Eight and Eighth--Chapter 30
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 30-Surrender
Draco considered it highly fortunate that he’d had Lovegood as a witness, even if she didn’t often seem like a reliable source. She was apparently extremely truthful, though she did have a tendency to believe in things that weren’t real-in which case she’d tell what she believed to be the truth. He’d found that out when he’d sat with her in McGonagall’s office, and Lovegood had calmly suggested he shake the whinging flib off of his head.
McGonagall had insisted on a full testimony from each of them, and then she’d double-checked Draco’s wand with priori incantatem. Although she’d been a little suspicious when the echo of a flower had come out of his wand, she’d seemed satisfied enough that it had been Luna who’d cast the stupefy.
Telling the Headmistress the finer details of the attack had been… unpleasant. “I see,” she finally said, and then she’d announced that she’d be talking with the current Head of Slytherin House about expelling Maroo.
O
Amorell had a ring of daisies on her head, like a coronet-almost looking like she’d stepped right out of the pages of Heidi, except without the goats. “I trust you all had a good weekend?” she asked, and Hermione suppressed the urge to scream.
She hadn’t had the nerve to tell Malfoy about her visit to his mother, and, maybe not surprisingly, he hadn’t asked about it. He’d been distant the last two days, quiet and contemplative. Even Ron had noticed something was wrong, and that was saying something.
“I have a little surprise prepared for you,” Amorell continued, her signature smile lighting up her face. “Today we’ll be having a test!”
There was a collective groan throughout the room followed by Dean and August banging their heads against their desks.
“Now, now. Nothing to worry about. We’ll just be checking your progress.” She hopped down from her desk and walked over to the side of it, patting the surface. “Ladies line up over here,” she gestured to the area behind her desk, “and men line up over here.” She gestured to the front. “You’ll be catching your partners again, just like you did on the first day of class.”
Hermione stood, glancing at Malfoy, and it was as if the sun had suddenly prevailed over a cloud and managed to peek its way through, the dark expression on his face fading as he straightened and turned his head. He winked at her. Now that they were a couple, he’d probably actually enjoy catching her.
The git. Though that thought lacked its usual venom, she realized.
She had to admit, as she joined the queue behind the desk, that they actually had progressed since that first day of school. If nothing else, Amorell had ensured that each of them got to know (and trust) their respective partner far more than they ever would have previously.
Ron was at the front of the desk, his arms ready to catch August, who still gave him a small distrusting look, but she fell back into his arms without any further complaint. Harry caught Hannah, and they grinned at one another before he set her down. Then Padma gave Dean a shrug before she turned around and fell into his awaiting arms.
And then it was their turn. Hermione could feel Ron and Harry watching her less than discreetly, but they weren’t the ones she was interested in at the moment. That went to the other boy. Other young man, she should say. Malfoy stood in front of the desk, his arms wide and a teasing grin on his face that looked less forced than any of the others she’d seen on him since the attack.
Hermione turned around, a sudden wave of nerves flowing through her for a very different reason than they had the first time she’d done this. She did trust him this time, and somehow that was a problem.
She trusted him, and he, she wagered, trusted her.
Her heels rocked back from the edge of the desk, and before she could even think the word “concussion,” she found herself being cradled against his chest in an odd cross between bridle style and baby style.
He looked at her, and there was a moment when she thought he was going to bend down and kiss her, but instead his chin just rubbed against the crown of her head before he set her on her feet, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her back pressed against his chest. From the way Ron and Harry were scowling, she’d wager Malfoy was smirking at them from behind her head.
“I’ve been in a funk, haven’t I?” he whispered into her ear, only loud enough for her to hear.
Her shoulders stiffened. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
“But not fair for you. You look like you’re more bothered by it than I am… right now, anyway,” he added, his voice sinking down into a bitter tone. “I want to make it up to you.” He had to pause a moment while Amorell cheerfully told them that all the men in the class would be blinded, again, and led around the castle-again. His tone hastened just as his grip around her tightened. “They’re all going to Weasley’s match next Saturday, right? We can have some alone time for once.” He waited for her nod, and then he let go, just his hand gripping hers now, almost a little too tightly.
