Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling; I'm only visiting her universe for nonprofit fun and edification. (No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended).
ooo
The baby has woken and become restive as they return from their walk. The warm little body stretches and wriggles; she fusses, trying out little tentative cries, looks about. Hermione thinks that Hypatia might be wanting her brother, so they tiptoe into the guest room where Draco had lain down to take his dose of Dreamless Sleep.
He has turned onto his side, under the covers, and is hugging the pillow, looking very childish himself with his hair hanging over his brow and his face half hidden in the pillow.
Hypatia stretches her arms toward him, and Hermione carefully places her on the bed… of course, she'll have to keep watch, because Draco is quite thoroughly asleep.
Hypatia settles for a bit, nuzzling close to her sleeping brother like a little cat, well, very like Crookshanks in one of his more affectionate moods. After a bit, she starts to fret and to pull at his hair. He doesn't respond, of course, under the influence of the Dreamless Sleep.
Hermione picks up the baby again and frowns, feeling a bit at a loss. Neville brushes the baby's cheek with his forefinger, and she turns to it with her little rosebud mouth working…
"I think she's hungry," he says.
"He didn't have the baby things with him," she says. "Oh, bother." She already knows that there isn't anything in the villa suitable to feed a baby.
The tap on the door interrupts her. Her mother looks in, soignée and composed, though still wearing her dressing-gown. "I was hoping you'd tell us why Draco turned up here."
The baby fusses and waves her arms, apparently deciding that she's had enough… and emits a thin, desperate cry, followed by another in swift succession.
"She's hungry," Hermione's mother says.
"He didn't bring the baby things," Hermione says, distinctly irritated-well, somewhat more irritated than before.
Neville says, mildly, that the baby things wouldn't have included a bottle in any case. Pureblood mothers look after their children in the traditional manner.
Hermione frowns, and her mother says, "So… either a wet-nurse, or the mother herself."
Neville nodded. "Or the house-elves. But I understand the Malfoys haven't any of those left." He adds, rather delicately, that whatever one might say against Narcissa Malfoy, she is a devoted mother by her own lights.
Draco murmurs in his sleep and turns over; his legs tangle in the blankets. He struggles, then startles awake with a scream. Hypatia wails yet louder at her brother's distress.
Hermione had given him a dose that should have kept him asleep for a good four hours at least. Well, she supposes she ought to have suspected he would have been dosing himself with the stuff… and habituated himself.
However much she would like to cover her ears against the screams of the baby, it seems it would be bad form. Nonetheless, she decides that it is going to be a long time before she thinks about children of her own.
Her mother sits down in the chair next to the bed. Draco fumbles in his robes, looking for his wand; his look is feral, glazed and unseeing. No, she does not need him pulling a weapon on her mother. She has her wand out to Stupefy him, but even more swiftly—and remarkably for his size—Neville sits down on the bed, and takes both of Draco's hands, helping him to sit up, while discreetly foiling his reach for the wand. "It's all right," he said. "You're safe. Hypatia's hungry, though."
"I can't take her home," Draco says. "She's not safe." He takes Hypatia in his arms. Rather than settling, she screws up her face and howls yet more loudly, thrashing and plucking at the front of his robes.
Those cries are finding the resonant frequency of every bone in her skull; Hermione thinks she will go mad, for the baby has a quite good set of lungs on her, and … well, she supposes that's how the young of the species manage to get themselves fed.
Her mother says to Draco, "Now, do be sensible. If she needs her mother…"
Draco shakes his head vehemently, with that furious and tearful look on his face again. Hermione glares back at him.
(She really is quite sick of the dramatics…)
He mutters something under his breath, and then glares at Neville and Hermione. Hermione's mother gives her a significant look, as Neville tugs on her arm. She whispers, "I'm not leaving him alone with my mum. He's got a wand…"
Neville says, "I think it's going to be all right."
Hermione's mother says, in her crisp sensible way, "Of course it is." Hermione thinks that might be so, given the way that Draco has relaxed, for all he has a furious, hungry baby in his arms.
Neville puts his arm around her, his warm skin touching hers, and she tries to quell the resentment that flares along with the desire, as they leave the room and close the door behind them.
ooo
Hermione doesn't know how her mother can concentrate; she can hear the baby screaming from the other side of the closed door. Neville holds her close and whispers, "He's in a bad way."
