#or arthur reacting to everything like a child by wanting merlin's magic to solve his problems or tell him how things should be

[mooremars]

I can't sleep so I'm doing some reading and had a realization.

Now that my media consumption has become dominated by all the Arthurian legend stuff I have managed to avoid up until now, it turns out that more I read and watch, the more I become completely convinced that removing magic is actually the only way to make specifically Arthur's character work in Camelot for me. I already thought it was the right call for story and thematic reasons but turns out it also solves the mystery of why I keep hating this character that by every metric I should really love.

[colubrina]

Never have I ever... written a Hermione Riddle/Draco Malfoy fic!

I did once, but so many people said it didn’t work I pulled it.  But I will copy at 2K words of it below the cut for you.

from never have I ever

Hermione did hate having to pretend.  

She’d whinged to her father at first.  “But why,” she’d said.  “And if I can’t be your daughter why can’t I just be a half-blood.  Why this?”  

Her father had delivered one of his lectures on power and manipulation and pointed out how she’d learn far more about what people really thought if she watched them as a supposedly powerless outsider.  “How people treat the weak, my darling, will let you see their characters.  That will be useful to you when we,” he’d paused.  “You know.”  

She did.

It didn't mean she liked it.

As she got older, however, she realized he was right.  People revealed things to her they'd never share with a pureblood, or even an established half-blood.  Ron Weasley, her housemate and theoretical friend, had parents with a hilarious fascination with Muggles that masked bone deep prejudice and he was one of the supposed liberal faction, part of Albus Dumbledore little crusade of light.  Her father laughed until tears ran down his cheeks when she acted our Arthur Weasley asking about rubber ducks.   Theodore Nott sneered in a rather pro-forma way at her blood status and then, once her academic prowess became known, sat with her in the library if no one else was around.  

"Pragmatic," her father said approvingly.   She lent Theo notes, borrowed his, and never commented how he failed to notice her in public.  She found his quiet competence restful and understood the constraints that kept him, son of a Death Eater, pureblood scion, and member of Slytherin from being friends with the Muggle-born Gryffindor.  Those would change.

Draco Malfoy, however, was a different matter.  He had no subtlety.  He was rude and vulgar and a crude little show off.  As they got older he started to eye her when he thought she wasn't looking and she looked back.  He became pretty, so very pretty, and she began to fantasize about how he'd react when he found out who she was.   She liked to picture him confessing long suppressed love and apologizing.  "I just didn't know what to say," she imagined him muttering.  "My father… you know.  I thought he'd disown me if I… can we start again?"

She doubted that would happen, however.  The idea of Draco Malfoy admitting he was wrong seemed unlikely, and she had no intention of humiliating herself to pursue him.  No matter how much she liked his cheekbones, or the way his eyes flashed when he was being clever and cocky, he'd be unlikely to ever show up at her door with flowers in hand willingly, even when he did find out she was Tom Riddle's daughter.

Not that she'd want a boy who only wanted her for her heritage anyway.

She hated admitting her father was right.  

And she hated that she wanted the smug bastard.  Stupid Draco Malfoy with his biting wit and pointed laugh.  She did, though.  She wanted him a lot more than Ron Weasley, who she flirted with in order to disguise her growing fascination with Malfoy, and she wanted him more than Cormac McClaggan, who couldn't take a hint to go away, and she wanted him more than Harry Potter who, thank Merlin, was as uninterested in her as she was in him.  She decided she'd have him, too, because she was the Darkest princess their world would ever know, the only child of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black, and if she wanted a boy she'd have him.  Her father laughed and told her she was a minx but he was happy to give her any toy she wanted.

So she smiled at Malfoy, and every time he sneered “Granger” at her in his arrogant, nasal voice she smiled a little bit more.  

When her father finally made his move and took over the Ministry, sending Harry Potter on a fool's errand with what appeared to be a toy from the late, unlamented Dumbledore, a used Snitch, and a book of fairy tales she looked forward to seeing Draco Malfoy's expression when her true identity was revealed.  She beamed at her father as he presented her to his followers and their children at her eighteenth birthday party.

Theodore Nott looked like a mystery had finally been solved and smiled at her;  you'd have to know him well to see the relief in his eyes when she smiled back but she saw it and enjoyed the confirmation of the sudden shift in her status.  Greg Goyle just looked confused that Hermione Granger was someone else, someone important.  Draco Malfoy, however, looked horrified.  She could see him tallying up his sins in his brilliant mind and his pale face got paler still when he realized just how many there were.  It was beautiful.  It was everything she'd hoped for.

