It's a shorter chapter because it's kind of a package. Enjoy. Istalindar.
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The baby will come when it's ready and not a minute before. The Matriarch lectured. Hermione resisted the urge to swear at her. This hurt.
"Breathe Hermione." Charlie said quietly, stroking a tendril of hair out of her face. She glared.
"You fucking breathe." She retorted.
"Her contractions are coming closer." Susie reported. Hermione groaned as her muscles squeezed hard. "You're doing fine, Hermione." Susie said gently. Hermione sighed as the pain momentarily left her, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. "The baby is turning itself around, which is why this hurts so much."
"I thought contractions were meant to hurt." Charlie muttered to himself, confused but unwilling to comment.
"These hurt worse than usual." Susie said softly. "I don't know how but the baby is turning itself around without any help from me, so she's got contractions and its stretching her womb as it turns. Hermione half-screamed, half-moaned again, fisting the sheets of the bed so tightly her knuckles went white.
You're doing fine. The Matriarch said. Hermione didn't reply. The baby has nearly righted himself and then it'll be a lot easier and more straightforward. the dragon reported. Hermione barely registered that the Matriarch called the baby a 'him' before her mind was full of pain again and she gritted her teeth, hard.
"You're nearly there Hermione." Susie said. "The baby's nearly straight. I think it'll be easier then." Hermione screamed with another contraction, and Charlie grabbed her shoulders.
"Hermione, you can do this." He said harshly. "You're so close." Her eyes opened briefly and then they closed again in agony.
"Push, Hermione." Susie urged. "Push!" Hermione pushed, again and again until pain wracked her entire body worse than cruciatus and suddenly she relaxed.
"He's beautiful." Susie cooed. Hermione lay there, trying to catch her breath, swallowing against the harshness of her throat. After a second she looked up and saw Charlie standing over her, a concerned look on his face and a bundle in his arms. She held out her arms.
"Charlie?" Her voice was rough. Charlie smiled and gently laid the screaming baby boy in her arms.
He looked like a Malfoy.
Hermione passed out.
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Babies were a nightmare. A pain in the arse. They were worse than… Hermione couldn't think of anything worse. They cried, they were demanding, they made a huge mess, they pooped, they vomited and they drooled. And they screamed.
"I got it." Hermione mumbled to no one in particular, rolling out of bed. But by the time she had reached the baby's room (she hadn't even named it yet), Charlie had beaten her to it. He was wearing sweats, and had the baby swaddled in blankets and was bouncing it gently, murmuring to it. Hermione stood and watched, amazed as the little boy slowly fell back asleep.
Charlie was so much better at this than she was. Whenever she got near the baby it just seemed to scream louder. It hated her, Hermione was sure. But with Charlie, just a few words or a caress could make the baby shut up. Hermione had never been good with babies, but this one took the piss.
And the fact that it was hers, that she had sweated and strained to bring the little brat into the world, made it all the more bitter.
Hermione turned and left, leaving to Charlie to the fatherhood he was so obviously born to. Charlie turned, sensing a presence, but there was nothing.
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"Hermione." Hermione looked up from where she was copying up the rough notes she'd made during the day. The baby was asleep, thank heaven, so she could have some peace. Well, relatively, anyway.
"Yep?" she smiled.
"We need to talk." Charlie said seriously, taking a chair and twisting it backwards so he rested the arm on the backrest, straddling the seat. She frowned.
"What about?" Charlie's eyebrows shot up.
"Possibly the baby? Who you haven't even named yet?" He asked snidely. Hermione looked away. "That's the thing, Hermione. You can't just look away and hope he disappears." Hermione didn't answer. "Hermione."
"Look, I'm sorry I'm not your mother." Hermione said quietly. "Believe me when I say I have tried to care, I've tried to love it. But I just don't. It's a nuisance and it-"
"If you stop seeing it as an object and start seeing it as a person you might have more luck." Charlie commented. Hermione shook her head.
