Eight and Eighth--Chapter 29
Title: Eight and Eighth
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts, and Humor. I can't write a fanfic without humor leaking its way in.
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
Eight and Eighth-Chapter 29-Flower Child
Note: Younger readers, like, say, under thirteen, should be forewarned of violent and/or not so pleasant themes. Don't send your mothers after me!
“Did you know, Granger, that they let pregnant women out of Azkaban? I didn’t. Still, they slapped this damnable cuff on my wrist.” Pansy moved very slowly to her seat at the table, poured herself a cup of tea, and started eating with a wildness that reminded Hermione of Sirius eating his rats. “Do you know why I got put away in the first place?” she asked between bites. “Kedavra’d an auror. Like no one else did.” She frowned, shoving an entire finger sandwich into her mouth. “They also said something about me being cheeky. Are you going to eat that?” she asked, and grabbed up the sandwich from Hermione’s plate and took a bite, her own sandwich still only half-chewed in her mouth, masticated white bread and chicken salad peeking out as she spoke.
Hermione took a glance at Narcissa, who was looking out the window instead of at either of the young women.
“Your, er, baby,” Hermione found herself saying. “Is it…?”
“Why do you think you’re here, Granger? Of course it’s Draco’s. Hell, why do you think I’m here?” Pansy laughed, a funny bitter laugh. “He doesn’t know, of course. Mrs. M. seems to be ashamed of me. My parents too. Why add Draco into the ring of shame? Better to spare him the deep dark ‘scawy’ details,” she said in a baby voice. Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve taken a very cynical view these last few months. They didn’t release me from Azkaban until I was showing-almost lost him.” On the last word, she placed a protective hand over her belly, rubbing affectionately, an alien look of pride washing over her face.
Hermione was starting to feel lightheaded, and she gripped the edge of the table. Narcissa still wasn’t looking at either of them. Pregnant in Azkaban. Pregnant in Azkaban. The thought just wouldn’t leave her head. Hermione couldn’t even imagine it. Pregnant in Azkaban. Pregnant with Draco’s child.
Oh, Lord. Malfoy. She felt a sudden rush of bile in her throat.
“I conceived the first of August, by the way,” Pansy said, not seeming to care that the grandmother of her child was at the table. “So I’m due in a couple weeks. It could be any day now.”
“Congratulations,” Hermione found herself saying, for lack of anything else to say.
Pansy shoved some of her black hair behind her ear, scrutinizing Hermione from her seat. “I want you to know that I laughed and laughed and laughed when I saw that Witch Weekly. Mrs. M. doesn’t subscribe. Daphne’s the only other one besides my parents who knows I’m here; she sent it to me. Funniest thing I’ve ever read. Nearly gave me a hernia from laughing so hard.” She broke off a bit of scone. “I thought it was a joke, but here you are, so I guess it’s not.”
“No. Not a joke,” Hermione said.
Narcissa still wasn’t looking at them. Pansy seemed to follow Hermione’s gaze. “Of course, she didn’t think it was a joke. Real funny stuff, that.” Pansy lowered her voice, as if she were being conspiratorial. “She expected it.”
“She…?” Hermione turned to face Narcissa. “What?”
Mrs. Malfoy turned slowly and took up her tea cup, though she didn’t drink, and her eyes settled on Hermione. “What you might not be aware of, Miss Granger, is that nine months ago, before Miss Parkinson conceived, I fell into a trance while visiting a Seer, hoping to find out my family’s future. Instead of hearing a prophecy, I prophesied instead.” There was a subtle rush like typhoon waters in Hermione’s ears, steadily growing into a gale of magnificent proportions. “From the riddle of a prediction, I was able to devise one thing for certain, and your Professor Trelawney was my witness.” Her head tilted to the side. “You and my son were to fall in love in the space of one year’s time.”
O
Every nerve in his body, every taut muscle and sinew, was telling him to run, but his brain knew better.
Girls weren’t supposed to be rapists. It just went against the grain. Her wand was still pointed into his back, and he expected that anytime now, he’d be hit with something: Imperio, maybe, or perhaps a good old Petrificus totallus.