Lord Voldemort said, “My lovely daughter has sacrificed so much as I regained my strength.    We needed to hide her from the likes of the Order of the Phoenix until the time was right but We could have hidden her as any number of things.  Instead We decided to hide her as the lowest of the low so she could watch all your children and determine who was truly trustworthy.”  He turned to Lucius Malfoy.  “Don’t you agree, Lucius,  that such a sacrifice on her part deserves recognition.”

Lucius Malfoy, properly nervous at being singled out mumbled that of course, that he hoped his family had never been seen as lacking in support.  Voldemort had to wave his hand at the man in annoyance to get him to stop.  

“She’s asked for one little gift for her birthday,” Voldemort said.  He regarded her with delight.  “A request that shows Us she is truly her mother’s daughter.”

Many of the assembled Death Eaters looked increasingly nervous at that proclamation.  Even before Azkaban, Bellatrix had been unstable.  Now she hadn't even been permitted to attend her daughter's party because of her insanity and unpredictable violence; the idea Hermione might take after her mother scared them all.

Hermione managed to avoid licking her lips as her father crooked his finger and beckoned Draco Malfoy forward.  “Congratulations, Lucius,” he said.  “You’ve just given your only son to Our daughter for her birthday.”  

“My Lord,” Lucius whispered but someone next to him had the presence of mind to step on his foot and shut him up.

“Darling,” Voldemort said to Hermione.  “Remember, don’t break your toys.  It’s not like I can get you another one.”

“I promise,” she said as she smiled at Draco Malfoy, who looked like he was trying not to pass out.  “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what she said about the unicorn toy,” Voldemort said fondly.  “Little hellion snapped it in half in three days.”  The Death Eaters all laughed.

That was when Draco fainted.

. . . . . . . . . .

When he came to he kept his eyes squinched shut and tested his limbs and determined he didn't seem to be tied up in any way and he could even feel the familiar pressure of his wand against his hip.  When he risked opening his eyes  he was in a bland room and Hermione Granger - no, Hermione Riddle - was curled up in a large, beige chair with her nose in a book; she didn't seem to realize he'd regained consciousness.  He studied her through the fringe of his hair.  

She was as damnably beautiful as she'd been for years.   Her dark hair sprang out around her face and, now that he was looking, he could see the similarity to his Aunt Bella's own locks, though Hermione's hair was more of a rich brown than the black of her mother's.  He knew her eyes were dark, so dark he'd gotten caught in them a few times, always yanking himself away with a muttered slur.  There were girls you dated, girls you married, and girls if you got caught with your mother burned you from the family tree while, quite possibly, your insane aunt tortured you to death.  He'd known which category Hermione was in.

Or, well, he'd thought he'd known.

Fuck, he'd been wrong. So wrong. He couldn't have messed this up worse if he'd set out to ruin his life on purpose.

He considered knocking her out and making a run for it but dismissed the idea as that of an idiot.  Where would he go?  To the Order?  He hated them anyway, and if he showed up on their doorstep telling them Harry Potter's Muggle-born friend was really Lord Voldemort's only child they'd laugh themselves sick before dumping him at St. Mungo's, where he'd sit, trapped, until Hermione felt like fetching him.

She turned a page.

"Do you plan to kill me?"  he asked.

She looked up at that.

"Can't stand the thought of the filthy Mudblood not being quite what you thought?"  

Draco thought he heard a little bitterness under that and thought with more than a little rancor that she didn't get to be the pissy one in this situation.  She was the one with all the power, as she had just demonstrated by demanding he be handed over to her as a gift.  "It seems like a reasonable question," he said.  "Or hurt me? I'd like to get it over with if that's the plan."

Her jaw tightened and he was shocked to see she seemed upset.  "I wasn't planning on it," she muttered.

"Do I get to ask what the plan is?"

She slouched lower in the big armchair until it seemed to swallow her and finally said, "I didn't really think past the part where I got to see you be shocked and horrified that I wasn't the nobody you thought I was."

Draco pulled himself upright and sat so he leaned against the headboard and looked at the girl who was huddled into the chair and looked more like a lost soul than the terrifying dark princess she'd been at the earlier celebration.  "Did you like that part?" he asked, the words coming out more gently than he'd meant them to.

"Yes," she admitted.  She looked up at him through lashes so long and dark he'd have thought they were enhanced magically if it weren't for the way he'd seen the woman wear cosmetics only once in all the years he'd known her.   The lashes were real.  "I liked that part quite a bit if we're being honest."