Hermione squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, feeling slightly dizzy. That would have to be the day. She’d have to tell him then, even if the idea did frighten her for a reason she didn’t want to name, because naming it would make it all too real.
O
The days ticked by like the minute hand of a broken clock-sometimes too quickly, and sometimes all too slowly. Saturday meant that a week had gone by and that half of the time Hermione had been given to tell him before the baby was due was now gone. One more week. It could be any day, really.
The idea of NEWTs was starting to make her feel sick. If she’d taken them a week and a half ago, she’d have been fine, but now… now there was just too much else to think about without cramming figures and arm movements and potion ingredients into her brain, too.
And why? Why did that prophecy need to be real? She’d been doing such a good job of ignoring it these last two months.
She heard Ron get up and leave at quarter to five, and then she’d just lain in her bed, trying to fall back asleep again. It felt like Valentine’s all over again, except… not even close to the same. That seemed downright cheerful to her now.
The match was scheduled for noon, and Harry, Ginny, Dean, Padma, August, and Hannah were all leaving around eleven-thirty. She knew Malfoy was planning some sort of surprise, something more than just their usual studying and occasional game of wizards’ chess. Frankly, that was making it worse, that he felt he needed to make this up to her, just because he’d nearly been raped and thought his bad mood had spread to her. What ever happened to that Draco Malfoy she knew who’d sooner be the cause of her upset than apologize for it?
She went down to breakfast at nine, having managed to fall back asleep for a few more hours, and then she just wandered around the castle for awhile, too nervous to do anything else.
Draco, guess what? Your ex is having your baby and will probably die in the process because she spent the first trimester and then some in Azkaban. But don’t worry; your mum says she prophesied that we’re meant to fall in love, and she thinks I’ll make a good step-mum. Isn’t that nice? I’m sure we can find someone to babysit while we sit the NEWTs.
“Well, if it isn’t Granger.” Hermione looked up to find Astoria Greengrass coming at her from the opposite direction. “Something on your mind? You look troubled.” She pursed her lips, not really looking even slightly concerned.
Hermione was about to snap at her with a less than witty retort, but then she paused, really looking at Astoria for what felt like the first time. “You get on well with your sister?” she asked. “Daphne?”
Astoria looked slightly taken aback. “Well enough,” she responded, furrowing her brow.
“So you know, then?”
“Know what?”
“About it.”
“It?”
“Yes.”
Greengrass looked genuinely confused. “You mean… Pansy?” she asked, looking almost reluctant.
Hermione nodded.
“Er, yes.” Greengrass straightened. “I know she’s out of Azkaban,” she said coolly. “The question is: how do you know?”
Hermione shook her head. “Never mind how I know. Is that all you know?”
And Greengrass looked confused again. “Is there more to it?”
Satisfied, Hermione didn’t reply, and simply walked off. So Daphne hadn’t told her sister everything, it would seem. For a moment, she’d wondered if Astoria had known about the pregnancy for months, but it seemed she’d only known that Pansy was out of prison, which might explain some of her gloating if she thought Malfoy would either be in trouble with Pansy or promptly dump Hermione for Pansy.
She had to wait awhile longer before eleven-thirty finally arrived, at which point she sluggishly headed back to the common room. The door opened before she got the chance to turn the knob, and suddenly she was roughly yanked into the room.
“Morning,” Malfoy said briefly before he swiftly pulled her to him, his lips descending on hers so quickly she let out a little “oomph!” sound. This wasn’t quite the surprise she’d been expecting, but she was too preoccupied to give it very much thought.
His hands swept slowly up her back and into her hair, and then one arm dropped down to her back again before the other reached down to tuck itself under her knees, lifting her into the air. Hermione’s eyes snapped open again, and she temporarily pulled her mouth away to make sure he didn’t drop her as he strode to the couch, setting her purposefully on his lap.