Out of habit more than anything else, Draco kept his wand in his robe pocket. Little good it would do for him, but there was a certain loophole that he could take advantage of. He closed his eyes, envisioning the bath drain and faucet, and he opened them again to stare plainly at the Hogwarts gate, just five or six feet away.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Granger had said the metal had done it. The metal had counteracted the manacle. Draco was no expert on metals by any means, other than having a pretty decent appreciation for the differences between gold, silver, platinum, and copper. It really wasn’t safe to assume that he’d be able to use his wand if he just placed his hand between the bars of the gate, but at this point, it was either that or allow for a crazed blood purist to force him into getting her pregnant, and that would never do, and he had a feeling she’d probably prefer to dispose of him afterward than let him go on his merry way to report her to the Ministry-assuming she let him find out who she was.
“Are you sure you want to do this to yourself?” he asked, hoping that if he deferred the reason for stopping this onto her physical well-being, she might take it better.
“Am I sure I want to have your blood traitor bastard?” she asked, a maniacal note in her voice. She was definitely a girl. There was no doubt about that now, though the voice had been disguised with a spell. “If I don’t, who will? We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good of continuing our lines.” She kicked him in the Achilles’ tendon. “You’re not carrying your load, so I’ll carry it for you.”
Well, there was a pun.
“And,” Draco’s synapses were misfiring in his head, trying to make connections, give him some sort of thought that might help in this situation, “you… you don’t honestly think I’m with Granger for good, do you?”
Whoever she was snorted. “Even if you do end it with her, what pureblood of worth would have you?”
Touché.
“Enough stalling,” she said, and she jammed her wand into his ribs.
“Wait!” Draco cried, the adrenaline pumping through his system making him convulse. “At least tell me who you are. At least tell me who the mother of my child will be?”
“Ha! So you can report me? Unlikely.”
“But… but what if we do this the easy way.” Oh, Hell. “What if I let you? Then it wouldn’t be a crime. And you’d be carrying my child, so I’d want you safe, wouldn’t I?”
There was a moment of hesitation in which the wand slackened, and Draco practically flew forward, not even thinking. His hand dove into his pocket for his wand, and he lunged at the gate, making it swing forward, tottering as his foot took hold on the lower rung. He swung himself to the backside of the gate, so that he stood facing his attacker while peeping through bars. Two more feet and he’d be outside of the grounds, the gate at a fifteen degree angle from the rest of the fence, and while he’d never tested the theory, something told him that he wouldn’t make it through the invisible barrier.
There was another flash of color that just barely missed him as he jammed his manacled fist through the gap between two bars, his wand pointed at….
At Una Maroo. Despite the urge to attack and save himself from certain peril, he couldn’t help but blink once at her. Una Maroo? She was a Seventh Year in Slytherin House and happened to be in his Potions class. She was most well-known for her extremely long blonde hair, poorly groomed fringe, and her overbite, but other than that… had he ever even spoken to her before?
She frowned at him. “And what good is that? You can’t leave the grounds and you can’t use your wand; you’ve fenced yourself in-literally. Thank you for that,” she said, and she began to raise her wand.
“Imp-” she began at the same time Draco started to say, “Expelliarmus,” but he never finished, the word dying in his throat because there was no need. Before Maroo could get to the “erio” of her spell, she was knocked forward onto her face from a Stupefy from behind.
Luna Lovegood was standing just behind the spot Una had been, looking curiously at him. “It looked like you needed some help,” she said simply.
His mind had practically shut down. “What?”
“Too bad. I liked Una. Her name rhymes with mine, you know,” Lovegood said, moving forward to pull the gate open and gesturing for him to hop down from the rung and bars he was clinging to. He practically had to force himself to let go, and then he sagged for a moment.
“It’s a good thing I was on my way to my internship,” Lovegood said.
“Internship?” Draco asked blankly, staring down at the back of Maroo’s head. Her hair was everywhere, and the light spring breeze was tossing it about almost playfully.
“Oh, yes,” Lovegood continued. “I work in the Department of Mysteries. By the way, Draco, there was something I’ve been meaning to tell you about that, but it keeps slipping my mind.”
Reluctantly, Draco turned to look at his savior. His very odd, very calm savior. “What’s that?”
“Well,” she said, “it’s just that I was dusting in the Hall of Prophecies, and I happened to see one with your name on it.” She smiled dreamily. “I couldn’t pick it up, of course, but it did say, ‘N.C.B.M. to S.P.T.: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.’ You did say those were your mother’s initials, didn’t you? How very interesting.” She fingered her butterbeer cap necklace. “Well, I’m running late! Tell Professor McGonagall I’ll explain what happened later. Oh,” and she raised her wand to emit several red sparks in the air, “that should help you.” And, with that, Lovegood walked out the gate and Disapparated.
