FIC: " The Well Bred Warlock: A Guide to Wooing, Courting and Every Day Behavior for the Pureblood Wizard." for imera
Recipient: imera
Author: ?
Title: The Well Bred Warlock: A Guide to Wooing, Courting and Every Day Behavior for the Pureblood Wizard
Rating: R – Language
Pairings: Yaxley/Hermione Granger, mentions of HG/RW, Y/FOC
Word Count: ~40,000
Summary: When a tradition bound, beplaited Iacob Yaxley takes anarchist Hermione Granger prisoner, he must rely on the The Well Bred Warlock Guide for help.
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): NONE
Author's/Artist's Notes: Story jumps around in time a bit. Like most stories, it begins at the beginning of an end and then ends at the new beginning.
Synopsis: Yaxley has sworn to protect Hermoine, but will it lead to his death?
Thank you to the letters L and U for their assistance in Beta-ing. Also thank you to Delphi for granting me multiple extensions as Iacob Yaxley refused to be part of any scenario not condoned by The Well Bred Warlock Guide.
20 February 2008
Nott Manor
Aberbargoed, Wales
"When your malartú is in gestational confinement, she will be at turns, weepy, petulant, angry and openly hostile. You must protect her and the child from everyone, including herself." Black, Licorus. The Well Bred Warlock: A Guide to Wooing, Courting and Every Day Behavior for the Pureblood Wizard. Translated from the Original Gaelic. Glasgow: Warlock Press, 1544.
"Pregnant?" Alfred Nott stated. The older Death Eater appeared stunned. "Are you sure? You're sure you're the father?"
Iacob Yaxley gave Alfred Nott his trademarked and licensed tight smile which translated to "Don't push me." Alfie held out one hand in silent entreaty.
"Yes, I am quite sure. I've been, pardon my vernacular, mortaring and pestling since before Christmas. I'd say that she's ten weeks along based on her chart. When I asked her, she didn't seem surprised, so she knew. She hadn't said anything to you while you've been minding her?"
That was a loaded question, as Iacob Yaxley had a history of being uneasy with Alfred Nott's rapport with the ladies.
"No; she's been napping a great deal in the afternoon, for which I was rather grateful. It's exhausting minding her, Yax. The only odd thing she mentioned was that she had a horrid craving for Chicken Jalfrezi from a place in Manchester. She expressed a desire for spicy food."
Iacob Yaxley being a Pure Blooded Warlock of the Most Ancient House of Yaxley, was a traditionalist and Scottish to boot. He had a fondness for Balmoral chicken stuffed with haggis, clapshot and whisky sauce; when in need of emotional comfort, he dined on chicken stovies and he had never, ever heard of Chicken Jalfrezi. However, Iacob was struggling to follow the Guide's instruction on how to treat his malartú. If Rowena had wished Chicken Jazzrezzi, he would have moved heaven and earth to locate it. Therefore, he needed to locate this… Chicken Jallfezzi with all due haste.
And he'd have to find something from the culinary hall of horrors for his meal. Perhaps they might have lamb, because what could one do to lamb, besides cook it?
"Where is this place located?" He asked.
When Hermione woke, the Yaxley House Elves descended upon her and changed her into something that wouldn't offend Iacob Yaxley's delicate sensibilities. Then they tried to hide the dark rings under her eyes and her red rimmed eyes, but they weren't miracle workers. She was then escorted to the dining room at a pace akin to a forced march where no doubt haggis and rollmops, kedgeree and finnan haddie awaited. Her stomach roiled and she swallowed. And she wished for a berwick cockle. She needed peppermint to settle her stomach at the very thought of haggis.
To her surprise, there was a spread of easily a dozen different dishes featuring Indian cuisine. Most ran from the range of moderately spicy to melting down one's stomach. And the absolute best part was Iacob Yaxley was plainly staring at the food with all the fervor of a two year old forced to eat his vegetables. She noticed that he seemed to have mistakenly decided that the Lamb Nilgri Korma was the closest thing there was to a proper Scottish meal, as there was lamb and mint in it.
Oh, she hoped that they had accidentally doubled the dose of chilies in his meal.
"I thought you might manage a civil conservation over supper," he stated. "For example, you do not seem to understand what a malartú is."
"I believe it's a Pure Blooded term for whore," retorted Hermione.
"Once again you proudly display your ignorance by putting your subjective values on my traditions," retorted Yaxley. "You are not my whore. You are not my concubine. You are my wife's surrogate. The child you carry now will be raised as my recognized offspring. I have cast the protection spells, so the child is safe from those that would harm it."
Including the very unhappy mother.
"Lucky him," Hermione said.
"Yes, she is very fortunate to have me as her father. As I previously explained to you, though it appears that you were not paying attention, I will recognize her and support her. Therefore, you will be under my protection also."
"It's a girl?" That surprised Hermione as she just assumed that Desperate for an Heir and a Spare Iacob Yaxley would tilt the percentages into having a son.
"Yes," he said. "You have given Rowena and me a daughter. I thank you for that, and on behalf of Rowena, I give you her thanks also."
Yaxley spoke very softly then, so softly that Hermione almost failed to hear him. "I had wished my first with Rowena to be a girl. She and Anastasia were so very close that I thought she'd like a little girl. However, it was not meant to be. Never for us. I would have been so very delighted to have a daughter." In a louder voice, "Very well, eat your meal. Eat all of it. I went to Manchester for it," he explained. He nodded his head once, as though she should marvel over his generosity. Well, she was amazed; but it wasn't because that he was generous.
"This is Muggle takeaway," Hermione stated.
"Yes," was his easy agreement.
"You went to Manchester, and bought Indian takeaway," she repeated.
"Yes," he repeated.
"Where there any deaths reported?" Well, she was pregnant with his … daughter… so he wouldn't hurt her for that comment.
Being the supposed victor with the upper hand in their relationship, he ignored her witticism. He took a healthy helping of the lamb dish and ate. He blanched as it seemed a bit fiery but still he struggled to swallow. After all, according to Beatrice Malfoy, it would be horribly uncouth for the host to hurl in front of his unwilling guest.