"I would have," he said.  "If you'd been a shite to me for years and then you found out I was young Lord Voldemort?  I would have reveled in that."

"I've fantasized about it for years," she admitted.  "Every time you were an arse I thought, just wait.  You'll see."

Draco bit the inside of his mouth and swallowed hard.  She'd thought about him for years.  She'd wanted him for years.  "Why me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.  "You could have had anyone.  Could have anyone. I'm sure if you wanted half a dozen boys to wait on you, your father would hand them over."

"He's always spoiled me," she said.  "When I was home, that is.  I think… he wanted to make up for having to hide me with the Grangers."

"Why me?"  he asked again.  

The sun shone in through the sheer curtains and dust motes swirled around and he watched them sparkle for an eternity before she said, "I wanted… you're so… it's stupid and it's pathetic."  She closed her book with an audible snap and stood up on her impossibly long legs.  "Never mind.  I've had my fun seeing you turn white and faint like that.  You can go and tell your father I released you."

Drqco stood up and took a step toward the door and then stopped and looked at the way she stood, half-resigned, half-defensive.

"Go," she said again.

He'd always thought he'd known what category she fell in.  It was the out of bounds category. It was the not-to-be-touched category.  It might not have been fair, it might not have been right, but bravery and battling the world wasn't something he did, not even for a pair of dark eyes that glistened right now as the woman they belonged to folded her arms across her body.

"I'm a coward," he said, reaching one hand out to cup her chin.

"I do know that," she said.   She sounded sullen.  She had her lip thrust out in a classic gesture of sulky petulance he suddenly found unbearably adorable.

He lowered his mouth to that lip. "I am not, however, stupid," he said right before he kissed her.

[romioneflufffest]

Doubt

Title: Doubt Author: @moonshoesweasley Prompt: “I am really nervous about this.” (dialogue) Description: Hermione doubts herself after a major life event takes place.  Ron is there to reassure her. Rating: G Warnings: Mild cursing

Hermione Granger had been integrated into the wizarding world for over fifteen years. She was well versed in its history, its laws, its dos and don'ts. It was exceedingly rare that she didn’t know exactly which spell to use, and often performed magic with the same amount of thought that she gave breathing or blinking. It seemingly came very naturally to her (and it did, now, after many years of arduous effort). Friends and family often said that Hermione had ‘come into her own’ after the war, meaning that she no longer felt insecure in her capability as a witch, a member of the Ministry of Magic, or just as Hermione.

So, of course, the day that she did start to doubt her ability scared her to pieces.

She was sitting in a quiet, dim room. Ron was there, too, as sprawled out as possible in a rather stiff looking chair and fast asleep. Hermione envied him his ability to fall asleep almost at will and in the most uncomfortable places. She felt like sleep would evade her forever, and not just because of the tiny, swaddled, red-headed baby that she held in her arms.

As soon as she found out she was pregnant (so long ago already, but still only feeling like yesterday), Hermione reacted in very typical Hermione fashion. The books she’d purchased from Flourish and Blotts boasted that she would learn how to change dirty nappies at the wave of a wand and soothe a colicky infant with the perfect potion. The books she’d purchased from a Muggle bookshop prepared her for the physical changes she and baby would go through together. They’d painted and crafted and charmed an adorable nursery, furnished with everything a new baby would need. Never the procrastinator, Hermione was ready for their baby to arrive with plenty of time to spare.

And now she was here. Their perfect baby girl; their perfect Rose. The pain and intensity of labor was nothing compared to the overwhelming joy and love she felt when looking at her daughter’s face. Hermione would do it all again without a moments hesitation. Rose was worth all the hardship in the world. Hermione was unprepared for the sheer magnitude of the love in her heart for her child, although the books told her she’d feel that way.

What the books didn’t tell her, however, is what in Merlin’s beard she was supposed to do now.

Oh sure, they gave advice. They gave a plethora of advice, all of it saying that this was the proper way to go about this baby business and bugger all else. But none of them told her how to make sure that she’d get it right. Mothering was supposed to be a subject she could study and excel at, just like everything else she’d put her mind to. But when she looked at her daughter, her real live daughter, she began to doubt herself. 

In the chair next to her bed, Ron stirred. He stretched his lanky form and rubbed the remnants of sleep away from his eyes. He blinked at the room, almost as if he didn’t remember where he was, and then his gaze landed on Hermione and Rose. His wide smile stretched from ear to ear and Hermione felt herself grin back. There was something about watching Ron be a daddy that made her fall head over heels in love all over again.

