hand in marriage. The Fates certainly had a crude sense of humor allowing him to nearly botch the most important question of his entire life. He cringed realizing that the only way he'd get a suitable ring would be to either transfigure some ordinary item, which in essence would be a fake, or have Hermione use her power of alchemy to create a legitimate piece. The first option felt insulting, the second lacked romance. All he is knew is that he had to get a ring on her finger ASAP!
Fortunately, the design itself wouldn't be an issue. He knew exactly what stone he wanted for her.
A simple but sizeable pale sapphire.
His reasoning was two-fold. Just as flowers had meaning, as did gemstones. A sapphire represented the month of September, her birth month. Secondly, it reminded him of the first time he had been entranced by her. So many years ago, Hermione Granger had swept down the stone steps of the Great Hall, a vision of delicate blue at the Yule Ball that had haunted his adolescent dreams for many years.
No other stone would do and his witch, his fated queen, Hermione Jean Granger, deserved everything he had to give.