"Milk will help cut the burn," she offered. "But you went to Manchester?"
"And I bought whatever this is, in Manchester," he admitted. "Why do you keep repeating that? Are you deaf as well as ignorant?"
"The very idea of you, and your braid, in Muggle Manchester…" she paused. "With no deaths announced on the Wireless."
His blue eyes narrowed, which meant that he was not amused.
"My hair is braided in the traditional fashion," Yaxley explained. "I wore my hair unbound until I reached adulthood.
"Are you that insecure that you must cling to tradition?" Hermione asked.
"And are you so brash that you believe your values are sufficient to overturn society and plunge it into utter chaos?"
She ignored him and ate a little off everything until she was satisfied. Perhaps she had a bit too much but the food was quite good. Yaxley then filled her plates again.
"Eat," he instructed. "I'll make arrangements for you to be seen by a Healer."
Her world became even more restricted after the Healer confirmed that she was pregnant. First of all, Yaxley knew when she was due, but she didn't. She didn't know the bloody date which seemed rather unreasonable considering she was the one having the baby. Then again, she still didn't know what today's date was. And the most Yaxley would say, NEWTs first, so to study hard as he wished his daughter's mother to be educated. But something had happened on the first day that the baby had kicked her. Yes, there had been assorted funny feelings earlier in the realm of her belly but the first kick. It made everything real. Not that the Lavender Brown's size breasts weren't a dead giveaway plus her expanding equator, but she was overwhelmed by a fierce need to protect the child within.
HER child. Not Iacob Yaxley's child, but hers.
Which, God willing, would be born.
Now, she had her school parchments and studying, and… sex with Yaxley. God. She hated… HATED… how her body betrayed her when Yaxley kissed the nape of her neck. He'd lift her hair away from her neck and then deliberately kiss her because he knew how she'd react. How the sensation would go from her neck and pool in her middle and she'd melt against him. Then he'd nibble on her ears…
Yaxley had trained her, just as thoroughly as he had trained his dogs.
As her body changed, he became more attentive rather than less, and every night, after they had their adult fun, he'd kiss her belly and lay his hands on it. She could sense his magic as there was obviously some Pureblooded ritual involved but naturally, he never told her what he was doing. And she certainly wasn't about to ask. Though it wasn't listed at all in Beatrice Malfoy's original book though a new book had given to her by the Healer.
The Witch's Guide to Breeding and Confinement by…. BEATRICE MALFOY. She'd rather wander barefoot through the desert for forty years before she'd open that book.
But the baby reacted whenever Iacob spoke to the two of them. It was the deep voice, Hermione decided.
Last night, he must have taken something, because he was so bloody enthusiastic that she was exhausted. And Yaxley was protective; cosseting her while she leaned on him. She was so tired that she didn't offer her normal protest when he suggested that she change into something presentable. The House Elves had stuffed her into a new dress and she was given jewelry to wear. There was a bracelet for her right hand with an attached ring which no doubt symbolized something dreadfully meaningful as it matched her choker. After she was made fit to be seen, Yaxley escorted her to Alfred Nott's sitting room and then disappeared. Being nearly asleep on her feet, she gratefully dozed for a time, Alfie not minding as he was terribly withdrawn though he was making an effort to hide his preoccupation. After a long nap, she sipped at the proffered peppermint tea, and finally she had enough of the silence.
"Spill it, Alfie. What is bothering you?" Of the two warlocks, Hermione was the most comfortable with Alfie, however she trusted him not one bit. He was charmingly insincere but still quite amusing. There were the books he slipped her to read during her 'teas with Alfie', so he was the reason why she hadn't gone completely spare. There were walks in his garden, which meant spring, late spring, so she had an idea of the month at least.
"Theodore is coming of age, and he does not wish to put his hair in a plait." Alfred sighed at the fickleness of youth.
"Really, you're worried about your son's hair?" Hermione asked.
"I'm actually worried that our Pureblooded traditions are being twisted into something I no longer recognize. Iacob and I are dinosaurs and we're too stubborn to lie down and die. But doesn't he treat you well? At least, better than the LeStranges would have?"
She nodded.
"He's so serious when he talks about the baby. Not that Iacob's ever been accused of being jovial, but he is really taking it to new extremes as he's obsessed about doing everything properly. He assures me that he shares his magic with the baby every night. I did that with Theodore, since Theodore knew Anstey's magic intimately. I needed him to know of me, to know that I was there and how much both his parents loved him. It's very important that a developing child is secure in their parents' love. For a magical child, ambivalence is almost as scarring as hatred."
Really, Hermione was far too tired to deal with blame.
"I don't seem to remember anyone asking me if I wanted this," she snapped. Then she rubbed her belly and though calm, loving thoughts to her daughter.
"You agreed to this; however you didn't know what you were agreeing to because you never asked what Iacob was getting out of the deal. Anyway, Iacob's parents died when he was very young when they were attacked by Muggles. He was raised by his great-grandfather who hated him, who didn't have the faintest idea on how to raise a little boy. Iacob was nursed on hatred because his great-grandfather hated his grandmother. Do you truly wish your daughter to be raised like that?"
"I don't understand why we're having this conversation," Hermione admitted.
"Because I'm running out of time. When I'm gone, Iacob will responsible for keeping my son safe. He'll need someone he can trust. Or at least someone to talk with."
Hermione remembered, a life time ago when she was reviewing who was who amongst the Death Eaters. Not a great deal is known about Alfred Nott – he is like the spider in the darkness. Unsure of whom his loyalties are among the Death Eater factions except for Yaxley. Though it is assumed that he is not of the LeStrange-Malfoy crowd.
Iacob Yaxley returned and greeted Alfie. He took out a cigarette and was about to light it for a long, leisurely smoke, when Hermione took it out of hand. That was unusual, as Yaxley hadn't smoked in front of her in months. She knew the two warlocks well enough to recognize that they were both bothered by something. When they were troubled, the gregarious Alfie got introspective while Yaxley smoked like a factory chimney.
