my_thestral ◾ ◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 21/1)

Author's note: Just got back from the doctor and I remember I have this to do - I won't be able to tomorrow, cause I have this really fucked up project at work I'm taking over and I assume it will be a lot of work. Like you wanted to know that... :P Anyway, this one was hard to write, I've had a million versions of it and Narcissa, as always, was not part of the plan nor would she stick to it once she was included. That blasted woman! And I've had a complete different ending for this chapter written and I deleted it, cause it would have gone into the detail too much. Too bad I got this feeling that I have to wrap this one up, I think it would be twice the length if I wrote everything I feel like writing, but some mental editing must be done, or it would have become twice as boring as it might have already.:)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 1673 (this part)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Just playing here, yeah? No money made, clearly, if only.. ;)

“There is a lady from the Ministry who’d like to speak to you, Mistress,” said the tiny house-elf who usually served the Malfoy couple their breakfast.

“The Ministry?” Lucius Malfoy frowned and looked at the house-elf with stormy eyes. “Are you sure? I won’t have any joking about with these things in my house, you know!”

“Certain, absolutely certain, Master, forgive me!” the little creature squealed in holy fear it always felt for its master. “She even left a card, you see, but she had not asked to see Master, she wants to see her ladyship!”

“Give here,” Lucius extended his arm imperiously towards his servant and the creature gave the card away with such speed as if it was made of hot stones.

“Deputy Minister Hermione Granger-Weasley!? The Mudblood?! In my house!? My darling, what have you done?!” Lucius looked at his wife in sincere shock.

“Oh, I’m sure whatever it is, it’s nothing I can’t rectify,” Narcissa replied calmly and got up gracefully. “Show her to my private parlour, we are not to be disturbed,” she issued her order to a house-elf who was more than happy to escape with a set of clear instructions and disappear from the eyes of the grumpy Master.

“Now, if you will excuse me, darling – it doesn’t seem proper to let the Deputy Minister waiting, I’m sure it’s nothing – perhaps just a little thing or two about the inquiries we’ve made about all the stuff that’s gone missing during the war - she is very ambitious, you know, I wouldn’t put it beyond her to come and collect political points by delivering this or the other unimportant news in person!”

“You’re right,” murmured Lucius, whose sore spot were all the opportunities that became open to the Muggle-borns after the war. “If I had it my way the woman would be pushing a quill in our Indian branch office, but of course when Arthur, that hopeless idiot, retired, he made sure his position was passed onto his daughter-in-law, the sentimental old fool! For certain she came crawling for support – as if she would ever get it in this household!”

“Come now, Lucius,” his wife reprimanded him gently. “Play nice. I’ve heard the woman is quite capable.. besides – whatever our feelings, we can’t afford to turn any of the Weasleys or their relatives against us, or next time we go to Diagon Alley we won’t be able to buy a scone – I swear that ginger lot is everywhere, like mice!”

And Lucius just grunted angrily in approval as he watched his wife disappear.

The room Narcissa took her visitor in was a strange, but nevertheless lovely mixture of a salon and an office, as it had an abundance of soft comfortable chairs scattered about, giving the room a fresh, informal feel, but it also had an elegant looking desk and, tucked slightly into the corner and out of immediate view, there was even a large portly Pensieve that seemed strangely out of place. As soon as the door of her private quarters clicked behind her Narcissa Malfoy approached her unusual visitor gracefully and, unlike their last encounter some odd 11 years ago, greeted her kindly:

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley! How lovely to see you! Please, do take a chair and make yourself comfortable. Wheezy, refreshments, if you please and then we are not to be disturbed!”

Visibly tired Hermione Granger-Weasley merely nodded in gratitude towards the jittery house-elf and sat down in a comfortable armed chair she was offered. Narcissa picked a chair opposite to her and looked at her across the elegant salon table with focused bright eyes:

“I must tell you... I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

When Hermione’s head shot up in surprise, Narcissa merely smiled one of her tiny incomprehensible smiles and offered:

“I knew I should once it became clear you will inevitably meet my grandson. I’m told your lovely daughter Rose and our Scorpius seem to… fall into each other whenever their paths meet and at one opportunity when I had the pleasure of meeting her in person, she immediately expressed her wish to acquaint Scorpius to the rest of her family. Your daughter is a very resolute young woman, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, such spirit! I dare say when she puts her mind to it, nothing is beyond her reach. So I assumed there would be… trouble on September 1.