Draco collapsed in a heap on the ground, his palms pressed into the dirt. This was turning into a very trying day.
O
Nineteen and a half years flashed before Hermione Granger’s eyes. Nineteen and a half years of thinking she had at least some control over her own destiny. Even when the prophecy about Harry had come true, Hermione had only been affected because, as she’d told herself, she’d chosen to be Harry’s friend. She had chosen to help him every step of the way. When it had only been Trelawney, she’d at least been able to tell herself that the woman was faking it. And at the time, there had been every reason to believe the woman had been faking it.
Malfoy on the ground with his sight gone, Hermione above him talking to Trelawney. Trelawney belatedly even realizing Malfoy was there. Trelawney stumbling when Hermione issued the challenge.
It had been real? All this time? It had honest-to-goodness been more than coincidence, more than what McGonagall had suggested about reverse psychology?
At least it hadn’t been Trelawney’s own prediction. At least there was that. She’d just borrowed it from someone else, someone who happened to be looking at her with a strained gaze.
Her gaze was more than just strained, more than just blue, it was almost pleading. Pleading for something Hermione wasn’t even sure she understood. “Miss Parkinson, you stay here and rest. Miss Granger and I are going to go for a little stroll.”
Pansy rolled her eyes and crammed more scone into her mouth while Hermione rose to follow Narcissa from the room.
They were silent even after they’d reached the grounds, the sunshine seeming mockingly cheerful, and then Narcissa started speaking just as they were passing by a rosebush. “All I want,” she said, “all I have ever wanted is for my son to be happy, safe, and comfortable. These last few years have been trying for me as a mother. Sometimes Draco thinks certain things will make him happy, and he ends up vastly mistaken.” At the look on Hermione’s face, she laughed. “I don’t mean you. I mean when he was given that… that assignment,” she spat. “But there was little I could do to stop him, and so all I really could do was to try and ensure his success, and thus his safety.
“I know you don’t approve. Your Headmaster was a good man, but in this case it was his life or Draco’s, and I think you can understand my bias in the matter.”
“Yes,” Hermione said slowly. She could understand, even if she couldn’t empathize.
Narcissa nodded. “I like to think my son has grown since those days. Even with this letter you gave me from him, I can tell. He’s becoming his own person, someone who can think for himself and pick and choose for himself beyond a purely selfish basis. He didn’t say explicitly that he loves you, but that seems to be the direction he’s headed.” Narcissa glanced toward her, and Hermione fought not to look away to hide. “I know he will love you,” Narcissa continued. “And I know you will love him as well, so you can understand what I mean when I say that you are what is currently best for him. You are what will give him happiness.” She stopped and sat down on a bench, and Hermione followed.
“I don’t think Pansy could ever make him happy in that same way. And this situation…. Do you think I’m coddling him by keeping this from him?”
Hermione opened her mouth, and nothing came out for a long moment. “He will need to know,” she said eventually. “And… I don’t know if he’ll be happy that you kept this from him.”
Narcissa nodded. “I know.” She looked wistfully off toward an apple tree. “And that’s where you come in.” Narcissa looked back at her then, and Hermione found herself shrinking back. “I’ll leave this for you to decide. This concerns you now. You can choose to tell him when the time is best. A letter just won’t do in this situation, and it’s not as if Draco can go to visit Pansy even if he wants to, nor can Pansy go to visit him. But the baby… the baby won’t have these same restrictions. He-she insists the baby is a he-won’t be born with a manacle on his wrist like the rest of us. And,” Narcissa actually gripped Hermione’s hands in her own, which seemed odd, considering that Hermione had expected to be met with nothing but prejudice, “I can’t be sure, but I doubt Pansy will survive the birth. Do you understand?”
Narcissa’s fingers were cold, and Hermione felt her throat closing up. “I think I do,” she responded.
“If Pansy doesn’t survive,” Narcissa prompted.
“Then you want me to bring the baby to Draco,” Hermione finished. There was a prickling feeling at the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t know you very well, but… if it comes to it, I think you would be a good step-mother to the child,” Narcissa said, her voice too calm, her demeanor too calm.
This relationship had just gotten much, much more serious than Hermione had ever dreamed, and as she stood to leave, all she could think about was that day in Good Grief class, when Malfoy had drawn a face and a nappy on an egg, and they’d dubbed it Eggletina.