"I don't know, Charlie." She said softly. "I'm not a natural mother. If I try and comfort it – him," she corrected at Charlie's look, "He just cries harder. He doesn't want me any more than I want him."
"You're wrong." Charlie said. "He wants his mother desperately. But he doesn't understand why you don't want him. That's why he cries."
"Oh, come on Charlie." Hermione scoffed. "He's a baby, he doesn't know anything except that he's tired or hungry or that he's just shit his pants, again."
"He's a baby, Hermione. What do you expect?" Charlie demanded, annoyed. "They don't pop out toilet trained and able to feed themselves."
"They don't 'pop' out at all." Hermione muttered.
"Look." Charlie said. "I want you to do something for me. And it doesn't involve any proximity to the baby, I promise. But you have to do this." Hermione looked at him cautiously.
"What?"
"I want you to think about what happened to you. Properly. Force yourself to remember that because I think that's why you can't connect with the baby."
"It couldn't be I'm not a baby person?" Hermione snapped irritably.
"No." Charlie said flatly. "It's because you're letting that year taint your future."
"It wasn't all marshmallows and ice cream, Charlie." Hermione retorted. "He…" she trailed off, unable to speak.
"And that's what I'm talking about." Charlie said quietly. "You can't think about it, can't say it. But that doesn't make it any less there, doesn't mean it didn't happen. And it's going to affect you until you work through it. And it'll make you a victim."
"It will not." Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "It'll teach me not to go home by myself but that's it."
"Don't lie to me." Charlie said. "I know you-"
"No you don't!" Hermione shouted suddenly. "You may be my husband but you don't know me at all! Before we got married how many proper conversations had we actually had? Maybe two? Possibly? Just because I wear your ring and I have your name does not mean you know me at all!" Charlie stared at her and she immediately felt terrible. "Charlie, I'm sorry. I-"
"It's the truth, Hermione, I know it as much as you do." Charlie said, so quietly she barely heard him. "But as much as all that, I think you need this. I think your son needs this." He turned and left, and Hermione was left staring at her notes, which suddenly didn't seem to make any sense.
Nothing did, anymore.
He's right. The Matriarch added her voice. This has gone on too long.
I didn't ask your opinion. Hermione retorted.
And I did not ask yours. The Matriarch said flatly, her voice suddenly stronger, giving Hermione a headache. Leave a note, then come out to me. Hermione, knowing her headache would only get worse if she didn't do as she was told, scribbled a note on parchment, pulled on her warm jacket and her cloak over that, and stepped outside into the cold night.
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Charlie found the note in the morning, when he bouncing the baby gently after he'd fed him. He had half a mind to name the baby himself seeing as Hermione blatantly wanted nothing to do with it.
I'm going out. To do as you asked, and think. I don't know how long it'll take, the Matriarch will care for me. I'm sorry for what I said, you do know me well.
HermioneHe sighed, bouncing the baby. Of all the moments to do as she's told. He sighed again, looking at the baby that so clearly resembled his father: the grey eyes, the pale hair. But this baby was quick to smile and gurgle and laugh. Charlie winked at him and the baby obligingly squealed and gurgled, before promptly burping milk everywhere. Charlie rolled his eyes and reached for his wand.
Outside and up several plateaus from the living area, Hermione sat on a wide ledge, her legs stretched in front of her and not exceeding the edge. Her back was to the mountain, her face upturned to the sky, her eyes shut. She was remembering, under the Matriarch's careful guidance, remembering all the terrible things, but remembering the good things too. Her relationship with Lucius she could only view with a sceptical eye, even before he turned her into a witless devotee, but with Draco…
The more she remembered, the more she felt for the son of her Master, the boy who set aside every petty school-kid grudge and grumble to reach inside her mind, search for her and then bring her back, risking his own sanity in the process. She could remember every second he was in her mind, and then every second after he withdrew and slowly brought her out with kisses and touch and eventually, sex, the ultimate contact, the ultimate link. The memory was so intense she could almost feel it, and then, suddenly, she did.
The child lodging in her belly.
