my_thestral | Fic: Art of denial (Part 21/2) (Reply)

Author's note: The damn LJ made me break it into micro-fractions again, don't you just love that?! :P <-- to LJ, how very mature of me! ;)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 2899 (this part)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I can't be bothered, try one from 5 minutes ago

“Oh…” she managed quietly, but suddenly she could no longer find strength to utter all those million crazy buzzing questions that brought her here in the first place. She felt dead inside, ruined, almost as if Ron’s love defined her every boundary and now that she knew for certain she had lost it, she herself had dissolved and entirely lost her compass.

“Please, don’t get me wrong,” continued Narcissa kindly, because it was not her intention to hurt the shattered wife further. “I’m fairly certain your husband loves you just as he did at the beginning of your marriage, not even a tiny bit less… and no more. But the truth, plain and simple, is that Ronald Weasley was never in love with you. Not once upon a time. Not now. Not ever.”

“Now, before you get angry with me - ” she lifted her long finger in caution as she caught a sudden flare of anger in the honey-coloured eyes of her visitor. “Please remember, you came to me and it was not I who wished to impose the knowledge I have of my son’s relationship with your husband onto you. And also – I have no interest in hurting you, you are a highly respected woman who helped my family greatly after the war and there is no quarrel between us, yes?”

And only after she saw Hermione nod silently, though reluctantly, her icy eyes softened a little and she continued almost gently:

“But you must also be aware that you cannot claim what is not yours – and I’m afraid your husband’s heart never was. I have reports of him being a good husband. Don’t let that distract you. He does not love you, he can’t. I can even offer you proof of that... if you wish.”

And those words left Hermione entirely speechless. She just stared numbly across the expensive salon table at the impeccably elegant woman that crushed her dreams, everything she believed to be real with such ease, and she found herself wishing this was all just a bad dream.

“The proof… what proof?” she croaked finally, just to break the unbearable silence that sat on her shoulders heavy like a big black vulture that came to collect her soul. “What proof could you possibly have that my Ron doesn’t... you know…?”

It felt strangely comforting to call Ron her own, as if that was her only defence, her only fortress against the terrible world the lied on the other side of this woman’s words. And if she didn’t repeat the words of this cruel woman, perhaps there was a small chance that... it was not true.

“When you got married, you have exchanged rings, have you not?” Narcissa asked calmly and when Hermione looked at her in confusion and began “Yes, of course, but how could that possibly…”

“Your husband no longer wears your ring,” Narcissa interrupted her impatiently and at the blatant disbelief in the younger woman’s eyes explained almost matter-of-factly: “He hasn’t worn it in a while. In fact, I don’t believe he ever wore it much. He might have transfigured it to look like the ring you gave him, but it is not your ring. He wears my son’s ring instead. The serpent and the lion intertwined. Draco never takes his off.”

“You see…” she looked her straight into the flabbergasted face, “ – you can consider yourself lucky: you at least got married with your own ring, my son married his wife with the ring your husband gave him, he had her put it on his finger during the ceremony and he drove over her shock and disappointment like a freight-train, like it didn’t matter at all, willing to crush his fresh young perfect marriage to bits under the heavy unforgiving love he holds for your husband. Yes, those two are quite a pair,” she smiled thinly, almost sadly at the slack-jawed younger woman and offered further:

“Should you choose not to believe me, a simple “Revelio” aimed at the ring should put an end to your doubts. It is my son’s ring on his finger your husband wakes up with every morning and it is his ring he goes to sleep with every evening. None other. His ring. His heart as well. They love each other beyond borders, Ronald and my son. Unforgivingly so. They don’t have a choice anymore.”

The strange wording the woman had used finally shook Hermione out of her stupor:

“What do you mean... they have no choice?” she asked sharply, not bothering to cover up the hurt Narcissa’s cruel words left in their trail. “How does one not have a choice as to where they place their heart? Your words make no sense!”

The older woman did not answer directly. She got up gracefully and walked to the expensive looking desk, covered in ancient magical symbols. She whispered a spell and a drawer appeared right in the middle of the smooth surface where there wasn’t one before.

“My mother’s desk,” she explained off-handedly. “Specifically designed to keep all the important secrets a woman could ever hope to have. Now... this... is the answer you’re looking for,” she carefully handed Hermione a delicate scroll that looked on the verge of disintegrating. “This is the missing clue. It has been in my family for generations, this knowledge. However - you might have found out a bit of what it says in here by talking rather than reading in this case. Talking to the right people.” And at puzzled look in her eyes she added: “The purebloods.”