The analytical side of Hermione’s brain, which was, admittedly, the more dominant, wondered if this was his way of reasserting his masculinity.
He stared at her for a long moment, his hand pushing her hair back from her face before he pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw and then down a fraction of an inch to just below her ear.
Well, this was….
There was the warm dampness of the tip of his tongue on her earlobe, followed by a brief nipping of teeth.
This was something, all right.
His mouth moved lower, down the side of her neck, igniting goose bumps over her legs. His thumb hooked sideways, moving both sleeve and bra strap just off her shoulder, another kiss pressing there.
The same hand moved down to her waist, just beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers wrapping loosely over her side, and then-his thumb brushed beneath the waistband of her pants, just barely into the taut curve of her hip bone.
An invisible switch was thrown abruptly on inside her head.
Hermione reared back and almost landed on the sofa cushion next to her, words tumbling from her mouth without her consent: “I’m waiting for marriage.”
…She was?
A very odd caricature of a ballooned Pansy floated briefly to the forefront of her mind before being squashed back. It was only partially a lie. She’d never gotten around to it before, and so, technically, she’d waited so far… right? She’d just never really decided that she….
Her hand scrambled up to correct her sleeve. He was staring at her, looking almost as surprised as she was. He slowly frowned and took her hand in his, his head ducking closer to hers until their eyes were on level. “You’re worth waiting for.”
And then it was as if a different switch was thrown.
O
Draco watched, almost horrified, as Granger’s lower lip trembled and the first telltale sign of tears glistened in her eyes before, abruptly, she had flung her arms around his neck, latching on very, very tightly.
These were not quiet sobs. Not even close. These were loud, wet, and gasping. Her nose was buried in between his neck and collar, and it was very obviously running. “I love you,” she whispered in a choked voice, an odd sort of desperation in her confession. Her grip tightened.
He caught and released a breath, difficult with her holding onto him the way she was. “I love you, too.”
If possible, her grip tightened even further. She sounded like she was suffocating, hyperventilating-almost the rattling sound of a dementor.
He ran his hand down her back, gently over her spine and up again. What else was he supposed to do? “Please don’t cry.”
Her head twisted, now burrowing her forehead into his neck instead of her nose. “I-I need to tell you something.”
What was possibly left to be said? She didn’t want to have sex, he was okay with it, and now they’d apparently surrendered to the L word.
Her sobs died down enough for her to catch her breath. “I didn’t want to tell you.” Her voice was strained. “Especially not after what happened to you.”
“You can tell me. I’m a big boy,” he said, though suddenly he was feeling very small, holding her in his arms like this, with whatever it was hanging above them like Damocles’ sword.
“You didn’t ask about my trip to see your mother,” she said softly.
He stiffened. “Did she…?” He hadn’t had the guts to tell Granger about what Lovegood had said. That prophecy was sticky business with them.
Her head shook back and forth, narrowly missing his chin. “She wasn’t alone,” she said, her voice falling until he could only barely hear.
“Who was there?” he asked skeptically.
Her grip tightened again. “Pansy.”
“Pansy?” Draco repeated. “I don’t understand. She’s supposed to be in Azkaban.”
“They let her out.” There was a short pause. “Because she’s pregnant,” she finally added. And now it was her nose in his neck again.
Draco’s stomach reacted before anything else. It felt like he’d been hit by a bludger, just above his navel. “Oh.”
“She’s due in about a week.”
He had to close his eyes for a moment. The room was feeling hot, almost humid, but maybe that was just the clammy perspiration between the two of them.
“Mine?”
“According to her.” She shifted, still in his lap, but now easing herself to a different portion of his knee.
He mentally counted back nine months. Beginning of August. Unfortunately, all of August and the end of July was a blur of trials and depression. But there, at the back of his memory, was a faint glimmer of an afternoon spent with Pansy, the day after she’d been given her prison sentence but the day before she’d been shipped off. He’d almost forgotten. Seemed a funny thing to forget.