She was too young. They were all too young.
O
Hermione felt sick as she turned the knob to enter the common room, and she wasn’t overly surprised to see Malfoy sitting on the sofa, waiting for her. However, she was surprised that he wasn’t doing anything. He was sitting and sitting only, just sort of staring into his lap. “You’re back,” he said, and that was when she realized just how awful he looked: sort of shaky and nervous, curled in on himself.
“Are you okay?”
He hesitated before shaking his head no. “I… was attacked,” he said delicately.
“What?”
He groaned. “After you left, while I was still at the gate, someone came up from behind me and stuck their wand into my back.”
The bile that had been threatening to climb her esophagus the whole day made another terrific lurch upward, and she fell down onto the sofa beside him, clutching her stomach. “What did they want?”
The question seemed to have a funny effect on him, and he very nearly laughed. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“All right… then, who was it? How did you get away? Have you reported it?”
“I talked to McGonagall. I have to be back in her office at six, once Luna Lovegood gets back from her internship.”
“Luna?”
“She’s the one who saved me,” he replied, and this time he did laugh, though it sounded kind of off, and then, just as abruptly, he was all business again. “Una Maroo. Una Maroo is the one who attacked me.”
Hermione had to concentrate before she could draw up a face to go along with the name. “Did she hurt you?”
“No. Didn’t get the chance.” His eyes met hers briefly before he turned them down again.
“Draco,” at this point, there was no reason not to use his name, “what happened?” She reached out to take his hand, and he flinched before allowing her to hold it.
“She… was going to… violate me,” he said, sounding uncertain. “She wanted me to impregnate her,” he added, “in order not to ‘waste my line.’”
“Oh.” She was about to let his hand go, but his grip tightened.
“Can you imagine?” His free hand rose to rub harshly at his face, and then he reached out to her, and she reluctantly slipped into his arms. His nose pressed into her hair. He didn’t say anything else, just kept drawing her closer and closer to him, his breathing irregular.
Imagine? She wished more than anything that she couldn’t.
O
A.N. I can’t wait for the big reveal that Pansy’s baby is actually the reincarnation of Snape! Um, APRIL FOOLS, one day early.
Please click the tag for a list of chapters.
<< >>
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts, and Humor. I can't write a fanfic without humor leaking its way in.
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
Eight and Eighth-Chapter 29-Flower Child
Note: Younger readers, like, say, under thirteen, should be forewarned of violent and/or not so pleasant themes. Don't send your mothers after me!
“Did you know, Granger, that they let pregnant women out of Azkaban? I didn’t. Still, they slapped this damnable cuff on my wrist.” Pansy moved very slowly to her seat at the table, poured herself a cup of tea, and started eating with a wildness that reminded Hermione of Sirius eating his rats. “Do you know why I got put away in the first place?” she asked between bites. “Kedavra’d an auror. Like no one else did.” She frowned, shoving an entire finger sandwich into her mouth. “They also said something about me being cheeky. Are you going to eat that?” she asked, and grabbed up the sandwich from Hermione’s plate and took a bite, her own sandwich still only half-chewed in her mouth, masticated white bread and chicken salad peeking out as she spoke.
Hermione took a glance at Narcissa, who was looking out the window instead of at either of the young women.
“Your, er, baby,” Hermione found herself saying. “Is it…?”
“Why do you think you’re here, Granger? Of course it’s Draco’s. Hell, why do you think I’m here?” Pansy laughed, a funny bitter laugh. “He doesn’t know, of course. Mrs. M. seems to be ashamed of me. My parents too. Why add Draco into the ring of shame? Better to spare him the deep dark ‘scawy’ details,” she said in a baby voice. Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve taken a very cynical view these last few months. They didn’t release me from Azkaban until I was showing-almost lost him.” On the last word, she placed a protective hand over her belly, rubbing affectionately, an alien look of pride washing over her face.
Hermione was starting to feel lightheaded, and she gripped the edge of the table. Narcissa still wasn’t looking at either of them. Pregnant in Azkaban. Pregnant in Azkaban. The thought just wouldn’t leave her head. Hermione couldn’t even imagine it. Pregnant in Azkaban. Pregnant with Draco’s child.
Oh, Lord. Malfoy. She felt a sudden rush of bile in her throat.
“I conceived the first of August, by the way,” Pansy said, not seeming to care that the grandmother of her child was at the table. “So I’m due in a couple weeks. It could be any day now.”