“How are my two best girls?” He slid onto the bed next to Hermione and rested his chin on her shoulder. One of his hands came to rub soothingly on her back and she relaxed into him. Maybe it was his calming presence that lowered her inhibitions, because she found herself saying:

“I am really nervous about this.”

She froze, worried that Ron would look at her with a look of incredulousness and laugh. She could hear him saying “Come off it, 'Mione! You read those books so much that you probably have them memorized.” It was the same thing she’d been saying to herself since the moment they put Rose in her arms. What reason did she have to be nervous?

Instead, Ron put his arm around her waist and squeezed gently. His lips pressed a kiss to her shoulder and she watched as he reached towards their daughter. One of his long fingers traced the shape of her nose and caressed her tiny cheek. Hermione felt as though her heart would burst. His finger slid into Rose’s tiny grip and Hermione watched as their daughter’s fingers tightened slightly. “I’m nervous, too. What if I’m a shit dad?”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, watch your language. We have a baby now,” Hermione teased with a giggle.

“Blimey. We have a baby now. We’re parents, 'Mione.”

“I know. And you’ll be a great dad, Ron. You’re fun and understanding and supportive and the best person I know. Look at how great you’ve been with Teddy and Victorie and James and Little Fred! They adore you.”

She could feel Ron smile against her shoulder. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll be excellent, of course.”

Hermione meant to laugh, but instead her fears and insecurities came rushing out. “Ron, what if I’m not a good mother? I read all those books and I felt so prepared, but now…now I feel like I just don’t know anything at all. How do I give her the life she deserves? How do I make sure I’m doing it right? What if I do it all wrong?” Her voice caught in her throat and she forced herself to try and swallow the enormous lump building there. It didn’t work, however, and she felt hot tears roll down her face.

Ron swiped them away with the back of his hand. “The fact that you’re asking these questions is enough to tell me that you are going to be amazing, love. Amazing. I can’t wait to watch you.”

Hermione hiccuped. “But Ron-”

Ron gently shushed her. “Listen, 'Mione. I’m scared to death. The world is big and scary and has lots of spiders in it-don’t laugh, you know how much I hate them!” Ron acted offended at her smallt giggle but carried on. “If you’re quite finished, I was saying that the world is big and scary and she is so tiny. I want to keep her safe from everything bad and let her experience everything good. I don’t know what I’m doing either, and that’s okay.”

“My parents always just seemed like they knew everything. And your parents, Ron, I bet they never felt this way.”

“My parents? Are you sure you’re talking about the same Arthur and Molly Weasley? The same Arthur and Molly Weasley who wouldn’t put Bill down without at least two cushioning charms underneath him? The same Arthur and Molly Weasley that wouldn’t let Bill, Charlie, or Percy touch anything that hadn’t been Scourgify-d until Percy was two? My dad told me himself that they were terrified.”

Hermione sniffed. “What happened when Percy was two that made them not so scared anymore?”

“Ah, well, Fred and George came home and started right off being Fred and George, dad says. After that they didn’t have time to be worried or scared, at least not about the kids. There was a war on, of course, so they were worried, but not in the way they had been.” He paused, then added: “I guess we just need to have twins next. Seems like that solves the problem, eh?” He chucked and waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m up for it if you are,” he said lasciviously. Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, but the tiny bundle in her arms began to stir.

The new parents watched as their daughter slowly blinked her eyes open. They knew, of course, that Rose couldn’t yet distinguish them, but they both would swear up and down that she met each their eyes in turn. Hermione felt her heart swell so much that she thought it was burst right out of her chest. More unbidden tears welled in her eyes as she took in the life that she helped to create.

“Merlin, she’s so gorgeous, isn’t she?” Ron asked. Hermione could only nod. “Like her mom. And I’ll bet she be the brightest witch in her class, just like her mom. I bet she’ll be just as determined, just as nurturing, just as wonderful.”

“You think so?”

She felt Ron nod against her shoulder. “I know so.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not this perfect person, Ron. I have flaws, I’ll mess up.”

Ron nodded again. “Yep. You will, and I will. We’ll make mistakes, but we’ll learn. We’ll figure it out, the same way we’ve figured out everything else.” He reached up and tightly tapped her temple. “Besides, you’ve got that encyclopedic knowledge of libraries up there, Hogwarts and otherwise. That all has to come in handy at some point, right?”

Hermione laughed. “Probably will.”

“We can do this, 'Mione. We’ll be great.”

Rose shifted in her arms and yawned widely. Her tiny arms reached upwards, towards her mother. Hermione smiled down at her. “We can do this. We’ll be great.”