At another flare of anger in the brown eyes of the Deputy Minister Narcissa gave an apologetic smile and explained:

“You misunderstand me. I do not speak of the purebloods here as superior over the people with no magical ancestry – but being of pure blood does bring along certain knowledge and traditions that those with no magical ancestry don’t have. Some sort of folklore, to put it in plain words. There’s not a magical mother out there who doesn’t tell her children goodnight stories of those unfortunates who fell in love in spite of life pulling them apart - and bonded, beating life at its very own game. Bonding… it is complicated. But Molly Weasley could have told you about it. Even Ginevra Weasley Potter could have, I bet she knows, these stories are extremely popular among the romantic young girls, because that’s what everyone assumes they are: stories, just stories. The truth, unfortunately, is different.”

A strange restlessness seemed to have settled over her, because she took a stroll about the room, floating aimlessly towards the window as if she thought about escaping into the beautiful green gardens below – but then changed her mind and returned to the table where she once again sat down just a tad more heavily than before.

“Bonding exists,” she spoke quietly. “You will read all about it in the scroll I gave you, as far as I know, it is the only known copy of the spell in existence. It is extremely complicated and its magic only extends to those of pure-blood. If that angers you or not – it is irrelevant. Magic of purebloods is simply different than the one you have. Not necessarily stronger or better, but different. Draco could not have done it with Potter, nor you – but your husband was perfect. One does not get more pure of blood than Ronald Weasley.

Besides the prerogative of pure blood another condition is, that it is voluntary. Only those who in their very hearts wish to be bonded like that, can submit themselves to the spell. There can be no coercion, this is for life and it cannot be undone. So there has to be consensus. So you see – as soon as I figured out that my son decided to bond your husband and I saw with my own eyes, that it had worked – I knew that you never held his heart. And now no one else ever can.”

She looked her straight in the eye at her next words as if she wanted to make sure the younger woman believed her:

“You see – bonding is extremely powerful: it was meant for those, who - for one reason or another - cannot stay by each other’s side the way they ideally would, if they could have their heart’s desire. So the spell is designed to transcend boundaries, those of time, place and even body. The bonded feel each other like no other individual could ever hope to feel another person. Your husband pouring some of himself into my grandson simply by holding Draco’s hand over him is a true testimony of the powerful nature of the spell. And of course, as with all spells based on love, the most powerful magic out there, this one also takes its toll: there cannot be only one person carrying it around. In more simple terms – when Draco dies, so will Ronald.”

All the blood drained out of Hermione’s face at those words as if the implication of what had been said only now hit home with full force.

“But… who would go and do such a thing to the person they love?” she finally asked, her voice barely audible. “If you love someone, you wish them all the best, you want them happy, even in a world without you, how very selfish…”

“Ah… yes. You would think that, of course,” Narcissa nodded calmly. “My guess is, that’s why the knowledge of bonding was allowed to pass merely as a piece of folklore, rather than what it is - a most majestic piece of old magic around: because it is only accessible to those who would have it no other way. They do not wish to have a life without the other person. They are already forced to have one away from them, but to exist without them – it is unimaginable. And that’s the true spell that holds my son and your husband captive since they were but children: love, plain and simple, the most purest, undiluted kind there is. Cruelest as well. For years and years my Draco and your Ronald have loved each other in the way that defies everything they were ever moulded to be.

Do you think my husband hadn’t tried his darndest to install the hatred to all named Weasley deeply into my son’s soul? In the end, it was all for nothing: Draco let it slip once that he took one look at Ronald and his faith was forfeit, though, admittedly, he didn’t know what hit him at the time. And don’t you think it goes against the very nature of one as Gryffindor as your husband is, to lie and to deceive and to cheat? And yet - all that he’s about becomes irrelevant when it comes face to face with the love he has for my son. It always has. For longer than you can imagine. For as long as he let himself succumb to it.”

“12 years, then, at the very least…” Hermione tried in a voice that was so weak it hardly ever sounded like hers, but even that faded when she saw a tiny, almost apologetic bitter smile Narcissa had offered:

“Try 18,” she said quietly. “Almost 19 now, according to my son.”

