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Chapter 25: 16, April, 1813 –
Draco woke up suddenly, not aware if it was morning or night. As if sensing his confusion, the clock on the mantel chimed five times. He stood from his chair and grasped her hand in his. He placed his face close to hers and said, "It's been three days, my darling wife. It is time you wake up. You must live so that you can gloat over the fact that you have taught me to love again. Remember when I told you that you would never teach me a thing? I was so wrong." He kept her hand in his, and kissed her forehead.
The Healer said if she had not woken up by the third day, she might never wake. It had been exactly three days, and still, she slept. Hence, his vigil by her side. He would not leave her, ever again.
He looked down at her swollen belly. He was to be a father. Would he be a better father than his father had been? Would she even allow him to be a father to this child? If she survived this (he shuddered at the 'if'), would she come back to him, and let him prove his love once more. She always claimed that all she ever wanted was a family. That was what he wanted as well. His family was here, on this bed, his wife and child.
He placed a hand on her stomach. He leaned down and said, "I love you, both." He sighed and went back to his chair. There was a knock on the door. He did not say a word, but still the bedroom door opened.
"My Lord," Pyle said, "Your wife's stepmother and stepsister have asked to see her."
Draco looked at the man as if he was mad. In fact, he said, "Are you mad?"
Pyle smiled and said, "Quite sane. I already knew you would not want them here. I actually already told them to leave." The man started out of the room when Draco called him back. He turned back and said, "Yes, my Lord?"
"Why did you not accompany my wife and your daughter that day on the river? Please know, I do not stand to accuse you. I am only wondering. I am curious," Draco asked, rubbing his temple with his thumb.
Draco looked up to wait for the answer. Pyle said, "I am ashamed to say that I got information that looked credible, that was supposedly from you, my Lord. We were compromised; there are no two ways about it. Someone discovered that her ladyship was to travel my river that day. Someone pried me away with false information, and someone cursed the river to rock the small boat. It was no one in this household, because no one here knew."
"Who knew?"
"That is the problem, Sir," Pyle said, with a frown. "Only my daughter and I knew. I am trying to discover the culprit. I will prevail. I promise."
Draco waved the man away with his hand. "That is fine, Pyle. Let me rest. We will all do better to protect her, will we not?"
Pyle gave a quick nod, and started out of the bedroom, only to turn back. "Sir?"
Draco stood up and crossed back over to Hermione's bed. "Yes?"
"Do you not think it is odd that there was not one attempt on her life while she was gone? She comes back, and there is another attempt?" Pyle asked.
Draco looked up. "Curious, that."
"Yes," Pyle agreed. "Lord Potter thought so when I presented my theory to him. You see, Mr. Potter said he placed the Fidelius Charm on her cousin's house, when she went to live there, so no one knew she was there, if he did not tell them. The only ones who knew were you, Mr. Ron Weasley, myself, and my daughter, and of course, Lord Potter. Lord Potter said he never told another soul, even his wife."
"And your meaning?" Draco asked, leaning closer to the man.
"The minute she leaves the safety of that home, another accident befalls her. That is all I mean. I am only thinking aloud," Pyle said, sincerely.
"Well, think elsewhere," Draco said perturbed. "I want to be alone with my wife."
"Yes, Sir," the man said. He quietly left the room. Abby was outside in the hall.
"Do you think he told anyone where she was?" she asked.
"No, he did not reveal anything, and he did not tell anyone that she was coming that day. We can safely mark him off our list," her father told her.
"If you did not tell anyone, and I did not, and Draco did not, that leaves one person," Abby said. "Hermione must have innocently told someone."
"Yes, that is what I assume," he concurred, as they both walked away.
The next day, Hermione finally opened her eyes. It was only for the briefest moments, but she opened her eyes. He was ready to give her up for lost, when she opened her eyes, and turned her head slightly toward him. He knelt beside the bed, and placed his hand upon her arm.
"Hermione?" he asked.
She looked at him and then closed her eyes once again.
"Cruel fate, do not toy with me," he said in despair. He stood, and took the chair that had been his mainstay for four days and smashed it into upon the hearth of the fireplace. He stormed out of the room, determined not to return to her, until she returned to him.
He sat on the stairs, and remembered that day, during the war, when she called him a coward. Would she call him a coward now? He was a coward. He could not even bring himself to stay in the same room with her, and wait for her to open her eyes again.