"No smoking in front of me. It's not healthy for the baby. Hopefully you haven't caused any problems by smoking like a chimney in front of me for the last few months," Hermione informed him.
"I can't smoke?" Yaxley protested, his very braid bristling in annoyance. "What nonsense is that?"
"Secondhand smoke is not healthy for a baby. It can cause health issues," explained Hermione.
"What shite is that?" Protested the chain-smoking father to be.
"It's not shite, and you're no longer smoking in front of me…us…"
"Don't tell me what to do," growled Yaxley as he dutifully put away his cigarettes. "If I wish to smoke, I will do so. Alfie, I returned Theodore back from his stay with the lovely, lusty ladies of Langholm. He's still rather stunned by the entire experience as I paid the ladies quite well to make it memorable. He'll need a moment to gather his thoughts and join us. Losing one's virginity should be a memorable experience, don't you agree, Nighean?"
Hermione said not a word, refusing to stoop to his level, as well; she couldn't BEND at the moment. Yaxley smiled, but his smile disappeared when she mentally compared him to a right stroppy cow. However, he wasn't fazed for long. "No need to blush, Nighean. I'm delighted to have given you such a pleasurable experience that remembering the carnal delights we shared leaves you speechless. Also Alfie, Theodore has been accepted into the Davos Institute. He'll have a week after Hogwarts, then he'll go there for more instruction."
Hermione noticed that Alfred's shoulders noticeably relaxed. "Thank you, Iacob."
"He gained admissions on his own credentials." Iacob stretched and cracked his neck. In a softer voice, he said, "Effie's failing, Alfie. I need to help her along but I just can't bring myself to do it. She's barely eating but her soul is still in her eyes. Would it seem mawkish to say that it seems that she's staying just for me?"
"Not at all," Alfie stated. "Ro told Effie to keep you safe, so she's doing what Ro told her to do."
"Speaking of safety, Nighean, the Dark Lord would like to see you. It seems that your expectant condition has been made known to him. Theodore will receive the Mark today, I will be re-Marked due to my arm and you will be …" Iacob paused, uncertain of what exactly Hermione would be doing.
"Radiant in her expectant condition?" Alfie chimed in.
"He should take lessons from you," suggested Hermione, who was not feeling at all radiant.
Iacob growled, muttered something about needing a smoke and left the two alone. When it was just Alfie and her, Nott gave her a slight smile.
"Miss Granger, make sure Iacob brings the portraits back to his house. They'll be lonely here without anyone here."
Draco Malfoy was standing near to his mother in the ball room of the Malfoy Manor. His father was attempting to be close to them, but Lucius Malfoy, after recent events, was most assuredly persona non grata even among his immediate family. Also standing near the Malfoys was Triple Agent Headmaster Severus Snape who was developing quite the ulcer. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were running around the place, lacking any adult supervision, and the brain of the operation, Hermione Granger, was now the property of Iacob Yaxley. It really couldn't get much worse, he thought, as he held Lucius Malfoy's derogatory opinion on the short, older Death Eater.
And the less said about Alfred Nott the better. And speaking of the duo, the definitely dementia-stricken Death Eaters appeared together. Theodore Nott, one of the guests of honors for tonight, stood behind his father and…. Iacob had brought Granger? Severus was pondering why Iacob had done so when Draco snickered and mentioned that Hermione Granger had gotten fat while she was Yaxley's prisoner. His mother hissed at him to be quiet, and then added, "No, Draco, she's not fat. Yaxley's taken her as his wife's surrogate."
Granger's expectant condition was obvious to those that knew her (except for Draco) and even those that didn't know her. The subdued whispers regarding the scandal sounded like a flock of Hippogriffs launching. Iacob Yaxley heard the comments and he said not a word. Instead, he motioned to a House Elf and took a glass from the tray. He extended it to Granger who drank as he insisted. That done, he patted her head.
The Dark Lord pounced on Iacob, much like a cat pounced on its prey.
"Yaxley, I find myself in a difficult position. I'm not sure if I should congratulate you on your virility at your advanced age or express my concerns over what you've been fornicating. The mudblood…" Voldemort hissed. "Do you deny what her blood is?"
Silence, as the pack of wolves circled Yaxley to determine if he was weak enough to take down. His heavily seamed face displayed no obvious fear as was his norm.
"No, I do not deny what the base of her blood is. However, My Lord, I must confess that my blood mixed with hers when she splinched my arm as my blood entered her open wounds. I also seeded her with my wife's blood to complete the ritual for malartú. She caught early and I find her a very lively wench. It seems that Potter couldn't satisfy her as the Boy who Lived has a limp wand. She is extremely vocal in her enjoyment in being taken in a multitude of different ways."
Yaxley stroked the back of Granger's neck and she inhaled slowly. Meanwhile the majority of Death Eaters had roared their appreciation regarding the limp wanded Boy who Lived. Not Rabastan LeStrange, who had been skating on the thin ice of sanity for as long as Severus had known him. And Lucius had remarked that Rabastan had been quite fixated on Granger while Iacob Yaxley was recovering from his splinching.
It wasn't a surprise then, really, that Rabastan's sanity snapped and he fired a Sectumsempra at Granger. In his shadowed mind, he seemed to believe that the bitch had betrayed him with Yaxley, requiring her death. But instead of Granger, the Curse hit a surprisingly fast Alfred Nott. The warlock had Apparated in front of Granger as though he had lived and relived this event in his dreams countless times and had known exactly when to react. His skin shredded, his blood gushing onto the floor, the ancient warlock still managed to retaliate and winged Rabastan with the Killing Curse while Iacob Yaxley fired off the same curse. The battle engaged, the two Hexes triangulating into something not quite immediately fatal, so Rabastan was able to wildly fire off another Curse before Iacob cut him down.
