A/N: Skip this part if you didn't wait months for this update …
Guys, I apologise for the atrociously long hiatus. I told you I might skip an update here and there … understatement of the century.
To be quick, we bought a house, rebuilt it entirely but for the four walls that make it stand.
Which only took two months of work 24/7. (For the big work eh, it's still not finished obviously.)
I didn't write at all.
Two months away from the keyboard and once I was finally able to write again, I hated this chapter.
I found myself questioning the whole story, the plot, everything.
I experienced writer's block in the past but never to this extend.
Miscarriage is such a sensitive subject … I felt like the whole approach was wrong. Especially Ron's behaviour here.
But then, I realised that there was no dictated way to handle it. Just so you know, I didn't write this with no knowledge on the subject, but I still found the whole chapter wrong.
If you do too, just know that there is a third part.
Anyway, it took me four more months to get back on track.
BUT I'm back. And the next chapters are close to ready to be published.
I won't make any promises I'm not going to be able to keep and schedule the chapters though, but I'll try to publish as frequently as possible.
Thank you for your patience if you're still around, and also for the lovely reviews I got while away.
Love, Lucie.
End of the previous chapter:
The four of them jumped out of their skin as the door to the pub, which had stayed gratefully closed all evening, banged open. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. Ron was there, stumbling on his feet, a bottle of what seemed to be elf wine in his right hand, his eyes searching the place without seeing. He was followed closely by a panting Neville that spotted her right away:
"Hermione I'm so sorry I couldn't …"
"HERE SHE IS! THE SLYTHERIN SLUT!"
Friday, June 27th, 2003.
Part two: Such a horrific encounter.
Astoria Greengrass was, and proudly so, a Slytherin. There was not, and had never been, a thing in the world that could stand in the way between her and what she wanted.
For instance, she hadn't wanted to be the perfect little pure-blooded girl her father had wanted her to be so, she hadn't been.
She'd played in the grass, ruined her overly-expensive shoes and done everything to annoy her dance teacher until she'd been kicked out of class.
She hadn't wanted to stay at the family home in the wait of finding a rich heir she could marry and milk out of his money so, she'd fled from home, taken a crappy job at the Ministry, paid for her own flat and, maybe a little out of spite, slept with countless men less than appropriate for wedding.
The fact that she'd fallen for Blaise Zabini of all people, and decided to settle with tall dark-skinned handsomeness topped with what her father considered a considerably disputable reputation, was only convenient.
She hadn't wanted to use her family ties to climb the social ladder either so, she'd worked her arse off and refused any suspicious job offers that could have come from one of her father's numerous acquaintances, as well as to use the Gringott's vault he kept loading every month anyway.
She hadn't approached Hermione Granger, the Hermione Granger she'd admired for years and even so before the war, in that purpose either, but hard work paid and the witch had recognised her talent and hard-working skills. It was only fair.
After working a while with the brilliant witch though, Astoria had found that she rather liked her, when the woman was on a good day. It had definitely made the younger Greengrass want to do something about the famous witch's mood.
The obvious decision had been to become her friend, and so, she had.
What people didn't know about Astoria Greengrass though, especially since she had quite the reputation among men, was that if ambition was a strong trait of character she possessed, loyalty was the only other that rivalled the first.
She was loyal to those she cared about.
Which only represented a very negligible amount of people, but still.
Hermione Granger had quickly become one of those people.
Now that Astoria was her friend, the only thing she wanted for her, was to be happy.
And nothing stood in the way of what Astoria Greengrass wanted.
So, it was the least to say that, when Hermione's drunk and stupid ex-husband arrived to interrupt a very well going evening, the pretty witch saw red.
After everything she'd done to protect her boss' raw feelings, the idiot had to poke his nose in the middle of a 'firlty' evening between the two stubbornest people she cared about – besides Blaise that was – and start ruining everything Astoria had worked for.
How were they supposed to realise that they liked each other – even if of course to anyone else that bit was quite obvious – and had better stop flirting to snog already, if the ex-husband came in drunk and with a quite substantial list of insults to give away?
Oh.
Maybe by letting Draco take her defence? Again? Lucky once, lucky twice.
If only things were that easy.
Astoria watched the exchange grow quite heated, Weasley stuttering and spitting in front of him while the bottle of elf wine he was holding split down his feet pathetically, and Hermione roll her eyes and sigh tiredly, her face growing sombre and more exasperated by the second.
Astoria was certain that the only reason why she hadn't exploded yet was the liquor they'd all been drinking profusely.
The pretty witch watched Draco stiffen and then clench and unclench his jaw so tightly he'd probably break teeth. She eyed Blaise to let things go when her handsome man stood and warned the redhead that, if he kept insulting Hermione, he'd end up with that bottle so far up his arse, even a dementor wouldn't be able to suck it back out.
