Title: Indicated
Synopsis: The blond man just wouldn't leave her alone. If she just could remember who he was...
Dramione: rated T
Warnings: some depressing tones, overall it's a bit dark, sickness
Author's Note:
This is written for 12 Days of Dramione Christmas 2016. It's a little prompt fest we did in a Dramione Facebook group.
Now, let me tell you a story first ;-)
In Germany, we have this long custom that on Barbara day – which is December 4th – you go and get a branch from a fruit tree (cherry, apple, plum, pear) and then you put it in warm water in a vase and it will then bloom on Christmas. This works with all fruit tree branches, which is why they are also called Barbara branches (at least in German :D).
This whole thing goes back to the story of Saint Barbara, who was sentenced to death by her own father and on the way to prison, the branch of a cherry tree got tangled up in her dress. She nurtured the branch with water from her cup while she was in prison and on the day of her execution, the branch bloomed.
Because the 4th is her feast day, you have to cut the branch on that day, put it in water and it will basically force it to bloom within the next days, ready for Christmas. This is supposed to brighten up the bleak winter days and also bring luck for the upcoming year.
You will need this for the story, I'll tell you that much.
I hope you enjoy this little one-shot!
Merry Christmas everyone!
Kia
Indicated
The lands around Malfoy Manor were pitch black.
The sky was dark and starless and the brunette frowned as she stepped further out on the stone balcony with its gothic balustrade. She placed her bare hands flat on the broad railing, the raw stone digging into her palm although she didn't care.
A breeze went through the air, ruffling her curls and her sheer dress. She thought it odd that she was wearing so little and yet she wasn't even feeling the cold. The wind twirled the light curtains up through the open door that led into her bedroom, it's white, thin fabrics lifted up in the air, fluttering with a rustle.
The brunette turned her head to look back into the lit bedroom, illuminating the balcony and her backside, providing at least a little light for her. A wooden end table stood in direct view from where Hermione was standing, and although the curtains blew across her the doorway, she could clearly make out the vase with the muddy water atop the table.
A withered branch stood in it.
She turned back then, looking out from what must be the fifth floor of the manor, leaning over the balcony to see that a few other rooms were lit as well, watching the gigantic facade of Malfoy Manor. Most of the details were swallowed by the darkness of the night but Hermione had studied them often enough that she could imagine were which arch and which decoration was.
She stood quietly, expecting the freezing air to hurt her lungs as she breathed in the cold night air but found it did not.
Looking skywards, she searched for the stars but they were gone; all there was above her was an endless darkness of blacks and blues. Not even the moon was visible.
"You shouldn't be out here." a velvet voice caused Hermione to freeze for a moment thinking that it was Lucius but a glance towards the direction of where his office was showed that he was still in there as the lights of the candles were flickering through the glass windows, shining onto the ground below.
She turned again and stared at the figure, leaning against the doorframe, the still billowing curtains rose around them.
Her glance lingered on the curtains, moving with the nighttime wind, but Hermione still couldn't feel the chill of the night air.
"Why would you say that?" she asked, suddenly realizing how quiet it was around them. No noise, just her clear voice and the occasional rustle from the curtains.
"It's freezing," the man said, her gaze falling on him, trying to concentrate on his face. She had to squint her eyes, panic rising somewhere within her as she struggled to recollect his face. Her mind clearing, her eyes traced his strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the narrow lips, straight nose, all up to his narrowed blue eyes.
No, not blue.
Grey.
She nodded satisfied, having got correctly recognised him; at least it felt right to her.
She shrugged. "I don't feel cold."
"It's not good for the baby."
"What baby?" she asked, and then remembered, her hands automatically going to her rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles. She smiled, looking down to see how big she had already got.
One more month, she remembered.
"But I'm not cold." she repeated..
"Go back to bed, love." the man told her again, stepping closer to her. The light from the bedroom illuminated his frame from behind, causing him glow almost in an unnatural shine.
"I can't," she replied, her voice determined, eyebrows pulling together in frustration. "I'm waiting for you. You promised me you would come back for Christmas."
"I'm trying," he told her, stepping closer.
She shook her head. "It's tomorrow." her voice was a whisper, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
"I'm sorry." he said, reaching her. His light hair was like a halo around his neck and it made the brunette almost scoff. He was definitely not an angel.
"I'll try to be there for the birth," he then promised and Hermione turned away from him, staring out on the dark fields, her tears finally overflowed, running down her cheeks in hot stains.
"You said that about your birthday as well, then about mine, then it was Samhain, now Christmas," she shook her head. "And you never showed."
"I'm sorry," he repeated, raising his hands as to place them on her shoulders but he stopped and they hovered in the air for a moment until he let them fall back to his sides again.
"You promised, Draco."
He sighed. "I know."
"I need you. We need you," she rubbed her stomach, hoping to feel her son inside but he was quiet, no movement and no kicking. She shrugged it off.
"I'm trying my hardest to get you back to you, love." Draco stepped even closer, his face almost buried in her neck and she wished she could feel his hot breath.