“Congratulations,” Hermione found herself saying, for lack of anything else to say.
Pansy shoved some of her black hair behind her ear, scrutinizing Hermione from her seat. “I want you to know that I laughed and laughed and laughed when I saw that Witch Weekly. Mrs. M. doesn’t subscribe. Daphne’s the only other one besides my parents who knows I’m here; she sent it to me. Funniest thing I’ve ever read. Nearly gave me a hernia from laughing so hard.” She broke off a bit of scone. “I thought it was a joke, but here you are, so I guess it’s not.”
“No. Not a joke,” Hermione said.
Narcissa still wasn’t looking at them. Pansy seemed to follow Hermione’s gaze. “Of course, she didn’t think it was a joke. Real funny stuff, that.” Pansy lowered her voice, as if she were being conspiratorial. “She expected it.”
“She…?” Hermione turned to face Narcissa. “What?”
Mrs. Malfoy turned slowly and took up her tea cup, though she didn’t drink, and her eyes settled on Hermione. “What you might not be aware of, Miss Granger, is that nine months ago, before Miss Parkinson conceived, I fell into a trance while visiting a Seer, hoping to find out my family’s future. Instead of hearing a prophecy, I prophesied instead.” There was a subtle rush like typhoon waters in Hermione’s ears, steadily growing into a gale of magnificent proportions. “From the riddle of a prediction, I was able to devise one thing for certain, and your Professor Trelawney was my witness.” Her head tilted to the side. “You and my son were to fall in love in the space of one year’s time.”
O
Every nerve in his body, every taut muscle and sinew, was telling him to run, but his brain knew better.
Girls weren’t supposed to be rapists. It just went against the grain. Her wand was still pointed into his back, and he expected that anytime now, he’d be hit with something: Imperio, maybe, or perhaps a good old Petrificus totallus.
Out of habit more than anything else, Draco kept his wand in his robe pocket. Little good it would do for him, but there was a certain loophole that he could take advantage of. He closed his eyes, envisioning the bath drain and faucet, and he opened them again to stare plainly at the Hogwarts gate, just five or six feet away.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Granger had said the metal had done it. The metal had counteracted the manacle. Draco was no expert on metals by any means, other than having a pretty decent appreciation for the differences between gold, silver, platinum, and copper. It really wasn’t safe to assume that he’d be able to use his wand if he just placed his hand between the bars of the gate, but at this point, it was either that or allow for a crazed blood purist to force him into getting her pregnant, and that would never do, and he had a feeling she’d probably prefer to dispose of him afterward than let him go on his merry way to report her to the Ministry-assuming she let him find out who she was.
“Are you sure you want to do this to yourself?” he asked, hoping that if he deferred the reason for stopping this onto her physical well-being, she might take it better.
“Am I sure I want to have your blood traitor bastard?” she asked, a maniacal note in her voice. She was definitely a girl. There was no doubt about that now, though the voice had been disguised with a spell. “If I don’t, who will? We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good of continuing our lines.” She kicked him in the Achilles’ tendon. “You’re not carrying your load, so I’ll carry it for you.”
Well, there was a pun.
“And,” Draco’s synapses were misfiring in his head, trying to make connections, give him some sort of thought that might help in this situation, “you… you don’t honestly think I’m with Granger for good, do you?”
Whoever she was snorted. “Even if you do end it with her, what pureblood of worth would have you?”
Touché.
“Enough stalling,” she said, and she jammed her wand into his ribs.
“Wait!” Draco cried, the adrenaline pumping through his system making him convulse. “At least tell me who you are. At least tell me who the mother of my child will be?”
“Ha! So you can report me? Unlikely.”
“But… but what if we do this the easy way.” Oh, Hell. “What if I let you? Then it wouldn’t be a crime. And you’d be carrying my child, so I’d want you safe, wouldn’t I?”
There was a moment of hesitation in which the wand slackened, and Draco practically flew forward, not even thinking. His hand dove into his pocket for his wand, and he lunged at the gate, making it swing forward, tottering as his foot took hold on the lower rung. He swung himself to the backside of the gate, so that he stood facing his attacker while peeping through bars. Two more feet and he’d be outside of the grounds, the gate at a fifteen degree angle from the rest of the fence, and while he’d never tested the theory, something told him that he wouldn’t make it through the invisible barrier.