Meanwhile, Nott collapsed onto the floor and his son and Granger futilely attempted to staunch his life from bleeding out. It was futile, Severus knew. The warlock was too old, too much blood had been spilled and Nott was dying. The single Yaxley was then set upon by both Rudolphus and Bellatrix. It wasn't as though the LeStranges were avenging Rabastan, it was merely their chance to take out the two elder Death Eaters, the only ones that held sufficient sway (galleons, combined with being the last of the Dark Lord's original followers who hadn't been schoolmates with the Dark Lord) to counter the LeStranges' influence. Yaxley fought well, but Alfred's blood was making the floor slick beneath his feet. He slid and nearly fell, but an enraged Theodore Nott fired off a Cruciatius that hit Rudolphus hard. It seemed, as always, that Rudolphus had underestimated the enemy.
Meanwhile the Dark Lord did nothing, said nothing to stop the fight. It was time for survival of the fittest. And the fittest in his mind was Bellatrix LeStrange – however, much to Severus' surprise, Iacob Yaxley was a berserker at heart; cursing and hexing with a fiery vengeance that belied his advanced age. Rudolphus was the next to fall under a barrage of Curses, leaving just Iacob and Bellatrix. The two combatants stared at each other, a somber Iacob Yaxley and a noticeably unraveling Bellatrix who was seemingly startled that the Dark Lord was permitting Iacob to duel his personal Hand maiden. Or perhaps the LeStrange brothers' deaths had affected her somewhere deep within.
"I don't know why you wish to duel me. You should thank me, you're a widow now," Iacob quietly stated.
The crowd roared its appreciation, and to Severus' surprise, even the Dark Lord chuckled. It was well known that Bellatrix and Rudolphus' marriage had been rather… complicated, but for the Dark Lord to laugh, upset Bellatrix. Bellatrix's face turned white when she heard the jeers of the crowd so she seemingly aimed at Iacob but a quick recalculation sent the Curse toward Hermione. Yaxley gestured and the malartú bracelet he had given Granger triggered as it was in actuality a port key, taking both Theodore and Hermione away. Bellatrix howled in her frustration, so Iacob flicked and swished, stabbed and jabbed with his wand. He was angry, but a controlled angry so Bellatrix found herself on her back, on the floor. The older man was kneeling next to her, he had his wand dead center to the middle of her forehead, and with a great deal of relish, he snapped her wand with his left hand.
"Surprise, my left hand works," he told her. His deep voice carried in the suddenly all too quiet room, as no one, no one thought that Yaxley would the victor in their battle. "I've had a great deal of physical rehabilitation with my malartú. She's such a handful that she requires both my hands at all times."
"Yaxley," the Dark Lord warned him.
"My Lord, she went after my unborn child. Under the code, I am permitted to kill her for that," Iacob explained. Bellatrix shuddered beneath his wand, and Iacob smiled.
"Iacob, Alfred is asking for you," inserted Narcissa Malfoy. Her face was white but she was kneeling next to Alfie's broken body. "Not a great deal of time, I'm afraid."
Bellatrix LeStrange had the devil's own luck; tending to a dying Alfie Nott was the only reason why Yaxley would let her go.
Alfred Nott was a shredded mess of the warlock he once was. He smiled once he recognized Iacob and his right hand slightly moved, as though to reach out to Iacob.
"Saved her," Alfie proudly whispered. His smile widened even as the blood poured from his mouth. "Theo?"
"I swear I will protect Theodore as though he was my own," Iacob promised. "Where's the blasted Healer?"
Alfie continued to smile as he knew there was no Healer present who would be able to save him.
"It's 'right. Sorry… Can't stay, Yax… paid my debt….to you…. finally… the cottage is yours…Anstey ….. Ro…. Hello … missed…you so …. Very very much." the ancient warlock's eyes widened as though he was greeting dearly missed friends and then he breathed his last.
Iacob Yaxley nodded his head once in acknowledgement as he knew he had very little time left. Staring down Bellatrix LeStrange had been suicide, but he had promised to protect both Theodore and Nighean, so he had done what needed to be done. Refusing to display any unease, he closed the gaping wounds in Alfred Nott's chest and crossed Alfred's hands over his chest. And he waited.
And he waited…. For his execution.
"Yaxley… Yaxley… Yaxley…," Voldemort sighed. "Whatever am I to do with you? You've killed the LeStrange brothers, my most loyal followers, but they did attack your Mudblood whore. And she's pregnant, Yaxley. Get out of my sight, Yaxley and take Alfred with you."
Theodore was in a state of shock, but Nighean had the House Elves plying him with liquor. Yaxley spoke gently to Theodore, not holding back that his father had died and that Theodore was not returning to Hogwarts. The boy had protested, but Iacob bluntly informed him that Hogwarts wasn't safe.
"Get drunk, it will help with the pain" ordered Yaxley, as that was how he dealt with Rowena's death. However, he'd ensure that the boy didn't crawl into the bottle like he had. "I have to prepare Alfred for burial. Nighean, make sure he keeps drinking."
"What?" Nighean asked.
"I have to take care of his father's body. The viewings will start tomorrow and after the funeral, I will send Theodore on."
"You're sending him on to Davos after his father died? Are you heartless?" Nighean protested.
"He was never going to Davos. I informed Alfie that he was accepted there, but that is not where he is going. He'll be sent onto another school. I need to get him away from Scotland for his own safety. I killed both of the LeStrange brothers and I embarrassed Bellatrix. She will go after Theodore if she knows where he is."
This child… the mother of his daughter… was about to give him a tongue-lashing. She did so more and more frequently as her belly swelled and her temper grew proportionally shorter. He usually ignored her waspishness as it was just how she was. However, now, he was not in the mood for her censure. If everyone's lives weren't dependant on him, he would have wished for a moment or three to mourn and figure out what today's events meant. He no longer wore the Dark Mark on his left arm; the man who had been his only friend, the very same man who had Imperio'd him into joining the Dark Lord's supporters was in Iacob's parlor being prepared for his viewing. If the other side won, there was no way he'd ever be forgiven for what he had done, regardless of being Imperio'd.
He had taken the fork in the road far too long ago to ever turnaround. So be it, what was done, was done. It was coming down to he had to protect his family, at all cost.