"Not hard enough," she protested and he frowned.
"That not fair, Hermione. You know that I could have never stayed in the potion's lab without going insane. Being alone all by myself, that's what broke me once and it would break me again. I needed to get out of there, out in the field."
"But as an Unspeakable?" she demanded. "Couldn't you be a sales representative or something? A bloody gardener?!"
He scoffed. "You are joking."
She shrugged helplessly. "Anything would be better than this."
"I looked for other things, you know. But this was the only thing that felt right. I even worked with your friends. Hell, I went for drinks with Weasley once. Weasley!"
Hermione smiled through her tears at that. "I remember. You came home pissed and told me that he's not so bad but the next morning you denied everything that happened."
"I still do," he insisted and her smile deepened.
"Will you really try to come home for Christmas tomorrow?" she asked and he nodded behind her back.
"Yes, I will."
"Alright," she reached up to wipe at her tears, trying to be stronger than her emotions. "I hope you do."
"I promise," he said and then leaned down to kiss her shoulder but Hermione couldn't feel it.
He didn't come home for Christmas.
"The birth, I promise," he told her during another starless night way into January.
"I can't believe you anymore," Hermione answered, rubbing her belly with her child, which was overdue three days already.
"I promise," he repeated desperately, stepping closer, grey eyes saddened but the brunette shook her head, curls flying around wildly.
"The mission is almost over," he said. "We are this close."
"Before you left you said it would be only three weeks. That you'd be home in June again to celebrate your birthday. But you didn't come and weeks turned into months," she told him, tears staining her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," the blond replied.
"See, that's the thing, Draco," Hermione try to make him understand. "I'm sick of your words, your apologises," she breathed out. "and your promises."
He didn't say anything anymore after that.
And she welcomed it.
"I can see him," she wanted to tell Harry so bad but everyone was giving her these pitiful glances already that in the end, she didn't.
They looked at her carefully as if she would snap any moment. Pity and sorrow followed her every day.
"He's gone," someone once said and Hermione stopped talking to them. She couldn't quite remember, who said it but she knew that she had been angry at the words, screamed and then left, having not seen that person again since then.
She knew that he wasn't real. Not really.
"He promised to be home for Christmas," she had said in December and nobody said everything but Hermione saw the glances they exchanged. Pity.
"He promised to be home for the birth," she said after New Year and again, nobody scrutinised how she knew that he had made such a promise.
"I can see him," she wanted to tell Harry so bad.
But in the end, she didn't.
"Did he come?" she asked as she lay in the hospital bed, exhausted from giving birth to her beautiful son. He was sleeping next to her in his own cot but she was too exhausted to take a closer look. She had seen the light hair though and his scrunched up face and thought he was perfect.
She glanced around the room; her eyes fell on a vase with a single branch in it. The blossoms on the branch were about to bloom, white petals slowly opening and Hermione looked at them with a crease between her eyes. Something wasn't right with that picture.
"No," was the answer to her question and her focus shifted away from the blooming branch. She knew that she was crying now.
"Will he ever?" she asked once more but no one was giving her an answer.
"He's gorgeous," Draco whispered, bent over the cot, and Hermione blinked her eyes open.
It was dark outside and a glance towards the window showed her another starless night. The hospital room was slightly lit and she could see his contours as he stood next to the cot, glancing into it with a smile.
He looked up then, meeting her eyes and she frowned.
What was the colour of his eyes again?
They were dark now; no colour indication and she shrugged it away.
"Isn't he?" she asked instead.
He nodded and smiled at her. His face started to blur.
The baby was sleeping peacefully next to her. She was about to doze off but his voice woke her up again.
He was beautiful, she thought. Straight strands of white-blond hair were falling in his face. She couldn't make it out exactly but he knew that he must have been good looking. Somehow she knew.
The man looked at her and her glance wandered from him to her baby boy. Something felt similar but she couldn't put her finger on it.
She crooked her head at the blond man. "Who are you?"
"You know, I love you, right?" the blond man was telling her and she looked up surprised.
"What?" she asked dumbly, not having been prepared for such a confession.
"I do love you, Hermione," the man told her, sincerity in his voice. "I hope you will at least remember that."
"Remember what?" she asked.
"That I love you," he repeated and she nodded along.
"Sure, I will," she promised and there was sadness in his next words. She could hear it, even she wasn't able to see it in his face.
"Unfortunately, now I'm the one, who can't believe you anymore."
She had no clue what he was even talking about.
There was a man standing in front of her.
She knew that he wanted something from her but she couldn't remember what exactly.
She shrugged and turned away from him, staring up at the sky, which was dark and starless.
Everything was pitch black around her.
Draco stared at the branch in the vase. The wood had tinted the water a muddy brown but the blossoms were about to come out and he was surprised that it had even worked. He knew that you had to put the single branch in at the beginning of December, with the promise that it would bloom on Christmas and now, two days away from it, the blossoms actually had started to open, revealing white petals to him.
"Draco?"
Draco looked up from where he was sitting next to the hospital bed, his hands grasping the cold hands of his wife tightly.