“She didn’t get released from Azkaban for several months,” Granger said in a monotone. “Her health suffered. Your mother doesn’t think she’ll survive the birth.”
“My mum… knew about this?”
She hesitated. “She wanted to shelter you.”
“If it were up to her, I’d never go higher than three feet on a broom.”
“She just wants you to be safe. And happy,” she said, almost sarcastically.
“Why do you say that?” he asked. It reminded him of his mother’s words before he’d gotten on the train in September.
There was another pause as Granger shifted to get more comfortable, and he reached up to wipe a stray tear from her chin. She sighed softly. “Because your mother told me that… she made that prophecy that Trelawney told us.” She gave him an unreadable look. “She thinks I’ll make you happy.”
For one brief, bizarre moment, Draco almost wanted to laugh-almost, but not quite. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Lovegood told me. She read it while dusting in the Hall of Prophecies.”
Granger relaxed against him. “Figures.”
“A baby?” he asked, not sure he’d fully wrapped his mind around any of this just yet.
“Pansy said a boy.”
He nodded, trying to knock that into his head, at least. A boy. A pureblooded little Malfoy boy. Maroo would have been proud. He scowled at the thought and retightened his hold on the girl in his lap.
Funny, thinking of all the girls suddenly demanding to or going ahead and bearing his progeny, and the only one he’d actually consider procreating with was also the only one who stipulated wedlock as a precursor. Suddenly, that seemed like a rather nice request-not that he wanted to get married anytime in the near future. He didn’t think Granger wanted to either.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked. “I know this is a lot of information all at once. And-a week isn’t much to prepare to be a father.”
“I don’t know.” To be quite honest, he really didn’t know.
O
A.N. This chapter’s a little shorter, but after the sheer grief it gave me writing it, I figured I’d rather not add an extra mini-scene when I’m already at a natural stopping point. I have a rough estimate of two more chapters, though I could be wrong, plus an epilogue. I really want to finish before I graduate next month, which means writing during finals. Ugh.
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 30-Surrender
Draco considered it highly fortunate that he’d had Lovegood as a witness, even if she didn’t often seem like a reliable source. She was apparently extremely truthful, though she did have a tendency to believe in things that weren’t real-in which case she’d tell what she believed to be the truth. He’d found that out when he’d sat with her in McGonagall’s office, and Lovegood had calmly suggested he shake the whinging flib off of his head.
McGonagall had insisted on a full testimony from each of them, and then she’d double-checked Draco’s wand with priori incantatem. Although she’d been a little suspicious when the echo of a flower had come out of his wand, she’d seemed satisfied enough that it had been Luna who’d cast the stupefy.
Telling the Headmistress the finer details of the attack had been… unpleasant. “I see,” she finally said, and then she’d announced that she’d be talking with the current Head of Slytherin House about expelling Maroo.
O
Amorell had a ring of daisies on her head, like a coronet-almost looking like she’d stepped right out of the pages of Heidi, except without the goats. “I trust you all had a good weekend?” she asked, and Hermione suppressed the urge to scream.
She hadn’t had the nerve to tell Malfoy about her visit to his mother, and, maybe not surprisingly, he hadn’t asked about it. He’d been distant the last two days, quiet and contemplative. Even Ron had noticed something was wrong, and that was saying something.
“I have a little surprise prepared for you,” Amorell continued, her signature smile lighting up her face. “Today we’ll be having a test!”
There was a collective groan throughout the room followed by Dean and August banging their heads against their desks.
“Now, now. Nothing to worry about. We’ll just be checking your progress.” She hopped down from her desk and walked over to the side of it, patting the surface. “Ladies line up over here,” she gestured to the area behind her desk, “and men line up over here.” She gestured to the front. “You’ll be catching your partners again, just like you did on the first day of class.”
Hermione stood, glancing at Malfoy, and it was as if the sun had suddenly prevailed over a cloud and managed to peek its way through, the dark expression on his face fading as he straightened and turned his head. He winked at her. Now that they were a couple, he’d probably actually enjoy catching her.