"What about me? What about the baby?" Nighean protested.
Iacob was beyond stunned when Nighean asked about the baby. As far as he believed, Nighean loathed him when she was upright, (not that he could blame her), tolerated him when they were horizontal (that he could easily blame her, as God knows he tried to ensurethat she got some enjoyment and her lying there like she was dead really annoyed him) and felt nothing towards the child that they had engendered. When Nighean was sleeping; he reassured the wee one that she was loved and wanted by him.
Because he did. And if the child's mother couldn't be bothered, well, he'd ensure that the child never once noticed the lack. The child would want for nothing. During his entire childhood, he hadn't been wanted and he would never let any of his children experience that callousness.
"So you do care about our child," was his soft response. "I had my doubts. I've told you, repeatedly, though you don't seem to be paying attention, the child is under my protection. Do you require more proof than Rabastan and Rodolphus? Who else should I kill to reassure you? Is not sufficient that Alfred died? He was my brother; he was my friend. Does that mean nothing to you? I thought you liked Alfie. Most women found him quite charming."
Her eyes narrowed and her hand tensed as though she was itching to slap him. Really, that did get old quickly. Plus she had nearly cracked a tooth last time. And while a warlock never raised his hand against a woman, she seemed determined to see how far he'd go.
"There are times I truly hate you," she spat at him.
"I wish your upbringing permitted you to show appreciation. However, our relationship is improving. In the beginning, you hated me all the time," he retorted.
She had successfully angered Yaxley to the point where their link was completely quiet. Normally, she could sense how Yaxley was feeling, so she deeply enjoyed when her little digs bothered him. Now she sensed from him was silence. He had shut down completely, dealing with Alfred's internment with an emotional detachment that had to be feigned. The two Households were temporarily merged until Theodore became of age, so there were several dozen more House Elves at the Yaxley residence, most of them on the verge of complete hysterics. With everything he was juggling, Yaxley was quite busy.
When he didn't come to bed that night, Hermione enjoyed the chance to spread out in bed. She was pregnant, was delighted that she didn't have to nocturnally entertain Yaxley and well, Yaxley did snore. The next morning, breakfast was a quiet, delightful affair as it was just her. She was enjoying her much deserved solitude, when one of the Nott House Elves located her and he was carrying an untouched tray.
"Master Yaxley no eat," whispered the tearing House Elf. "Master Yaxley no eat since Master brought here. If Master Yaxley no eat, he join Master."
"I'll talk to him," she said.
"Funerals should be a happy occasion, for they are meeting loved ones beyond the veil." The Well Bred Warlock: A Guide to Wooing, Courting and Every Day Behavior for the Pureblood Wizard. Translated from the Original Gaelic. Glasgow: Warlock Press, 1544.
"Don't let the food or the alcohol run out at a funeral. And make sure all valuables have been Hidden, Concealed and Marked with a Tracer." Malfoy, Beatrice. Manners and Social Etiquette Guide for Pureblood Ladies, 12th Edition. London: Dragon Press, 1905.
"Uncle, would you braid my hair?" Theodore Nott softly asked.
"I'd be honored," Iacob said. Traditionally, Anstey should be the one braiding Theodore's hair, but there was no one left from the Nott family to do it, except for him. "The ribbon also?"
Theodore nodded and Iacob entwined the black ribbon to symbolize mourning into Theodore's long blond hair. When the plait was completed to Yaxley's satisfaction, he finished it off with a black leather cord. In a very soft voice, Iacob ordered his nephew to bed. "Now, I want you to rest. I'll watch over your father, and you get some sleep. The next few days will be very arduous."
"Uncle…" Theodore began.
"I'll take care of everything," Iacob promised.
"We're in a great deal of trouble, aren't we?" Theodore's voice broke and Iacob gave the taller Theo a one armed hug.
"I am; you're not. I have been relieved of my position at the Ministry and they may charge me with the murders of both LeStranges. Fortunately, being independently wealthy is quite helpful." Iacob's laugh was quite dry. "Your father and I were always prepared for any contingency, and before he died, he told me which of your properties can be used as a safe house. The charts, they're chaotic right now, so I don't know what the future holds. However, if anything happens to me, I need you to take care of the girl. If you're need of money, you can sell links off her bracelet. It should be sufficient to keep you comfortable. I don't plan on dying though, as your father gave me a list of instructions for you. You're to finish your education, and I have a list of suitable candidates for possible wives when you're thirty."
"Thirty?"
"It's always best if the male is the older one in the relationship. As the husband, you must take care of your wife, and if you're financially established, it will be much easier to fulfill that obligation. Now get to bed, Theodore. And, I'm delighted you chose to braid your hair. Your father and your mother would have been proud that you have kept to the traditions."
A tearing Theodore left the room, leaving Iacob with Alfie's body, the wedding portrait and assorted photographs of Alfie and his loved ones. Iacob went to a couch and sat down. He motioned and Effie, his loyal terrier, came towards him and then stopped. It seemed that the jump from the floor to the couch was beyond her today, so Iacob lifted her onto the couch. She put her big head in his lap and he began to stroke her.
I can't do it now. She's failing, but I can't do it now. There is only such a man can take. Alfie's dead, I'm sending Theo away for his safety… I have lost my job; I am a dead man because I killed the two LeStrange brothers, Effie's all I have left of Rowena, I just cannot do it. Because I will be alone in this house with Nighean, the portraits, five dozen grieving House Elves and the five dogs. I would be crazier than Bellatrix in two day's time!
"Go to sleep," he ordered his most loyal retainer. "The locust will start descending upon us like God's very own plague, in the afternoon. I want you rested, so you can bark at them. Forgive me; I just cannot bear to send you to Rowena. I know you're tired, but I need you here with me. "
She licked his face twice, absolving him of his guilt, and then promptly fell asleep.
Iacob was sitting with Alfie and he was not alone. There were a few grieving Nott House Elves paying their respects, and Effie was sleeping in Iacob's lap. Iacob looked very unhappy, even for Iacob Yaxley and Hermione knew it was regarding Effie. The dog had been a gift from Iacob to Rowena when they had married, so the dog was…. almost twenty? And she was failing, at least to Hermione's undiscerning eyes. It was probably far worse for Iacob, as he knew his dogs and their personalities.