It had only been half-heartedly that Astoria had silently warned Blaise off, the creativity in her man's insults gave her some sense of pride that warmed her heart. Still, Blaise reluctantly listened but the drunk didn't stop and Astoria almost stepped in as well when she realised that Hermione was not exasperated but miserable.
Her friend's jaw was trembling but just as Astoria was about to open her mouth, she saw Draco start to take the few steps separating them and congratulated herself for waiting and enduring the atrocious moment.
A bit too early.
"Enough." Draco drawled, attracting the drunk's attention.
"Mind your own arse Malfoy. If it weren't for us you'd be dead." Draco opened his mouth to retaliate but Hermione was quicker:
"Don't talk to him like that!" She barked and Astoria almost cheered.
"Why? He was a death-eater!" The idiot reminded everyone. "Don't you remember how he called you at school?"
Astoria remembered reminding both men how they'd called her at school no so long ago and when she thought Hermione would at least pause instead, she sighed dejectedly: "Stop that Ron …"
"He called you mudblood." The redhead spat, ignoring her and then chinned the air towards Draco, his drunken gaze burning in hate: "He meant it, you know? He even watched you get tor …"
"DO NOT finish that sentence, Ron." Hermione warned, she looked about to explode and when Astoria thought it would finally trigger Draco's anger, the last started to pale instead. Watch her what?
"Why not? It's true!"
"And I forgave him. It's in the past!" Hermione spat, taking deep breaths.
"Just like our marriage." Weasley recalled before a light moan escaped his lips."Just like our babies." He cried and that's when Astoria regretted staying silent.
Blaise exchanged a shocked look with her, although she'd already known. The only one not shocked per se was Draco.
Hermione looked about to faint though, and Astoria decided that it was enough. She took a step towards the divorcees and barked:
"That's enough Weasley!"
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and emptiness grip her chest. The air felt still all of a sudden and the heavy silence that followed had her rooted to the spot. Then, she heard Astoria but Ron ignored her and Hermione couldn't just look away now.
"Yeah you don't care, do you?" He bawled, taking a step further and towering her. He scared her now. Something was wrong with him.
"How dare you …" She managed to gasp, her voice trembling, and she hated it.
"I only say the truth. You never gave a damn. And then what? You found someone else to blame and pretended it just wasn't possible!" He shrieked at the end, waving his arms as though helpless.
"What? I don't ... What are you talking about?" Hermione felt lost, he was now all she could see, all she could hear, the hate in his eyes, the vindictive sneer on his mouth, the trembling hurt in his voice. He chuckled then, a hysterical edge to the sound. Almost a cackle. Something … mad.
"Bellatrix." He swore, the very name an insult in his mouth. How ironic that he sounded just like her then. "A lie. Like our bloody marriage! A lie!" He shrieked, closing again the space between them. Hermione was vaguely aware of the others loudly debating something at her back.
A lie? Bellatrix? Did he … Did he seriously not believe her?
She'd thought he'd been in denial, and had just wanted to keep hoping but it went far beyond that.
He'd never believed her.
For real.
And he was watching her with so much hate, so much spite that she was reminded of a night. One night in the woods, the night he'd left them. Right, he wasn't himself.
"You're drunk beyond reason." She concluded.
"I hate you." He answered.
She hadn't expected it to hurt. But it did anyway.
"I hate you." He repeated. "You've never loved me. You've never really tried. You broke my heart Mione." He pushed, his voice breaking at the end, his eyes blurring. She'd broken his heart. Hermione felt her face tense and something gripped her throat.
Her heart had been broken too! She balled her fists at her sides.
"But you don't care now, do you?" He continued. "You never wanted a family, am I right? You wanted your stupid career and that's all that mattered!" He paused, that little glint of hate in his eye was still there, just beside his pupil, in the light blue that coloured his irises. "It's no wonder you lost them, you know? Who in the world works fifty hours a week to help death-eater's families? You know that I still arrest some of those monsters? Some are still free!" He roared, years of resentment finally leaving his mouth. The scathing answer bubbling up under Hermione's lips was cut short as he let go of the bottle of wine he'd been holding. It crashed on the floor, but Ron seemed oblivious to it as his voice broke, and tears streaked his face.
"All that to lose our babies." He added in a whisper. Hermione knew she was crying too but the tears weren't only from grief then. What he said enraged her. It burned her heart, clenched her throat, and awoke a revolted fire within her chest. She felt rage, resentment, ire, spike under her skin like venom.
"Like I did it on purpose! What the hell is wrong with you?" She thundered through tears she decided he didn't deserve.
"You killed something in me when you lost them. Each time I died inside Mione. I wanted a kid so bad …" He swallowed and rubbed his face in his left hand before pointing a shaking finger to her chest. "But you never really tried. All of this … It's your fault. It's your fault we lost them."