“Thursdays…” Hermione whispered and suddenly it had all made sense when Narcissa confirmed:

“Every Thursday for the last 18 years. Not one was missed by my son. I cannot speak for Ronald, but I assume he attended quite regularly as well. My son is not someone one keeps waiting for nothing. My guess is this… illusion of your marriage would have ended much sooner had Ronald not been present regularly. My son would not suffer for that.”

“So why…?” Hermione unexpectedly interrupted, her voice suddenly almost feverish. “Why are you telling me this now, when they had been so successful in hiding their… affair and you have been their secret-keeper for so long? Why now?”

“Because my son is a fool,” Narcissa shot curtly, the flare of her anger sudden and uncommon. She took another nervous stroll about the room before she turned around at the window and spoke again:

“He’s a true Malfoy and a fool. He can’t speak about his feelings plainly and he won’t. He’s so in love with Ronald he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going and yet he won’t tell him that plain and simple and ask him to leave it all behind so they can finally be together. He’s put it into his terrible thick Malfoyian head of his that it has to be Ronald who makes the first move and you and I both know how well this is going to go… Weasleys were not born to court, for Merlin’s sake, Molly had to give Arthur a love potion to make him come out to her, everybody knew that, even though he practically worshiped the floor she walked on!

And that poor foolish son of mine hopes he’ll get there by showing Ronald that the time is now, that the moment has come when they could finally hope to be happy together. If only! They’ve been through enough, you have no idea…

Dear god, I thought Lucius was going to tear this child of mine apart with his expectations, so thin he had him stretched, higher, forever higher! As terrible as it was, I’m almost glad that dreadful war had happened - at least it put some reins on my husband’s ambitions regarding our son and installed a bit of spite into Draco to make him go looking for his own destiny. And he found it, when he found Ronald. They found each other. And they could never go back to not knowing what it was they had found.

I believe for the first few years my son was hopeful that this… obsession with your husband was a passing matter. As the last Black and the last Malfoy my poor Draco could never be free of all the expectations and – he knew how terribly disappointed his father would be if the Malfoy name had come to nothing with him. I would have cared less, the Blacks survive through Edward Lupin, the one they call Teddy, and the Black’s blood is no water. In any event - it would have been so infinitely less complicated if it was only a matter of lust. I don’t know when it had finally downed on my son that what he had with Ronald surpassed the definition of a mere fling by miles - or more precisely, by years – but by the time of his wedding he already knew.

I found him with Ronald, moments before he was to take his place at the altar and through the very wall of the room in which they took their shelter I could feel their despair, the magnificent magic glowing with love when they were together… It would have broken your heart as a mother as well, had you been able to see it the way I did. Every mother wants to see her child happy and I walked behind my son that day knowing, that he never would be…

From that day to this day, my son and your Ronald have fulfilled every expectation their friends and families ever had for them – they have been everything we ever hoped them to be and more – and they only got paid that one day a week as their reward. And now Scorpius, the one person that still tied Draco to his son’s mother, has left the nest and my boy is free to fly at last. And what does he do?! Does he go to Ronald and tell him that he practically cannot live nor breathe without him, that he hasn’t been able to since he was 19, and that for god’s sake he should make him the happiest man alive and just come and spend the rest of his life with him?! No! All that… full-blooded Malfoy does is to go and ask for a divorce, hoping that the oblivious soul you have for a husband will eventually notice that he’s free for him now! And how long is that supposed to take!? Another 18 years?! His folly is intolerable… as is your husband’s insecurity!”

She fell silent for a long moment as if she was trying to resolve in her own head what it was that she was attempting to say, but this time Hermione beat her to it. She sounded incredibly tired even to herself.

“I asked your son a couple of months ago, when the news of his divorce first hit the public, what were his plans for me and he refused to admit he had any. Apparently, it was to wear me out and drive me mad with wondering and – oh, look, it workedlike a charm! And now I’m going to ask you the same question: what do you want with me, Lady Malfoy? You’ve clearly been expecting me, you were uncommonly obliging and I know how things stand with the Malfoys: nothing ever comes without a price tag. So please, do me one last courtesy and tell me what it is that you want from me, I honestly don’t have the energy to play your subtle games anymore.”

“I want you to get out of their way.”

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

Art of denial (21/1): The truth at last

Fic: Art of denial (Part 21/2)

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