After Alfred's death, and having to send Theodore away to school after Hogwarts, no doubt Iacob was deeply hurting. Alfred had included Iacob in the various activities of Theodore's life. Iacob's bedroom was full of pictures; Theodore's first train trip to Hogwarts, Quidditch games with the three of them and the like. To lose the man he considered his brother, his son in all but blood and his beloved dog?
"She's a bit big for a lap dog," Hermione offered. That was positively the stupidest thing to say, as the terrier would have only fit in Hagrid's lap.
"She's tired," was his curt explanation. Really, considering recent events, Iacob was being rather polite and his hand was gentle as he stroked Effie's head.
"So am I," she admitted, as she stretched her back. She would kill, yes, KILL…. To sleep on her stomach again. "The House Elves are upset…"
"Are you leading them in insurrection against me? Can your incessant idealism not wait until Alfie's buried?" Iacob asked. His tone was odd, deeper and slower than his norm, as though he was exhausted.
"They're upset because you haven't eaten anything since yesterday at breakfast. Can you possibly eat something?" Hermione rubbed her back and motioned to Iacob. "Can you budge over without disturbing her?"
The dog roused only slightly when Hermione sat next to Iacob. Hermione noticed that Iacob struggled to convince the dog to eat by slipping her choice bits of his breakfast. However, the great dog drowsed.
"How are you doing with everything?" It was a simple question, which meant she possessed no idea who Iacob would react. She also had no idea when Yaxley – The Bastard of a Death Eater in her mind had metamorphosizied d into Iacob. Was it the baby? Alfred's death? Or was it how Iacob seemed to brighten whenever he received his weekly owl from Theodore? She was changing, slowly and surely, and she no longer recognized this Nighean. Either her figure or her personality.
"Do you hate me at the moment?" was his question.
"Not at the moment," she admitted, because at heart, she was a compassionate person. Hating Iacob at the moment would be like… kicking a puppy dog. A Defenseless puppy dog. "However…"
"It is subject to change," he finished with a dry laugh. "I am doing well at the moment. Thank you for your concern."
He tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"Seriously? How are you doing?" Hermione prompted.
"The burial preparations have been completed. Alfred is lying in state. His burial plot is ready next to his wife. The House Elves have prepared more than sufficient food if anyone should decide to show. I am not sure if anyone will be attending as the big social event is the double burial of the LeStrange brothers. I am doubtful that many will attend, because the Dark Lord is greatly displeased with me."
"Thank you," Hermione said. "I never thanked you for protecting me from the LeStranges. I am also very sorry about Alfred. I liked him."
Bloody hell, she liked Alfred. How pathetic was that? The warlock had saved her from Rabastan, not once, but twice and had died. 'I liked Alfred', didn't convey the maddening contradiction that Alfred Nott was. He was a bastard, a charming bastard with an archaic mindset on the world around him. A warlock who admitted to Imperioing the man that would become his best friend. Yet, he had saved a comatose Iacob from Pansy Parkinson, and instinctively understanding how much Iacob wished to be a father, had easily shared his son with him.
"There is no need to thank me. I told you that I would do so, and I did. I will continue to do so. Your need to thank me implies that you doubted my word. As for Alfred, most women found him extremely charming."
Hermione sighed and rubbed her belly as the child had kicked. "Sometimes I wish I knew why," she admitted.
"We're back to that again?" Iacob asked her. "Why I agreed to protect you?"
"No, Iacob. I wonder why I bother to have a conversation with you."
"It seems that I've suddenly developed a first name. You converse with me, because I am a literal fount of information. For example, Alfred died on the first of June. Your NEWTS exams are scheduled for the sixth of July at which time, you'll be close to thirty five weeks along. I have very fond memories of the third of December when you conceived as it was also the night you gifted me with your virginity. I also have written down the time she was conceived, so I can draw her birth chart when she's born."
"You know the exact time…." Hermione paused. She wished her cheeks weren't flaming red. However, Iacob embarrassed her when he talked about sex openly, especially their sex. Iacob didn't believe in pseudonyms or euphemisms, just brutally frank talk about sex. On one hand, his candor was refreshing, but he had no filter!
"Yes, I need it for her charts. I've set them up but I need her birth information, plus her name when you've decided upon it," explained Iacob.
"I thought you'd name her," Hermione said. In the paternal society of Death Eaters, it seemed to be a given that Iacob would name their children.
Good God! When did it turn into THEIR children? There was only the one. ONE. And she wasn't planning on having any more with Yaxley. Thank you, very, very much.
"No, after you give birth, the attendants will make you presentable. When you are ready, you will present my daughter to me…" continued Iacob.
"Present?" spat Hermione. "I'm to present your daughter to you?"
"And you will tell me her name."
"So I could name her whatever I want…" began Hermione.
"I'd prefer if you didn't name her Harriet Pottery Yaxley," Iacob said.
Hermione stopped and stared at Iacob. "You just made a joke."
"Did not," he said. And yes, there was a slight quirk to one cheek, which meant Iacob was feeling droll.
"Did too!"
"Did not. As you have told me innumerous times, I lack any aspects of humanity, and I believe humor is included in your very detailed list of the qualities I lack."
"You won't be there when she's born?" Hermione asked.
"No," he firmly said. "I will not be there when she is born."
"Are you afraid that you'll pass out?" Hermione asked. That was said in a tone that even Hermione would admit was a tad bit snarky. After all, Mr. Big Bad Death Eater doing a face plant when she gave birth would almost make up for the thirty odd pounds she had put on, plus whatever else she'd pack on in the next two months.
"I've bred bitches for almost forty years, I've been there for every birth," protested Iacob. "Managed to stay upright for all of them. It's not proper for me to attend the birth. It is not as though I doubt I am the father and require proof. However, I will need the placenta."