Yes, he was a coward.
She called him a coward again that night at the assembly, and again, the night she left him. Was he a coward? Was he every bad thing that she thought he was? He wanted to be a good man, for her. She had made him a better man. She had made him want to be kind and generous, and giving of himself. She made him want to give up selfishness. She made him want to live for someone besides himself. If she would never forgive him, he would have to go back to the way he was, and he was not sure he could do that.
Hermione lifted her head. She was thirsty. She saw no one in the room with her. She was not completely certain where she was. This was not home. Where was her father? Where were her friends? Then, she remembered everything…her father, her friends, and where she was, and hot tears burned behind her eyes. She tried to raise her head, but it felt as if it was made of granite, and there was an awful pounding behind her eyes. She closed them once more. Before she closed them, she felt something brush against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, saw her husband's face, saw him lower his hand from her cheek, and then she closed her eyes again.
It was all too much to take. She feigned sleep so she would not have to speak to him, though she had so much to say. By now, he must know of her condition. Did he hate her for keeping it from him for so long? Did he still love her? Did he want her back? Why did she care? She did not want to come back here, anyway, did she? She felt a tear slip from her eye. If he discovered it, he would know she was not asleep. He reached over and touched his index finger to her face, to capture the tear.
He leaned over her, and said, "It is alright, my love. Everything is fine now. You sleep. We have the rest of our lives to talk."
She did not have time to process his words, because she felt overwhelmingly tired, and she really fell asleep.
He spent every waking moment in this guestroom with her. He slept either on a pallet on the floor, beside her on the bed, or on a chair. He took all his meals here. Each day bled into the next. If she did not wake up fully, and talk to him soon, he would go mad with worry. Another night passed, and it was morning again. He looked out the window, but instead of seeing the blue sky, or the green earth, he only saw his own reflection. She woke up sometime during the night, but she did not speak, nor would she look at him. He had no clue as to what she remembered. If she did remember, he had no idea if she would ever forgive him.
Before her accident, she told him that she would never forgive him for his betrayal. He did not know if she meant his recent betrayal or the fact that she still thought he had revealed her identity to his aunt and to the Dark Lord during the war. However, one betrayal was real, and the other was not. He swore up and down that he was not the traitor that she thought he was. Though he had told her so, years ago, she did not believe it then, and apparently, she did not believe that now. That was his greatest regret, along with the fact that she told him that she did not love him.
His recent betrayal was true. He had lied to her, but did it matter? He turned to look at her. The lies were inconsequential now. The lies were small, and they were only to get her to marry him. He never married her to get his fortune back. He never married her for her money. He married her because he loved her and nothing else mattered.
Nothing else in the world mattered. Even if she did not believe him, even if she called him traitor and coward every day of their lives, one fact remained evident. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.
He stood by her window and turned quickly when he heard her stir. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. Let her be the first to look away. He continued to stare at her, until finally, she closed her eyes.
And she called him the coward.
Another day and another night, and still she feigned sleep, though he knew she had moments when she was awake. She had been awake for days now. He knew that she could hear him. Even if she did not want his company, she would have to abide him. The Healer came earlier and told him that the danger had passed. Her maid helped her to bathe, and changed her linens and gown. Her friends came to see her, but she slept during their visit.
She was not sleeping now, so now it was his time to visit. He sat on her bed, in an all too familiar way, but they were married, so she would have to tolerate that as well. He stroked her arm, and she turned her eyes to his. Apparently, she was no longer pretending to be sleeping. Good, he was glad. He needed to speak with her. He would start with something mundane, and then move to the matter at hand.
"I remember that day in the forest, during the war," he started. He was no longer looking at her. He was looking at the opposite wall, but he knew that her gaze was upon him, because it was boring a hole into his soul. "I found you, alone, because Potter and Weasley had left you to look for one of the Horcruxes. I did not expect to come upon you, but I did. You were shocked to see me as well." He finally looked down at her and said, "Do you remember?"
Finally, after days of quiet agony, days in which he wished for her to open her eyes and speak to him, she did. She said in a voice that was so soft it came out as a whisper, "I do not wish to remember anything regarding you."
He placed one hand to the left side of her head, and rested it on her pillow. He leaned down closely to her face and whispered back, "And I do not wish to remember how much you have come to hate me, but I think it is time we both remember a few things, and at the moment, you are not at liberty to leave, so you shall hear me out."