There was another flash of color that just barely missed him as he jammed his manacled fist through the gap between two bars, his wand pointed at….
At Una Maroo. Despite the urge to attack and save himself from certain peril, he couldn’t help but blink once at her. Una Maroo? She was a Seventh Year in Slytherin House and happened to be in his Potions class. She was most well-known for her extremely long blonde hair, poorly groomed fringe, and her overbite, but other than that… had he ever even spoken to her before?
She frowned at him. “And what good is that? You can’t leave the grounds and you can’t use your wand; you’ve fenced yourself in-literally. Thank you for that,” she said, and she began to raise her wand.
“Imp-” she began at the same time Draco started to say, “Expelliarmus,” but he never finished, the word dying in his throat because there was no need. Before Maroo could get to the “erio” of her spell, she was knocked forward onto her face from a Stupefy from behind.
Luna Lovegood was standing just behind the spot Una had been, looking curiously at him. “It looked like you needed some help,” she said simply.
His mind had practically shut down. “What?”
“Too bad. I liked Una. Her name rhymes with mine, you know,” Lovegood said, moving forward to pull the gate open and gesturing for him to hop down from the rung and bars he was clinging to. He practically had to force himself to let go, and then he sagged for a moment.
“It’s a good thing I was on my way to my internship,” Lovegood said.
“Internship?” Draco asked blankly, staring down at the back of Maroo’s head. Her hair was everywhere, and the light spring breeze was tossing it about almost playfully.
“Oh, yes,” Lovegood continued. “I work in the Department of Mysteries. By the way, Draco, there was something I’ve been meaning to tell you about that, but it keeps slipping my mind.”
Reluctantly, Draco turned to look at his savior. His very odd, very calm savior. “What’s that?”
“Well,” she said, “it’s just that I was dusting in the Hall of Prophecies, and I happened to see one with your name on it.” She smiled dreamily. “I couldn’t pick it up, of course, but it did say, ‘N.C.B.M. to S.P.T.: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.’ You did say those were your mother’s initials, didn’t you? How very interesting.” She fingered her butterbeer cap necklace. “Well, I’m running late! Tell Professor McGonagall I’ll explain what happened later. Oh,” and she raised her wand to emit several red sparks in the air, “that should help you.” And, with that, Lovegood walked out the gate and Disapparated.
Draco collapsed in a heap on the ground, his palms pressed into the dirt. This was turning into a very trying day.
O
Nineteen and a half years flashed before Hermione Granger’s eyes. Nineteen and a half years of thinking she had at least some control over her own destiny. Even when the prophecy about Harry had come true, Hermione had only been affected because, as she’d told herself, she’d chosen to be Harry’s friend. She had chosen to help him every step of the way. When it had only been Trelawney, she’d at least been able to tell herself that the woman was faking it. And at the time, there had been every reason to believe the woman had been faking it.
Malfoy on the ground with his sight gone, Hermione above him talking to Trelawney. Trelawney belatedly even realizing Malfoy was there. Trelawney stumbling when Hermione issued the challenge.
It had been real? All this time? It had honest-to-goodness been more than coincidence, more than what McGonagall had suggested about reverse psychology?
At least it hadn’t been Trelawney’s own prediction. At least there was that. She’d just borrowed it from someone else, someone who happened to be looking at her with a strained gaze.
Her gaze was more than just strained, more than just blue, it was almost pleading. Pleading for something Hermione wasn’t even sure she understood. “Miss Parkinson, you stay here and rest. Miss Granger and I are going to go for a little stroll.”
Pansy rolled her eyes and crammed more scone into her mouth while Hermione rose to follow Narcissa from the room.
They were silent even after they’d reached the grounds, the sunshine seeming mockingly cheerful, and then Narcissa started speaking just as they were passing by a rosebush. “All I want,” she said, “all I have ever wanted is for my son to be happy, safe, and comfortable. These last few years have been trying for me as a mother. Sometimes Draco thinks certain things will make him happy, and he ends up vastly mistaken.” At the look on Hermione’s face, she laughed. “I don’t mean you. I mean when he was given that… that assignment,” she spat. “But there was little I could do to stop him, and so all I really could do was to try and ensure his success, and thus his safety.
“I know you don’t approve. Your Headmaster was a good man, but in this case it was his life or Draco’s, and I think you can understand my bias in the matter.”
“Yes,” Hermione said slowly. She could understand, even if she couldn’t empathize.