"This is different. This is your daughter and I am not one of your bitches. You will have to be in attendance when I give birth, because you will need to protect us. You'll do a better job if you're in the room. And if you want the placenta… to make tea out of it, you better be in the room. With me. Because I'm not wrapping it in paper and delivering it to you. "
"I was planning on planting a rosebush for our daughter and using the placenta as fertilizer. When the flowers bloom, they will be unlike any other in the garden, because it will be her rose."
"Oh," said Hermione.
"Oh," Iacob mockingly repeated. "I suppose I could dry it and add it to the tea. It will need sugar if it's as acidic as you are."
"Oh, God," Hermione whispered.
"I supposed you're back to hating me again?" Iacob's smile was tight and amused.
The viewing of Alfred Nott was a quiet, small affair, made noticeable by those who did not attend, as much as those who made an appearance. Much to Iacob's surprise, a somberly dressed Narcissa Malfoy called to pay her respects. He wasn't surprised that Lucius and Draco were nowhere to be seen.
"I'm sorry about your loss," she murmured. "I came because I wished to talk to you and reassure you that I do not blame you for my brother-in-laws' death."
Iacob nodded his head once.
"That's nice, why are you here, really?" Iacob asked.
"Your… surrogate…" Narcissa paused and licked her lips. She was nervous, Iacob realized. "She will be in need of a doula shortly. I thought I'd offer my services."
Figuring the best response would be to say nothing, he just stared at her. His stare perfected, Narcissa began to confess her reasoning.
"I'm offering, because you managed to duel my sister to a draw. There are very few that could do so, especially after dealing with Rudolphus and Rabastan."
"And if I should consent for you to act as a doula, what is in it for you?"
Like hell would he use her, but he was curious to her level of desperation.
"With your considerable influence, if your surrogate is…. Pleased…. With my assistance, you might be willing to…" she paused. Then admitted in a soft whisper, "Draco. I would request…"
"Your son," he growled. "Not your husband?"
"Lucius… would not take kindly to my assistance," she explained. "However, would you not do anything to protect Theodore?"
He hid his emotions as he was appalled by Narcissa's obvious desperation, a sign of weakness that could be exploited, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Not my son. He doesn't even wear the Mark. But I will think about your offer, as I find it… amusing…"
Theodore Nott met with his uncle in his library for a serious warlock to wizard conversation after his father was interred. Effie was lying in front of the fire place and she didn't rouse when Theodore sat down.
"I need to get you away, before the Dark Lord decides you will replace your father," Iacob stated. "I have reason to believe that it will happen tomorrow. Therefore, I am sending you to a magical academy in Canada for a five year practicum. The Dark Lord's arm does not stretch as far as British Columbia. Not yet, not yet. You must study hard as you will sit for their qualifying exams in a month. Whatever happens, you do not return to Scotland unless I tell you to do so. We will have an argument and I will kill you. You will be buried next to your mother and your father. There will be no funeral, so everyone knows of my displeasure. As your godfather, I must protect you and I swore a solemn vow to your mother that I would never let anything befall you."
"And what of you, uncle?" Theodore asked. "You will be alone."
"I was alone for most of my life until I met your aunt," Iacob informed his nephew. "I will be fine."
"Your daughter?" Theodore reminded him.
"You will be her godfather, I promise you," Iacob said in a very soft voice. "Must keep the tradition alive."
"You'll need a body," prompted Theodore.
"I know. The House Elves will know that you're alive, but you will have them follow all my instructions. I will be their Master and I will take care of them for you."
"Granger?"
Yaxley arched an eyebrow. Nighean and Theodore had steadfastly ignored each other whenever they had the misfortune of meeting, especially as Nighean's pregnancy had become more noticeable. If he didn't know better, he'd think Theodore was horrified by the fact that his uncle had impregnated his former classmate.
"She can't be told anything. I need her reactions to be real, and she's a lousy actress," explained the older mage. "Good luck, my dear boy. I remember when you were just born, and your Aunt insisted that I hold you. You were wet at both ends and sobbing uncontrollably."
They tightly embraced and then Iacob reminded Theodore of his instructions. After Theodore had left, Iacob went towards the fireplace. He knelt next to the still dog and he stroked her for the final time.
"You'll be buried next to Anstey and Rowena, love."
"Have faith in your beloved, and you shall be rewarded." Malfoy, Beatrice. Manners and Social Etiquette Guide for Pureblood Ladies, 12th Edition. London: Dragon Press, 1905.
"Only confess everything if you have no other option." The Well Bred Warlock: A Guide to Wooing, Courting and Every Day Behavior for the Pureblood Wizard. Translated from the Original Gaelic. Glasgow: Warlock Press, 1544.
Just when Hermione thought that she was beginning to understand Iacob Yaxley, to form a tentative connection with him, Iacob Yaxley proved that he was an utter nutter.
Yaxley killed his nephew. There had been raised voices and a burst of wild magic so profound that it literally shook the house. Yaxley had killed Theodore… because the coward had refused to take the Mark and had dishonored his father's memory. Hermione had never particularly cared for Theodore when they had been students. He had been a Slytherin, and while not part of Draco Malfoy's crowd, he had been down on Harry since the first time they had met but… his uncle had killed him. Yaxley had then single handedly buried him in the Yaxley family graveyard – between to his mother and his aunt. No pomp. No ceremony. No priest. No headstone. Just a quick burial in the expansive necropolis of dead Yaxleys.
The House Elves were having attacks of hysteria; Yaxley was seemingly no longer employed at the Ministry because he was barking mad. He was walking the halls of the manor house at all hours of night and day…. and… Hermione couldn't find Effie. Good Lord, Yaxley couldn't have killed his dog, could he?
And when he came to her at night, she'd weep. He never forced her into doing anything sexual; however, he still stroked her belly. She stopped eating, and Yaxley was close to going spare. It was at lunch one day when he lost his fraying temper. "Must I compel you to eat? I went to Manchester for this. You will eat it, and eat all of it," he informed her. "Why are you weeping all the time? Should I bring you to a Healer?"
