Paternal Instinct
Chapter One—Rescued
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.
Description: Exactly five years after Hermione was rescued from the depths of Malfoy Manor, she returns to retrieve an abandoned child ridden by the evils of his lifetime, a boy that must be hidden from his family and protected from Draco Malfoy.
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The whole Weasely family bombarded her with hugs, as her engagement with Ronald was finally a reality. The intensity of his happiness was tangible while proof existed in his smile. It was done so romantically, the proposal. Exactly five years to the day that she had returned, that she had been rescued from the dark and hollow pits of the Malfoy Manor.
They held her captive for two years, more than eight months after the demise of the Dark Lord. Her memories remain scarce, ruled by darkness and evil—destroyed by obvious and unconquerable enchantments that the most professional healers could not reverse.
She emerged from their custody distraught and destroyed, but herself in its entirety. No wizard, nor the Ministry of Magic, could divulge what happened within the house, Death Eaters roaming around like vultures. It was suspected that judges and wizards were paid off by the Malfoys to keep quiet, to restrain questioning and researching into the events. Hermione was resolved to her ignorance, save for the horrifying nightmares that plagued her life. Nights when she sweated and panted and thrashed back and forth, nights when Draco Malfoy frequented her dreams as an evil, heartbroken boy—the only image she can fathom of him.
"Let's take a picture!" Ginny exclaimed, arranging everyone in a presumably appropriate order before aligning the camera up to their happy frames, the auto timer clicking in a magical fashion.
With the blinding flash, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander toward her job—working at the Ministry for the wizarding world's child services as the figure who explicitly removed each parent-ridden, sorrowful child from the ruins of their homes or the abuse of their parents. Ron disliked the hands-on nature of her career, the danger it presented when she was adamant on entering locations related to Death Eater activity, even if the last time a meeting of Dark Magic was celebrated was three and a half years ago. After 'rescuing' the child or children from their situation, she was to bring them to one of several orphanages, adoption centers, etc., located all throughout the wizarding world. Usually, it was recommended that the child be sent somewhere far away from their location if they held neither familial ties nor friendships at their home, most indefinitely for their safety.
As another light penetrated her mind, she reentered the moment and captured the joyous expression of Molly and the excitement of Ginny with all her heart, begging to be able to remember these events.
But an owl tapped against the glass in persistence, beckoning the crowd into silence.
"Hermione, dear, it's for you," said Molly. "Looks like it's from the Ministry."
Fondling it gently in her fingers, the parchment scratched itself mercilessly as she read:
Urgent. Malfoy Manor abandoned, word of neglected child within. All other workers on duty. Your help is necessary.
She stuffed it within her pocket, making sure Ron did not read it or witness to where she was called. They knew her past at work, so she assumed her help was necessary if they disregarded her history.
"I have to go. I'm sorry," she kissed Ron lightly before walking to the fireplace and in a hushed voice that did not raise above the reinitiated conversations, she stated, "Malfoy Manor."
It was in ruins. The fireplace through which she had entered was the only stable structure in the room. Where her team was, she could not see so she called out, "Hello?"
When her response was silence, she assumed most were off duty or suspended with a case somewhere, working busily, for their office only held about twenty workers. The career was highly selective, highly competitive and offered increasingly dangerous circumstances lately.
"Hello?" she cried again, hoping to solicit an answer from the abandoned child. When the sound of sporadic weeping caressed her ears, she walked further into the room. Noticing a small figure in the corner, she approached cautiously.
"Hey," was her gentle tactic. The boy raised his head, platinum locks cascading against his silver eyes. She was unaware Malfoy had a child, of whom she assumed this to be. He must have been four, five, maybe six, with a characteristic, tortured look in his eyes she witnessed so many times in those of Draco's.
He struggled with his words, "Are you—are you going to take me outta here?"
"Yes," she smiled. "Will you take my hand?"
His fingers quivered as they met hers, and he uttered, "My dad. Father? Where is he? Where?" His features suddenly obtained a distraught and defiant stride. "I need him," he cried, whined, blubbered into Hermione's legs.
"Honey," she started, looking past him to the darkened corners, to the broken lamps, peeling wallpaper and desolate rooms. The tile was eroded, the mantle to the fireplace in pieces on the ground and the railings to the stairway looked as if they were burnt by flames. She was perturbed by the setting, queasily reminded of ugly circumstances that once held her here. Immediately belittled by the foggy memories, she grasped the boy's hand tighter and apparated to the Ministry.
"Hermione," the Minister commented, "Good job! But we haven't the room for this boy."
"What do you mean?"
"The orphanages are bursting at the seams with dark activity at a high, you know that. We have no place to put him."