Narcissa nodded. “I like to think my son has grown since those days. Even with this letter you gave me from him, I can tell. He’s becoming his own person, someone who can think for himself and pick and choose for himself beyond a purely selfish basis. He didn’t say explicitly that he loves you, but that seems to be the direction he’s headed.” Narcissa glanced toward her, and Hermione fought not to look away to hide. “I know he will love you,” Narcissa continued. “And I know you will love him as well, so you can understand what I mean when I say that you are what is currently best for him. You are what will give him happiness.” She stopped and sat down on a bench, and Hermione followed.
“I don’t think Pansy could ever make him happy in that same way. And this situation…. Do you think I’m coddling him by keeping this from him?”
Hermione opened her mouth, and nothing came out for a long moment. “He will need to know,” she said eventually. “And… I don’t know if he’ll be happy that you kept this from him.”
Narcissa nodded. “I know.” She looked wistfully off toward an apple tree. “And that’s where you come in.” Narcissa looked back at her then, and Hermione found herself shrinking back. “I’ll leave this for you to decide. This concerns you now. You can choose to tell him when the time is best. A letter just won’t do in this situation, and it’s not as if Draco can go to visit Pansy even if he wants to, nor can Pansy go to visit him. But the baby… the baby won’t have these same restrictions. He-she insists the baby is a he-won’t be born with a manacle on his wrist like the rest of us. And,” Narcissa actually gripped Hermione’s hands in her own, which seemed odd, considering that Hermione had expected to be met with nothing but prejudice, “I can’t be sure, but I doubt Pansy will survive the birth. Do you understand?”
Narcissa’s fingers were cold, and Hermione felt her throat closing up. “I think I do,” she responded.
“If Pansy doesn’t survive,” Narcissa prompted.
“Then you want me to bring the baby to Draco,” Hermione finished. There was a prickling feeling at the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t know you very well, but… if it comes to it, I think you would be a good step-mother to the child,” Narcissa said, her voice too calm, her demeanor too calm.
This relationship had just gotten much, much more serious than Hermione had ever dreamed, and as she stood to leave, all she could think about was that day in Good Grief class, when Malfoy had drawn a face and a nappy on an egg, and they’d dubbed it Eggletina.
She was too young. They were all too young.
O
Hermione felt sick as she turned the knob to enter the common room, and she wasn’t overly surprised to see Malfoy sitting on the sofa, waiting for her. However, she was surprised that he wasn’t doing anything. He was sitting and sitting only, just sort of staring into his lap. “You’re back,” he said, and that was when she realized just how awful he looked: sort of shaky and nervous, curled in on himself.
“Are you okay?”
He hesitated before shaking his head no. “I… was attacked,” he said delicately.
“What?”
He groaned. “After you left, while I was still at the gate, someone came up from behind me and stuck their wand into my back.”
The bile that had been threatening to climb her esophagus the whole day made another terrific lurch upward, and she fell down onto the sofa beside him, clutching her stomach. “What did they want?”
The question seemed to have a funny effect on him, and he very nearly laughed. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“All right… then, who was it? How did you get away? Have you reported it?”
“I talked to McGonagall. I have to be back in her office at six, once Luna Lovegood gets back from her internship.”
“Luna?”
“She’s the one who saved me,” he replied, and this time he did laugh, though it sounded kind of off, and then, just as abruptly, he was all business again. “Una Maroo. Una Maroo is the one who attacked me.”
Hermione had to concentrate before she could draw up a face to go along with the name. “Did she hurt you?”
“No. Didn’t get the chance.” His eyes met hers briefly before he turned them down again.
“Draco,” at this point, there was no reason not to use his name, “what happened?” She reached out to take his hand, and he flinched before allowing her to hold it.
“She… was going to… violate me,” he said, sounding uncertain. “She wanted me to impregnate her,” he added, “in order not to ‘waste my line.’”
“Oh.” She was about to let his hand go, but his grip tightened.
“Can you imagine?” His free hand rose to rub harshly at his face, and then he reached out to her, and she reluctantly slipped into his arms. His nose pressed into her hair. He didn’t say anything else, just kept drawing her closer and closer to him, his breathing irregular.
Imagine? She wished more than anything that she couldn’t.
O
A.N. I can’t wait for the big reveal that Pansy’s baby is actually the reincarnation of Snape! Um, APRIL FOOLS, one day early.
Please click the tag for a list of chapters.
<< >>