The git. Though that thought lacked its usual venom, she realized.
She had to admit, as she joined the queue behind the desk, that they actually had progressed since that first day of school. If nothing else, Amorell had ensured that each of them got to know (and trust) their respective partner far more than they ever would have previously.
Ron was at the front of the desk, his arms ready to catch August, who still gave him a small distrusting look, but she fell back into his arms without any further complaint. Harry caught Hannah, and they grinned at one another before he set her down. Then Padma gave Dean a shrug before she turned around and fell into his awaiting arms.
And then it was their turn. Hermione could feel Ron and Harry watching her less than discreetly, but they weren’t the ones she was interested in at the moment. That went to the other boy. Other young man, she should say. Malfoy stood in front of the desk, his arms wide and a teasing grin on his face that looked less forced than any of the others she’d seen on him since the attack.
Hermione turned around, a sudden wave of nerves flowing through her for a very different reason than they had the first time she’d done this. She did trust him this time, and somehow that was a problem.
She trusted him, and he, she wagered, trusted her.
Her heels rocked back from the edge of the desk, and before she could even think the word “concussion,” she found herself being cradled against his chest in an odd cross between bridle style and baby style.
He looked at her, and there was a moment when she thought he was going to bend down and kiss her, but instead his chin just rubbed against the crown of her head before he set her on her feet, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her back pressed against his chest. From the way Ron and Harry were scowling, she’d wager Malfoy was smirking at them from behind her head.
“I’ve been in a funk, haven’t I?” he whispered into her ear, only loud enough for her to hear.
Her shoulders stiffened. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
“But not fair for you. You look like you’re more bothered by it than I am… right now, anyway,” he added, his voice sinking down into a bitter tone. “I want to make it up to you.” He had to pause a moment while Amorell cheerfully told them that all the men in the class would be blinded, again, and led around the castle-again. His tone hastened just as his grip around her tightened. “They’re all going to Weasley’s match next Saturday, right? We can have some alone time for once.” He waited for her nod, and then he let go, just his hand gripping hers now, almost a little too tightly.
Hermione squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, feeling slightly dizzy. That would have to be the day. She’d have to tell him then, even if the idea did frighten her for a reason she didn’t want to name, because naming it would make it all too real.
O
The days ticked by like the minute hand of a broken clock-sometimes too quickly, and sometimes all too slowly. Saturday meant that a week had gone by and that half of the time Hermione had been given to tell him before the baby was due was now gone. One more week. It could be any day, really.
The idea of NEWTs was starting to make her feel sick. If she’d taken them a week and a half ago, she’d have been fine, but now… now there was just too much else to think about without cramming figures and arm movements and potion ingredients into her brain, too.
And why? Why did that prophecy need to be real? She’d been doing such a good job of ignoring it these last two months.
She heard Ron get up and leave at quarter to five, and then she’d just lain in her bed, trying to fall back asleep again. It felt like Valentine’s all over again, except… not even close to the same. That seemed downright cheerful to her now.
The match was scheduled for noon, and Harry, Ginny, Dean, Padma, August, and Hannah were all leaving around eleven-thirty. She knew Malfoy was planning some sort of surprise, something more than just their usual studying and occasional game of wizards’ chess. Frankly, that was making it worse, that he felt he needed to make this up to her, just because he’d nearly been raped and thought his bad mood had spread to her. What ever happened to that Draco Malfoy she knew who’d sooner be the cause of her upset than apologize for it?
She went down to breakfast at nine, having managed to fall back asleep for a few more hours, and then she just wandered around the castle for awhile, too nervous to do anything else.
Draco, guess what? Your ex is having your baby and will probably die in the process because she spent the first trimester and then some in Azkaban. But don’t worry; your mum says she prophesied that we’re meant to fall in love, and she thinks I’ll make a good step-mum. Isn’t that nice? I’m sure we can find someone to babysit while we sit the NEWTs.