"You're a… monster," Hermione wept so hard that she was hiccupping. "I'm spawning… the bastard… of a monster, and she will take after you. She will put… Bellatrix… to shame… and I'm part of this…. Monstrosity."
Hermione failed to notice how Yaxley inhaled sharply when she compared their daughter to Bellatrix.
"You're back to hating me again," Yaxley quietly stated. "You're nothing if not predictable."
Through sheer force of will, Hermione got to her feet and she slapped Yaxley. She put all her weight behind it and Yaxley blanched. It had been a truly spectacular sound when her palm had met his cheek.
"I think you just cracked my premolar," he said in a very tightly controlled voice. "Are you done with your hysterics? You are not eating, our daughter needs you to eat. You will sit down and eat everything on your plate."
Recklessly, she hit him. And for a wonder, he let her pound away at him until she was weeping uncontrollably. He embraced her tightly, and whispered softly in her ear.
"You always think of the worst of me, and you never ever give me the benefit of the doubt. For once, why don't you wait for all the facts before you convict me?" His voice was soft, almost imploring as though he was begging, "Trust me, please."
"Because you don't make it easy for me," she spat.
"Life isn't easy, Nighean. Surviving isn't easy either. And sometimes, ugly decisions have to be made by people that are brave enough to make them. Fortunately, I am strong enough to make those choices."
"You want me to believe that you aren't the monster that everyone says that you are?" She laughed to show how likely that was.
"Since when have you been satisfied following the status quo? Aren't you the one that wished to overturn society's norms because you don't agree with them? Nighean; you have never been one to permit the opinions of others to sway your judgment."
"I think I just been complimented," Hermione tiredly admitted.
"Complimented by a monster, I wouldn't be proud of that, if I were you. Or maybe, you would, given your contrary nature. Regardless, you will sit down and eat everything on your plate. Then you're to go to sleep."
When Hermione woke, she wasn't sure where she was. She was in bed, a very large, comfortable bed, but it wasn't her usual bed. Or her usual room. It took some finagling, as her body was simply no longer cooperating these days and she sat up. Yaxley was asleep in a chair, in the corner of the room.
"Good morning, Miss Granger," said Alfred Nott. "Sleep well?
"You're dead," she whispered. "You're dead."
"I am. However, my portrait is able to walk to and fro in the earth, and up and down it, or at least, where one of my paintings is located. I must talk, and you must listen as you most acknowledge that I died to save your life. Also, I'd take it as a personal favor, a dying man's last request, if you would cease soundly slapping my sardonic Scot. One of these days, he'll lose his Scottish Temper when you provoke him and it won't be pretty. First of all, Iacob didn't kill Theodore, he sent him away to some place where he will be safe. Effie had passed on, and she is buried in the graveyard, not my son. If you'd behave, Iacob would let you walk around the grounds, and you'd see that the grave is covered with a literal blanket of Rhododendrons. Effie liked to lie among his Rhododendrons and sun herself. Made a horrible mess in the garden."
"And, I'd like to add something," said a female voice. "There's no way any child of Iacob's could ever compare to that monster, Bellatrix. You terribly upset him with that comment. Iacob is a kind and compassionate man. He is NOT a monster."
"Ro, dear. You weren't supposed to follow me," Alfred stated. "I thought we all agreed that I should handle this, and we've all agreed that I was the monster, not Iacob."
"She upset my Iacob. My dearest, dearest Iacob," protested Ro.
Alfred spoke gently to Iacob's deceased spouse, "She was exhausted and ill. Hopefully a respite at the lake will be sufficient to return her to her normal humor."
"She slaps Iacob a lot," protested Rowena.
"That she does, however your sister slapped me a few times when she was pregnant. I forgave her, immediately," explained Alfred. "Now go, because Iacob's waking. Now remember, Miss Granger, Theodore is safe. Iacob sent him away and you need to rest. Go back to sleep."
Hermione closed her eyes and pondered about what the portraits had said, about her conversation with Iacob the previous night, how he had all but begged her to trust him. She was a fool, hoping that there was some humanity in Iacob Yaxley. That sometime during this misadventure, that it was no longer just Voldemort verses Dumbledore's forces, that somehow there was a third side now; Iacob Yaxley struggling to protect his family against impossible odds.
Theodore…. The baby and that meant her. Because, whether she wished to admit it or not, they were now permanently bound by the child she was carrying.
Nothing would ever change that, regardless of who won.
And since the Order had obviously abandoned her as a casualty of war, she was reliant on Iacob.
She woke later that day, and Iacob quickly came to the side of her bed. One of his large dogs was following close behind him, and bumped into him when he stopped.
"Feeling better?" he asked. "The Healers said you had a virus? You were exhausted and quite agitated."
"Yes, I feel much better," she said. "I'm very sorry I said those things and that I hit you. I appreciate how well you've taken care of us."
His eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly hid his emotions. Instead, he brushed her hair out of her eyes. It was a surprisingly tender gesture from the normally brusque Iacob. He then gave her a slight smile and nodded his head. "You just get some sleep. You're exhausted."
Daring greatly, she took his hand and placed it on her belly where their child slumbered. "It's just us, now, isn't it?"
He leaned over and kissed her belly. Once.
"Iacob, can we cuddle?" Hermione asked. "I'm too tired for sex, but I think I'd like a cuddle."
He smiled, a real smile and nodded his head.
26 August, 1998 03.15
Yaxley Manor House
Glasgow, Scotland
In late August, very late August, almost early September, Hermione gave birth. It was a long, difficult, painful process and she was exhausted by the time her daughter was put to breast.
"She's perfect," whispered a very emotional Iacob who had sat through the entire progression. His stoic nature had been a blessing as he hadn't so much as blinked when she had called him every name in the book. She had even made up a few creative descriptions on his many short comings during the throes of labor. His Glaswegian accent was quite thick when he spoke, "My darling girl, you were so brave. I thank you for her. Have you decided upon a name?"
"Her name will be Rowena," Hermione decided. "Rowena Eleanor Yaxley."
And Iacob Yaxley wept.