The realisation made her gasp, arching off the rock behind her, her mouth open and her eyes shut. She could see the baby growing, upside down and back to front in her stomach, hiding from her, hiding from the terrible pain it could feel in its mother's mind, the terrible ache of shame and regret and fear and anger. It spent nine months listening to her, watching her dreams and hearing her wail of distress, locked in her womb, unable to escape or block out the noises. And then it was free, but such pain, turning and stretching and the space was too small, the space was too-
Nothing.
Hermione drew in a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering open. It was evening, the sun was setting. She'd been out here at least an entire day, remembering the pain, physical from Madeleine, then emotional from Lucius, then the freedom given to her by Draco. And then the pain and the fear and the confusion of her baby boy, the little boy who had suffered her despair without understanding why.
A sudden thought struck her: the baby had read her mind while in her womb, had seen her thoughts. What if it could still do so now? The abuse she had hurled at him in her mind, cursing it for everything she felt, for the shame Lucius had made her feel, the anger, the pain.
Hermione pushed herself to her feet and swayed a little.
Careful. The Matriarch warned. You have been in deep intense memories for many hours. You may be unsteady on your feet and this would be a terrible fall. Hermione nodded, picking her way slowly down the mountain. She needed to get down, needed to get to Charlie, who she had abused and her baby, that boy who had heard everything but not understood. It was no wonder he cried everytime she came near to him, he could hear the vehemence in his thoughts, how unwanted and unloved he was.
How terrible for a little boy.
When the ledge widened, when the descent was not so tricky, Hermione broke into a stumbling run, down and down the mountain onto the camping plateau. She burst into the tent and startled Charlie, who was wandering around the room with the baby, trying to quiet him.
"Give him to me." She demanded, coming to a halt. He took one look at her flustered face and shook his head.
"No."
"Give me my baby!" She cried, stepping forwards, arms out.
"Hermione?" Charlie frowned, looking at her carefully. She felt tears welling in her eyes.
"Please, Charlie." She whispered. "Give him to me." Charlie hesitated, then slowly handed over the baby boy. Hermione took him in her arms and crossed to the couch, sitting down. She closed her eyes.
"Hermione?" Charlie asked immediately. "Are you alright?"
"Shh Charlie." She said quietly. Confused, he did as he was told.
Baby? Hermione quested delicately into the boy lying against her chest. Baby?
Why do you hate me? The voice was clear in her head, and Hermione nearly burst out crying from the tragedy in it. What did I do? I don't understand!
I'm so sorry. Hermione whispered, mentally wrapping her arms around the baby. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean it.
You were so angry. He replied. So scared.
I'm not anymore. Hermione said softly. I'm blamed everything on you, I'm sorry.
Do you love me? The child asked. Hermione hesitated for barely a second.
Yes. She answered. Yes, I do. The baby smiled.
&
Charlie was, quite frankly, amazed. When he had suggested that Hermione actually go out and face her demons, he hadn't quite expected it to have this effect. Where before she didn't care at all for the baby, who, she informed him when she opened her eyes, was called Luke, now she hardly seemed to be parted from him. Charlie still spent a lot of time with him as well, with them both, actually, and now when he looked into her eyes they seemed brighter, as though a curtain had been pulled away.
Charlie didn't know how or what or why…but she disappeared for two days and came back looking haggard and flushed and disheveled, demanding her child. Charlie had been worried: he didn't know what she would do to the baby, but then she took him and sat down, closing her eyes, her fingers stroking lightly over the baby's head.
It was strange.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Hermione asked cheerfully, coming out of the baby's room, one clean baby on her shoulder. She dropped a kiss onto Charlie's head, something she'd been doing more often lately, and not only when they were in public, and poured herself a cup of tea from the teapot on the table.
"Nothing much." Charlie answered, turning to watch her and Luke.
Luke was now about three months old. He was his father through and through though, grey-blue eyes, pale skin, pale hair. He had his mother's affinity for laughter though, and smiling. He always seemed to be smiling, especially since Hermione had come back from her soujourn up the mountain. She didn't talk about it much, merely said that he was right and left it at that.