Of course she knows that … except that there are nuances she misses, not being Pureblood, and Neville seems to understand what's going on better than she does.
A few minutes later, the door opens and Hermione's mother leans out. "He wants Andromeda Tonks. His aunt. She lives in Diagon Alley… I don't suppose she has a telephone?"
Hermione shakes her head. "No, but I can fetch her." She closes her eyes, concentrates on the happiest memory… and what was that, this time? The moment when the multi-layered memory charm unwound, and her mother's face took on the look of recognition… the same look of recognition that she had been lavishing, just now, on Draco Malfoy, of all people, who had never done a thing in his whole life to deserve any such thing, and had wished her dead… no, it didn't do to think about that, because that was a twelve-year-old boy of surpassing ignorance who had said that, a little boy who had been more like nine years old than twelve…
She's never had this much trouble producing a Patronus, but nonetheless the glowing transparent otter emerges from the wand-tip, does a backflip and looks at her expectantly as she confides their location and the urgent request for Andromeda's presence…
Her mother looks at her steadily. "Very impressive."
Behind her, Draco favors Hermione with that disturbing stare, equal parts hostility and lust, the effect somewhat blunted by his reddened eyelids.
The thought that he's been crying, and she supposes, leaning on her mother for comfort, infuriates her. Now she understands some of the undercurrents in Ron's family, the jealousy of his mother's attentions to his older brothers and to Ginny. Sibling rivalry, indeed—one more passion she'd missed entirely, being an only child.
There is a soft noise, barely more than the popping of a champagne cork, and Andromeda Tonks is in the room with them, Teddy Lupin sleeping in her arms. She has been roused from sleep, for she's wearing a dressing-gown as well, over men's pyjamas. She confers briefly with Hermione's mother, goes into the guest room, and takes Hypatia in her arms. There's a noise from Draco that sounds like a choked-off sob, and the door closes on them.
ooo
Hermione does not like the feeling of having been exiled from the grownups' councils. Neville tells her that she didn't need to solve all problems, and underlines that with a warm embrace.
She says that no doubt it's dreadfully selfish of her, but she really has had quite enough of all this.
Neville says it is a crisis best handled by their elders, and really, she'd said herself that Draco was a little boy, and if he'd guessed was correct, he was holding up surprisingly well.
ooo
The family council takes rather longer than expected. Neville organizes some breakfast, enough for all of their guests, as Hermione's father walks into the little kitchen and asks if he hadn't heard a baby crying.
Neville nods, and Hermione says that indeed he had; it was Draco's little sister and there was a family crisis of some kind. "Mum and his aunt are sorting it," she says. "We may as well have some breakfast in the meantime."
Hermione's father looks at Neville, and then at her, and says that they have the look of people who'd had a night of it. He is rather a handful, the Malfoy boy.
Hermione nods, and says that has been the case for some while. She holds his parents responsible, of course… though (she adds sharply) lately he seems to have no shortage of surrogate mothers.
Her father raises an eyebrow; no doubt her bad temper shows. She feels cranky from lack of sleep, and frustrated lust, and sheer annoyance.
ooo
When Hermione's mother emerges from the conference in the guest room, she announces that things are rather complicated. In any case, she says, Draco's Aunt Andromeda will be joining them for breakfast, with her grandson, and perhaps the children might make a morning of it on the beach while they conferred after dining.
Somewhat distractedly, she adds that it appears that there is some concern for the legalities… oh, and what a lovely breakfast.
Andromeda comes out next, Teddy trotting at her heels and Hypatia in her arms, cooing. Draco follows her, looking shamefaced and downcast, head bowed so that his hair shades his eyes.
They partake of breakfast on the terrace overlooking the sea, since there is not sufficient room indoors for six adults and two small children. Hermione is startled by the resemblance in manner between her mother and Andromeda; the latter's resemblance to the House of Black seemed overshadowed now by her family likeness to brisk, sensible Ellizabeth Granger. They are organizers, both of them, and now they are talking about what could be done under wizarding or Muggle law and whether Kingsley Shacklebolt ought to be brought into it. The terms of Narcissa's probation might not permit her to exercise certain traditional prerogatives, but nonetheless the terms of her marriage contract might compel her… well, yes, Andromeda clarifies, that compulsion would be literal, as real as Imperius and as unforgivable, in the vernacular sense.
Draco eats breakfast, looking down at his plate as if the food on it bears him a personal grudge and he is only returning the sentiment. His shoulders hunch defensively, and once or twice Hermione sees him blink back tears.