I know you - by more accounts than one – to be an exceptionally bright woman, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, so I knew once you saw Scorpius, you’d connect the dots fairly quickly. I imagine you were hard pressed to make some sense of the relationship between my Draco and Ronald, yes? Nothing but a half-truth out of that chess master supreme you have for a husband and I imagine my son just loved being provocative, cryptic and not very helpful... I know you would eventually remember I was somewhat involved with summoning your husband to my grandson on the night of his birth, so I gathered that once everything else failed, there was a fairly good chance you’d try your luck with me – and here you are!”

“In not so many words – yes, I suppose that’s the gist of it,” Hermione confirmed slowly, cautiously, still somewhat in awe, because the blasted woman had really taken her by surprise. But Narcissa merely nodded to herself as if those words only certified what she already knew. She then intertwined the fingers of her hands in front of her and asked without unnecessary delay:

“So - how much do you already know?”

This was the last thing Hermione expected. She came here ready to break arms and blackmail the haughty woman into cooperation if she had to, but this uncommon willingness to oblige, even kindness… – that was as out of character as one Malfoy could get. Still, Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her generation for nothing; she pulled herself together quickly and determined to make the best of the temporary insanity that seemed to have settled over the mother of her arch enemy.

“Not much,” she admitted openly, because it wouldn’t take much probing for the astute woman to find out that for herself. “I know your grandson’s got more of my husband’s in him than it’s obvious to the open eye and frankly, I don’t entirely believe the “spilling magic” explanation your son had given me – there is no such phenomenon mentioned in any of the books I’ve read and trust me, I’ve been through them all.”

“All that are publically available,” Narcissa interfered kindly and once Hermione’s eyes got big and round at the implication these words entailed, she urged her to go forward with an impatient gesture of her elegant hand: “We shall come back to that. Please, do not be disturbed. Go ahead,”

“Something that your son said made me think that this... infatuation with my husband has not been recent. He had literally used the word “always” to describe it and I was hoping that perhaps you could shed light on whatever on Merlin’s sacred earth he had meant by that...”

“My son,” Narcissa once more interrupted courteously, “says exactly what he means. If he used the word “always” it probably means he cannot recall the time when he wasn’t… interested in your husband,” she concluded almost kindly and after only a short pause she quickly elaborated as if hoping to eradicate all doubt: “Romantically, I mean. My son is interested in your husband romantically. In the way other people would have described it as “in love”, though the Malfoys don’t throw those words around easy.”

And she smiled and graciously ignored how pale Hermione had turned at the shameless use of word “love”.

“I see,” the younger woman forced herself to say, but somehow her strength had all ran out of her for the moment and she just sat there, staring at the table numbly and tried to come up with the next question while Narcissa patiently waited in silence. Finally Hermione collected her unusually scattered mind about her sufficiently to continue:

“I suppose the question I struggle with the most and I can’t seem to find answer to is this: is my husband aware of your son’s…” – no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to use to word love, it just seemed off and terribly unfair towards herself – “affection and does he return it?” she looked at the older woman almost hungrily, expectantly, because she knew she might not get a straight answer out of her and she just might have to read one off her marble face, so alike her son’s.

And indeed, Narcissa wasn’t an easy game:

“Have you tried asking your husband that question?” she asked quietly. “I wonder… why didn’t you start there?”

And at this point there was nothing left for Hermione than absolute truth:

“Because I’m afraid what I might find out,” she blurted. “If there’s nothing there, I would inadvertently alert Ron of your son’s… attraction, but if there is… Then he’s been lying to me, possibly for quite some time. And I’m afraid he’d try again…. But if I caught him lying to my face once more… I wouldn’t be able to forgive him,” she admitted quietly. “I wouldn’t. So I suppose… not asking him is my way of trying to preserve my marriage at all cost,” she somehow managed to word her miserable feelings.

“So you came to ask me for… assurances of your husband’s unwavering affection for you… or for the truth?” Narcissa asked softly, but her words cut as mercilessly as they intended to.

“Oh, Merlin…”

Hermione closed her eyes in a sudden feeling of defeat that washed over her.

“Is it then… safe to assume that these two things are… incompatible?” she finally forced herself to ask with a fading voice, feeling crushed and wishing she had never gathered the courage to show up.

“Quite,” Narcissa said curtly.

And she might as well have rolled a ten-ton stone over Hermione’s sinking heart.

Next:

Art of denial (3): Some First time... some Second time...

Art of denial (5): Milestones

Art of denial (7): Cracked open and oozing true feelings

Art of denial (15/2): Come to me

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31

my_thestral

◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 21/1)

Fic: Art of denial (Part 21/1)

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