“Well, if it isn’t Granger.” Hermione looked up to find Astoria Greengrass coming at her from the opposite direction. “Something on your mind? You look troubled.” She pursed her lips, not really looking even slightly concerned.
Hermione was about to snap at her with a less than witty retort, but then she paused, really looking at Astoria for what felt like the first time. “You get on well with your sister?” she asked. “Daphne?”
Astoria looked slightly taken aback. “Well enough,” she responded, furrowing her brow.
“So you know, then?”
“Know what?”
“About it.”
“It?”
“Yes.”
Greengrass looked genuinely confused. “You mean… Pansy?” she asked, looking almost reluctant.
Hermione nodded.
“Er, yes.” Greengrass straightened. “I know she’s out of Azkaban,” she said coolly. “The question is: how do you know?”
Hermione shook her head. “Never mind how I know. Is that all you know?”
And Greengrass looked confused again. “Is there more to it?”
Satisfied, Hermione didn’t reply, and simply walked off. So Daphne hadn’t told her sister everything, it would seem. For a moment, she’d wondered if Astoria had known about the pregnancy for months, but it seemed she’d only known that Pansy was out of prison, which might explain some of her gloating if she thought Malfoy would either be in trouble with Pansy or promptly dump Hermione for Pansy.
She had to wait awhile longer before eleven-thirty finally arrived, at which point she sluggishly headed back to the common room. The door opened before she got the chance to turn the knob, and suddenly she was roughly yanked into the room.
“Morning,” Malfoy said briefly before he swiftly pulled her to him, his lips descending on hers so quickly she let out a little “oomph!” sound. This wasn’t quite the surprise she’d been expecting, but she was too preoccupied to give it very much thought.
His hands swept slowly up her back and into her hair, and then one arm dropped down to her back again before the other reached down to tuck itself under her knees, lifting her into the air. Hermione’s eyes snapped open again, and she temporarily pulled her mouth away to make sure he didn’t drop her as he strode to the couch, setting her purposefully on his lap.
The analytical side of Hermione’s brain, which was, admittedly, the more dominant, wondered if this was his way of reasserting his masculinity.
He stared at her for a long moment, his hand pushing her hair back from her face before he pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw and then down a fraction of an inch to just below her ear.
Well, this was….
There was the warm dampness of the tip of his tongue on her earlobe, followed by a brief nipping of teeth.
This was something, all right.
His mouth moved lower, down the side of her neck, igniting goose bumps over her legs. His thumb hooked sideways, moving both sleeve and bra strap just off her shoulder, another kiss pressing there.
The same hand moved down to her waist, just beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers wrapping loosely over her side, and then-his thumb brushed beneath the waistband of her pants, just barely into the taut curve of her hip bone.
An invisible switch was thrown abruptly on inside her head.
Hermione reared back and almost landed on the sofa cushion next to her, words tumbling from her mouth without her consent: “I’m waiting for marriage.”
…She was?
A very odd caricature of a ballooned Pansy floated briefly to the forefront of her mind before being squashed back. It was only partially a lie. She’d never gotten around to it before, and so, technically, she’d waited so far… right? She’d just never really decided that she….
Her hand scrambled up to correct her sleeve. He was staring at her, looking almost as surprised as she was. He slowly frowned and took her hand in his, his head ducking closer to hers until their eyes were on level. “You’re worth waiting for.”
And then it was as if a different switch was thrown.
O
Draco watched, almost horrified, as Granger’s lower lip trembled and the first telltale sign of tears glistened in her eyes before, abruptly, she had flung her arms around his neck, latching on very, very tightly.
These were not quiet sobs. Not even close. These were loud, wet, and gasping. Her nose was buried in between his neck and collar, and it was very obviously running. “I love you,” she whispered in a choked voice, an odd sort of desperation in her confession. Her grip tightened.
He caught and released a breath, difficult with her holding onto him the way she was. “I love you, too.”
If possible, her grip tightened even further. She sounded like she was suffocating, hyperventilating-almost the rattling sound of a dementor.