Andromeda adds that Draco had done quite the right thing; sometimes it's the better part of valor to call in the reserves. Not everything can be handled in splendid isolation, and this would be such a case.
Hermione realizes those words are meant for Draco, for all he seems to be ignoring everyone at the table.
He looks up, and says quite distinctly that his mother has plans for him, and means to marry him to Ted Tonks' Muggle niece, because she is quite sure that the Grangers would refuse a marriage offer.
Hermione thinks that certainly would explain that odd, hateful look he'd been giving her. The conversation makes her feel as if she has been dropped into one of those Regency novels that her mother used to read on the sly.
Elizabeth Granger says calmly that there is a cultural misunderstanding; parents of their class haven't negotiated their children's marriages in the Muggle world for some generations now, and in any case there is no Granger fortune at issue.
William adds that it seems wizarding folk are in rather a hurry to marry off their children, which puzzles him because they have more decades to play with than non-magical folk. One should see the world, expand one's horizons, before settling down so decisively.
Hermione expects the usual Malfoy hissing and spitting at her father's remark; to her surprise, Draco sits up straight and only says that it isn't like that. He already knows what a Pureblood heir needs to know: his bloodline and his duties, except that … things have changed. Everything has changed.
For the briefest moment, she feels sorry for him, for he sounds like a small child who's quite lost.
William Granger shakes his head. "More things in heaven and earth," he says. For a man who could live to a hundred and twenty, Draco seems rather in a hurry.
Andromeda says that she concurs. In any case, Audrey Tonks isn't old enough, and her parents wouldn't be likely to approve of her marrying her first cousin. The Tonks family isn't royalty, to be constrained to close connections. Not to mention that the young people have never met.
Andromeda says, with finality, that the main thing is to settle Hypatia's affairs. After that, they could talk about the rest. The end of the war has meant a great many changes, for everyone. The old rules needn't hold any more. Those rules already have done enough damage in their time, and she sees little reason for that pain to persist into another generation.
Draco stands up, pale and furious. "Yes, everyone's Half-bloods nowadays. Everyone who counts. And we're all to go extinct, or be married off to Muggles…"
Andromeda gives him a quelling glance. "It's all very upsetting, I know, but your sister's safety is at stake." She adds, "You've borne up admirably, all things considered."
She nods to him, a dip of the chin that unambiguously says, Sit down and behave, and says, "No one here wishes you ill."
Hermione thinks that it is a good thing either that Madam Tonks is not a Legilimens, or that she is a reasonably accomplished liar.
Draco sits down, but says, "I don't want my sister to be a Tonks."
Andromeda replies, with surpassing blandness, that the law affords a number of solutions, all of which could be considered after breakfast and a dip in the sea. Speaking of which…
She flicks her wand to reel Teddy back in from his headlong dash to the glittering blue.
ooo
The morning is still young when they finish breakfast. Andromeda excuses herself to get some more suitable clothes, and winks out of sight. Hermione can't help noticing that her Apparition form is superb, her departure all but noiseless. The Purebloods can't be faulted for lack of style.
She returns with Teddy's beach things, and a little ruffled bathing-costume for Hypatia.
ooo
It is still early, and they have the beach to themselves, which Hermione reckons a good thing, especially when Draco stops on the gently sloped sand to take off his over-robe, and then his under-robe, and pointedly refuses the offer of swimming trunks, because what is the point of undressing to swim and then dressing again?
She averts her eyes as he shrugs off the last layer, the long white shirt, and folds it neatly, placing his wand on the careful stack of clothes. (Yes, he really is medieval down to the underthings.) She wonders, though, at the way that he keeps glancing over his shoulder at her as he disrobes.
She and Neville splash about in the shallows with Teddy and Hypatia, as Draco swims out further into the deep water, with smooth, sure strokes.
Neville leans over and kisses her, over the heads of the children, and says that she has little of which to be jealous. Teddy sees the embrace, and demands that they kiss him, too.
Hypatia shrieks in delight, and slaps the surface of the water. Teddy kicks at the softly lapping waves, and laughs. Off from shore, Draco floats on his back, face up to the delicate blue sky, looking improbably angelic.
ooo
Author's note: Apologies to my readers for the delay in posting; a rather too strenuous work schedule, computer problems, and a back injury have made it rather challenging to do much writing lately.