Hermione froze, her breath caught in her throat and something burning fell at the pit of her stomach. She had no control over the aflame ire in her tone then:
"Bellatrix cursed me in the stomach." She roared. "I can't bear children! When are you …"
"LIES! All lies! Excuses you fucking coward!"
"I am not a coward." She pushed rather quietly. "It was not my fault."
"Oh! Was it mine then?" He said before lifting his unsteady finger to her chest once more. "You killed yourself at work! You worked non-stop until you lost them! You never wanted kids and you did everything you could to lose them!"
A wave of shock washed through her then. She exhaled a shaky breath against her will. She felt like she was sinking into the floor under her feet. The sound of her voice then, she didn't recognise. She sounded … hurt.
"Is … is that what you really think?"
"And what else am I supposed to think?" He asked with wide eyes; "You spent almost two years buried day and night in that project to make this scum accepted back in our society!" His finger drifted to those at her back and returned to her chest. "You killed your health! You lost three babies Hermione … Three … You killed me. You broke my fucking heart."
She couldn't believe him. How dare he, again, make all this about him? Only him. Always him.
"Because you think it didn't break mine?" She hissed.
"And how?" He shouted. "You don't have a heart!"
Draco had controlled himself. He'd been on the verge of exploding, his not-so-supposedly super loyal wand already vibrating in his hand, but he'd controlled himself. Hermione was a big girl. She stood up for herself and would surely not appreciate Draco Malfoy, of all people, to poke his nose in her post-marital business. Blaise had still cautiously stood in his way though.
But Draco had controlled himself.
Until his aunt had been mentioned.
That had felt like a giant slap right across the face.
It was his family's fault.
And he'd been there.
He'd only felt guilt then.
But then the bastard had said the one-sentence too much. The one Rita Skeeter had said at the charity.
You don't have a heart.
His boiling rage had only needed for his self-control to snap away and it barely took a second for Draco to lose it. He roughly pushed Blaise out of the way to throw himself at the drunk, not bothering with his wand, hate washing through him in waves.
The shock sent pain through his knuckles up to his elbow and the crack that resounded filled the suddenly silent air. Weasley fell unconscious in a lump on the floor under Draco's heavy breathing.
Although Draco realised instantly what he risked, he wasn't really concerned by the consequences then. There was worse.
What was worse was that Hermione looked shocked. He saw her big brown eyes grow wide with shock. And then … worry. And he couldn't help the pang of hurt he felt at that moment.
Her gaze kept sweeping from his hand to the atrocious bastard bleeding on the floor. The tears were drying on her face, living thin tracks on absent dimples.
She seemed to be waiting for him to say something but Draco didn't trust what could come out of his mouth then.
So, closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and did the right thing.
He felt dirty as he nodded.
She passed him to go check on the rotter. She didn't say a word but lifted her wand and shot a flare of yellow magic to his head.
"He'll be fine." She gave in a trembling voice.
Draco noticed that Longbottom had disappeared sometime during the altercation only then that he reappeared from the back room with Aberforth in tow.
The last had surely been taking a nap, he was marked with a whole new set of wrinkles.
He turned to Hermione after eyeing the unconscious crappy lump on the floor and came closer to take her by the shoulders:
"You all go. I'll handle him."
"But …"
"No discussion." He warned.
But the weasel chose that moment to wake up and he sat slowly, an accusing finger pointed to Draco's chest, the other wiping his nose. "You …" He stuttered. "You bastard …"
"Shut up or I'll do it again." Draco drawled, his anger, at Weasley, at Hermione for caring, at himself for actually caring too, threatening to blow again.
"You can try." He challenged, blood dripping from his nose and Draco almost did him the favour but Blaise stood in the way again. Although he looked about as enraged as he.
"Ron …" Hermione started.
"Get off me, you whore!"
Blaise was a hypocrite. He let go of Draco to spring to Weasley just as the last pushed Hermione off of him, but was shoved right back to Draco by a protego.
He looked livid, the glare he shot at Aberforth would have made the wisest man cower. Weasley was not a wise man though, he chuckled mockingly.
"That's enough." Aberforth's voice rebounded, low, threatening, in the whole room, making all of them freeze. "You four," He said, his voice calm again, showing all but the auror, "are going to go back home, and pretend none of this happened. I'll take care of it."
"Yeah right! Fuck off! I'll take this to court …" The drunken monster barked but was cut by a threatening spit:
"Like I'll fucking let you do that." Hermione had stood and was now just behind Draco and Blaise. "Episkey." She shot with a dirty but wet smirk Draco still found himself quite proud of. The rage made her eyes squint in threat though. If it weren't for Aberforth, Draco was certain she'd have hexed him.
"Out. Now." Aberforth's voice was enough for them all to start moving. His order didn't leave any space for discussion. Only the weasel was enough of a fool to keep mumbling under his breath.
Something about proofs.
Too bad for him the head of Law Enforcement knew how not to leave any.