She became irate quickly, "So what? You're going to throw him back out on the street, put him—"
"No," he interrupted. "We will find a proper foster care program for him. But the list is remarkably short and this boy is a Malfoy. We must locate the safest and obstructed place for him to stay, strictly for his wellbeing."
Before she could comprehend the words exiting her mouth, she spoke, "I'll do it. I'll take care of him."
"Miss Granger, with all honesty, your ties to the Malfoy family serve only as a disadvantage."
"I will not implement my opinions of this boy's father or grandfather upon him. You know I would do no such thing, it is not my nature."
"On the contrary, it is human nature to think and act that way. I cannot trust that you will act in the best and most efficient way. I do not want a relapse; I do not want my best worker to be abducted by her past in fostering this child." He paused, glancing to the closed door in hopes a knock would interrupt their meeting and cease the decision making process. He spoke softly, "You must hide him from any potential Death Eaters. Do you understand? He is in danger, much danger. If a member of his family contacts you, approaches him, report it directly and immediately. You can do this, Miss Granger. But promise me, that this will not affect your work."
"I swear," she promised sincerely, as if it was a matter of life or death.
He called the boy in, who had been sleeping soundly in the hall. "Hermione Granger, this is Scorpius Malfoy. Miss Granger will be taking care of you, all right?"
"I have to stay with her?" the boy accused, his tone hostile and unfamiliar to the cowering boy she knew just hours before. A Malfoy through and through, she assumed. "Okay."
She brought him to her house, a large property about three miles from the Weaselys'. It was big, expansive and a small lake sat near the brink of a forest at the edge of her lawn, along with a garden and a collection of picnic tables and various, looming trees. With the money from her job, with the money inherited from her grandparents, she was able to purchase this slab of land and the house that sat atop it from a mourning son of whose mother recently passed on.
"This is your house?" questioned Scorpius. "But you live alone."
"Yes," she commented halfheartedly. "I bought it when there was a good deal, so I could save money in the future."
"Oh," he remarked, "where will I sleep?"
"Upstairs, there's a bed already made up," she smiled before gesturing toward the stairs.
"Thank you, Miss Granger."
She corrected him immediately, "It's Hermione. Call me Hermione, please."
He hesitated, "Okay, Hermione." She could see, by the sudden detachment from their conversation, that he desired something.
"Hungry?"
He nodded meekly before following her into the kitchen, sitting upon a stool that lined up next to the counter. She placed two bowls on the tile, removing ice cream from the freezer and setting it down. He watched her intently, her graceful mannerisms and her wavy hair, and a sudden feeling of such warmth spread through him. He felt as if he was doing his father a disservice by being so attentive under the care of a female, for he did not know his mother and promised his father never to ask who she was.
"All set," she beamed, pushing the bowl before him, a metal spoon jutting out appealingly. He began to eat when a strange man popped into the room.
"Hermione! I was so worried," he bellowed, reaching her and kissing her hard on the lips.
"Sorry, Ron. I got tied up." She used her eyes to gesture at Scorpius, and said, "This is Ronald, Ron meet Scorpius."
Ron was silent momentarily, noticing Scorpius's appearance, before exclaiming, "He's a damn Malfoy! What's he doing in your house?"
"I'm taking care of him, so settle down."
"He's staying here?" inquired Ron. "In your home? How can this be? Why did the Minister allow this? He knows about what those bastards did to you, Hermione. He knows!"
"I volunteered!"
"You…you…well," he mumbled, "I guess I won't be staying the night."
"I guess you won't," she sighed, preserving her eye contact for the wall.
Ron looked dissatisfied, "I'll come by tomorrow, early. It's Saturday. I hope you don't plan on working."
"Actually," she persisted, "I'll be busy."
"Doing what?"
She felt so sad all of a sudden, so disappointed in Ron. Despite their engagement, she said, "Something, it's not important."
He resigned to not knowing and kissed her goodbye, not bothering to wave at Scorpius. He stared at the vacant space that previously held Ron and grimaced, "Is he your boyfriend?"
"Fiancée, as of today."
"Sorry to ruin your night."
"It's not ruined. Ron's, well, he's an arse on his good days. I'm sorry you had to see him explode like that, he had no right to say—"
"You knew my father?"
Hermione blanched, "I, well, yes. We went to school together."
"At Hogwarts?" he asked and she nodded. "He said he was coming back to get me, but never did. Is he dead?"
Hermione wanted to admit to her ignorance, but settled on a resolute, "No," because she didn't have the heart to disappoint him.
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A/N: Okay, new story. Next chapter will be up really soon. Thanks for reading.