He had tore away his glance from the almost blooming branch to stare up in Harry Potter's face. The black-haired wizard regarded him with pity.
"What's the diagnosis?" Draco asked the other man with a tight voice and Potter stepped closer to the bed.
"They don't know," Potter told him. "Your parents were alerted by the house elves that Hermione had fainted in her room and they immediately brought her here to St. Mungos. Her vitals weren't really functioning, so they performed a C-section to save the baby, to ensure his safety. After that, Hermione stabilized but she just wouldn't wake up. That was a few days ago. I contacted you right after your mother contacted me."
Draco nodded, staring back at his wife, who was lying in the hospital bed, pale and unresponsive. "I came as soon as I got your note. I know that the mission took much longer than planned but we were this close. A few more days, I'm sure of it. I probably wouldn't have made it for Christmas but for the birth in January, I would have definitely been back."
"Weren't you supposed to be gone for a few weeks only?" Potter asked him and Draco shrugged.
"Yes, a few weeks from May to June but you know how it works," the blond sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glanced back to the branch.
"The baby is alright." Potter told him then with a much softer voice.
Draco nodded. "I know, the healers told me and I've seen him. I just wish that Hermione would have been there for the birth. How do you think she will feel when she wakes up? All she remembers is being pregnant and suddenly the baby is gone and out here and she can't even remember it."
Potter regarded him with that pitying look again and even Draco knew that he should have used if instead of when.
"Please," Draco begged, squeezing Hermione's hand tighter. "Please come back to me."
She didn't wake up for Christmas.
Draco was rocking his son in his arms, the baby was giggling up at his father, having finally grown and gained enough weight to be considered normal and healthy. He then opened his mouth again to giggle but it turned into a yawn.
Draco smiled down at him.
He turned him around to show him to Hermione. His wife was still lying in the hospital bed, eyes closed as if she was only sleeping.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Draco told her still form. "I think he will have your eyes. They are still blue at the moment but I'm sure they'll turn brown later on."
His eyes did turn brown.
A deep, dark chocolate brown and Draco was staring at them longingly as his son started to grow up with every day that passed. Hermione's eyes, he thought, thinking about his wife, who was still at the hospital.
No changes yet.
He watched his son play in the grass. The summer sun was shining Draco in the back as he watched the toddler.
"I wish you could see him," he told the air and a breeze went over his neck, the sudden coolness made his flesh crawl.
"I do," a smooth voice told him and he flinched, turning around in surprise but no one was there.
"I brought you some cherry branches," he told her sleeping form, putting the vase on the nightstand next to the hospital bed.
"You had them last year in your room, I don't know who put them there," Draco continued. "But they will bloom on Christmas."
"Our son's birthday is coming up, you know. And it's Christmas soon, so I hope you will finally come back to me. It's been a year now." the blond leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I never stopped hoping, you know."
"You will," the haunting voice insisted but he shook his head, his lips still pressed against Hermione's forehead.
"No, never." he mumbled against her cold skin.
"You promise?" the voice asked and he nodded.
"Yes, I do."
"Will you come home for Christmas?" the man asked her, a dark blur now and Hermione looked up surprised.
He just wouldn't leave her alone.
"Why should I?" she asked him instead.
"I will be there," he was probably smirking and Hermione laughed slightly, her dark curls bouncing.
She was standing on a stone balcony of an impressive mansion. She couldn't see the details but she was sure they were there somewhere.
Over her was the dark and starless sky.
"I can't remember when Christmas is," she admitted then sheepishly.
"I brought you flowers," the blur said and Hermione looked past it to see into the lit bedroom. White curtains were fluttering in the wind. There was a wooden end table standing in the middle of the room, in direct view from the balcony.
"That's a branch, not flowers," she stated, staring at the clear vase, which held one single branch. The water was a muddy brown. "It's not even blooming."
"That's the trick," the blur said, "It will bloom on Christmas day, so you know when to come back."
"Oh," the brunette said. "That's clever."
"Will you promise me to come back once the branch blooms?"
"I don't know." Hermione said, watching the fluttering curtains, which were lifted high by the wind. She couldn't feel it but she was sure it was there somewhere. Her glance fell on the branch again.
"I rather not promise you anything, I don't even know you," she told the blur then.
"Will you try at least?" it asked.
"I guess I can try." Hermione answered shrugging, her eyes wandered back and forth between the blur and the branch.
She could see its buds opening slowly. White petals were shining through.
They were as white as the curtains that were fluttering around in the dead wind. She still couldn't feel it but she started to hear the rustle, she thought.
Looking up, she spotted a few stars.
She could make out the dragon in the night sky; its stars were bright and clear now.
And the sky was no longer dark and starless.
When she woke up, it took her a moment to adjust her eyes to the light. Blinking she looked around the room, her head and body ached.
An alarm sounded off somewhere but it was just a far-away noise.
She turned her head to look at the table next to her bed. There was a vase with muddy brown water.
One single branch was in it.
It was blooming.