Charlie could live with that, especially now that he had the Hermione he remembered, from before the year at the Manor, back. She was quick so smile and laugh, talking about everything from dragons to cloud shapes throughout the day. She was bright and cheerful and willing and Charlie couldn't actually help himself.
He was falling in love with her.
He didn't know what it was, and he was well aware of the fact that a) she was only newly nineteen and b) she was his brother's best friend. And somehow, reminding himself that he was married to the girl, that actually, it was only right for him to be in love with her, didn't really help. Not much.
"Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie!" Hermione burst into the tent later that day, making him jump in his chair. He'd been working on transcribing his notes but had fallen into yet another daydream about her. "Come see, you have to see this!" Luke was laughing happily, gurgling and drooling on her shoulder, a piece of her hair in his fist, but Hermione didn't care.
"What?" Charlie asked laughing as she grabbed her hand and pulled him from the tent.
"Susie found eggs, Charlie! And they're hatching!"
"What?" Charlie asked, dumbfounded. Never had he known dragons to lay a clutch so close to humans.
"Come on!" Hermione insisted, releasing his hand and running ahead, Luke bobbing along against her shoulder, shrieking with giggles. Charlie caught her up in an instant.
"You'll make Luke sick running about like that." He warned.
"Rubbish." She grinned. "He'll tell me if he's feeling ill, won't you darling?" She grinned, tapping Luke on the nose. "It's up here. Come on." She led the way more slowly up a narrow path, then ducked behind a straggly bush to reveal a huge sandy cave. It was lit from above by some cracks in the rock that the early spring sunlight let through, and Charlie stared in amazement.
There were three eggs, beautiful and smooth, a green, a blue and a red. He'd never seen eggs like that before. Curled around them was the mother, who lay peacefully, one eye open one shut, watching them carefully but not with hostility.
"Careful, Hermione." He warned quickly. "Nesting dragons are-" Hermione smiled and set Luke down, and he immediately crawled into the curve of the dragons tail, being very careful not to touch the eggs. "Luke, get back here." Charlie said very quietly, trying not to upset the dragon.
"You don't understand." Hermione said with a smile, stepping back and taking Charlie's hand. "It's an agreement. She trusts her eggs with us because I trust her with our little boy."
"Our?" Charlie asked, stunned. She smiled beatifically up at him.
"Of course our." She said gently. "You'll be the only father he'll know. Just because you didn't create him doesn't make you any less his father." He smiled, unable to think of anything to say. He felt so light inside, it was such a ridiculous cliché. He didn't think anything could break his mood. He was still worried about Luke though. "Relax, Charlie." She said quietly.
"Why are we here?" he asked quietly. "What are we waiting for?"
"They're nearly ready." Hermione said. "And Luke needs to be here."
"They're going to hatch? Hermione do you know what hatchlings do when they hatch? They eat. Everything. Anything."
"They won't eat him. He's been talking to them for days. Well, one of them." Hermione smiled. "You really think I'd put him in danger?" Charlie fell silent, and she smiled, squeezing his hand.
The dragon snorted and Hermione and Charlie watched as Luke backed up, as far as he could away from the eggs, sitting in the curve of the dragons tail. There was a loud crack, then two more, and then the cave was echoing with the sound. When it died, Hermione and Charlie watched the hatchings struggle from their shells, bum-first.
"Why do they do that?" Charlie whispered. Hermione shook her head with a secretive smile. They watched as the three hatchlings blinked and fell over each other, and the green one struggled over to where Luke sat and sniffed him, snorting a little cloud of smoke. Luke giggled and blew a raspberry, petting the dragon on the head. When the red and the blue came to investigate, the green hatchling snapped at them, flapping still-damp wings at them and growling, the noise closer to a purr then the echoing roar occasionally heard by its adult counterparts.
"Perfect." Hermione breathed. "It couldn't be more perfect."
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