He ran his hand down her back, gently over her spine and up again. What else was he supposed to do? “Please don’t cry.”
Her head twisted, now burrowing her forehead into his neck instead of her nose. “I-I need to tell you something.”
What was possibly left to be said? She didn’t want to have sex, he was okay with it, and now they’d apparently surrendered to the L word.
Her sobs died down enough for her to catch her breath. “I didn’t want to tell you.” Her voice was strained. “Especially not after what happened to you.”
“You can tell me. I’m a big boy,” he said, though suddenly he was feeling very small, holding her in his arms like this, with whatever it was hanging above them like Damocles’ sword.
“You didn’t ask about my trip to see your mother,” she said softly.
He stiffened. “Did she…?” He hadn’t had the guts to tell Granger about what Lovegood had said. That prophecy was sticky business with them.
Her head shook back and forth, narrowly missing his chin. “She wasn’t alone,” she said, her voice falling until he could only barely hear.
“Who was there?” he asked skeptically.
Her grip tightened again. “Pansy.”
“Pansy?” Draco repeated. “I don’t understand. She’s supposed to be in Azkaban.”
“They let her out.” There was a short pause. “Because she’s pregnant,” she finally added. And now it was her nose in his neck again.
Draco’s stomach reacted before anything else. It felt like he’d been hit by a bludger, just above his navel. “Oh.”
“She’s due in about a week.”
He had to close his eyes for a moment. The room was feeling hot, almost humid, but maybe that was just the clammy perspiration between the two of them.
“Mine?”
“According to her.” She shifted, still in his lap, but now easing herself to a different portion of his knee.
He mentally counted back nine months. Beginning of August. Unfortunately, all of August and the end of July was a blur of trials and depression. But there, at the back of his memory, was a faint glimmer of an afternoon spent with Pansy, the day after she’d been given her prison sentence but the day before she’d been shipped off. He’d almost forgotten. Seemed a funny thing to forget.
“She didn’t get released from Azkaban for several months,” Granger said in a monotone. “Her health suffered. Your mother doesn’t think she’ll survive the birth.”
“My mum… knew about this?”
She hesitated. “She wanted to shelter you.”
“If it were up to her, I’d never go higher than three feet on a broom.”
“She just wants you to be safe. And happy,” she said, almost sarcastically.
“Why do you say that?” he asked. It reminded him of his mother’s words before he’d gotten on the train in September.
There was another pause as Granger shifted to get more comfortable, and he reached up to wipe a stray tear from her chin. She sighed softly. “Because your mother told me that… she made that prophecy that Trelawney told us.” She gave him an unreadable look. “She thinks I’ll make you happy.”
For one brief, bizarre moment, Draco almost wanted to laugh-almost, but not quite. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Lovegood told me. She read it while dusting in the Hall of Prophecies.”
Granger relaxed against him. “Figures.”
“A baby?” he asked, not sure he’d fully wrapped his mind around any of this just yet.
“Pansy said a boy.”
He nodded, trying to knock that into his head, at least. A boy. A pureblooded little Malfoy boy. Maroo would have been proud. He scowled at the thought and retightened his hold on the girl in his lap.
Funny, thinking of all the girls suddenly demanding to or going ahead and bearing his progeny, and the only one he’d actually consider procreating with was also the only one who stipulated wedlock as a precursor. Suddenly, that seemed like a rather nice request-not that he wanted to get married anytime in the near future. He didn’t think Granger wanted to either.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked. “I know this is a lot of information all at once. And-a week isn’t much to prepare to be a father.”
“I don’t know.” To be quite honest, he really didn’t know.
O
A.N. This chapter’s a little shorter, but after the sheer grief it gave me writing it, I figured I’d rather not add an extra mini-scene when I’m already at a natural stopping point. I have a rough estimate of two more chapters, though I could be wrong, plus an epilogue. I really want to finish before I graduate next month, which means writing during finals. Ugh.
Please click the tag for a list of chapters.
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