"I do not wish to hear any platitudes from you, Lord Malfoy," she said.
His face was dangerously close to hers and he said, "Call me husband."
"Lord Malfoy," she repeated.
His hand grabbed hers, as it rested on the outside of the covers, and he brought it to his lips. Before he placed a kiss there, he said, "Husband." He kissed her fingertips.
"Lord Malfoy," she said again, defiantly.
He smiled, ignored her again, and said, "And I shall intimately call you wife. My wife. You are my wife now, Hermione, and as much as you might wish it to be otherwise, I am your husband. I did not force you to marry me you know, Wife."
She shook her head slightly and said, "Please leave me."
"Hermione, I will tell you what I have wanted to tell you for so long, and then if you still wish for me to leave you alone, I shall." He was weary of fighting her. She kept her face toward the opened window. The sun streaked with shadows across her features. He sat next to her hip, and sheathed her one hand in both of his. "That day, during the war, when I found you in the forest, all alone, I was shocked. You were harmlessly gathering firewood. You were not even aware of the dangers nearby. There was a group of snatchers only a short distance away, and a group of Death Eaters was with them. I was with the latter. I was sent to scan the woods. I could hardly believe I found you so easily. I watched you for close to an hour. When I did not see either Weasley or Potter, I knew you were alone. I could not see your encampment, so I figured it was concealed, but you stayed out in the open. You gathered more wood, and then you went to a small stream for water."
She looked out the opened window and said, "And that was when you revealed yourself to me, and my entire life changed. However, this is not something we need to speak of, Lord Malfoy. Do you really think that I wish to open old wounds, when there are so many fresh ones in which we could explore? Please, leave me. I do not want to speak of old or new wounds. I am so tired." She turned her head toward the windows and closed her eyes.
"Tell me your news," he said sternly. She turned to look at him. "Well, if we cannot go down memory lane, and speak of my sins during the war, and you do not wish to speak of new transgressions, of which you've reminded me there are plenty, then at least tell me the news you came to tell me."
She looked on the verge of tears, and he felt slight remorse for causing her pain. He placed a hand on her stomach. He looked at his hand, her stomach, and then back at her eyes and said, "Well?"
"You have already guessed. You are not that dimwitted," she said.
That almost made him laugh. He said, "I am going to be a father, is that right?"
"I am having a child," she said.
"We are having a child," he corrected. "We. Husband and Wife. Remember that, Hermione." He stood up, his hand still on her stomach. "Remember that. Also, you have to know that this changes everything. You shall never take my child from me." He did not say it as a threat, but as an oath, or a solemn vow. She knew he was sincere in his sentiments, though she did not want to argue with him at that moment.
However, she was always defiant, so she said, "I will not argue the point with you, but my child will go wherever I go, Lord Malfoy."
"Then I am glad that you are home, Wife," he said. He sat back on the bed and said, "What other subjects might we mention, wife? The weather? The latest fashions? The latest gossip?" He looked at her and said, "You know, I think I want to examine those wounds that you said were still open. Open wounds tend to fester, do they not?"
He continued to talk to her, not with her, since she did not participate. He reminisced about the first time they had met in the forest, during the war. He spoke of the other times they met, always in secret. When he got to the part of the story where Hermione and her friends were discovered, and captured by the snatchers and the werewolf Fenrir, she finally spoke.
"Please, enough. You tell me a story of which I am painfully, painfully aware. I know the rest. We were captured, taken to the Manor, your father and aunt asked you for our identities, and at the time you said that you were not sure who we were."
He stood up, rushed to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Dear God, Hermione! Not at one time, not at one second, did I ever reveal who you were! My father had met you before, you know! He finally recognized you! I have told you that so many times, and I am so tired of saying it again, and again, and again!"
"Unhand me, you are hurting me," she said, tears forming in her eyes.
He had to remind himself that just a week ago she was close to death. She was still unwell. He let her go, and as she sunk back into the bedding, he leaned down, placed his face in the crook of her neck and said, "Why will you not believe me?"
"Oh, Draco, I do. I do. You know that I no longer think that of you. I told you that long ago, but that does not mean I want to speak of such painful things. Please, I am so very tired." She could hardly make out the words, from the tears that were coming down her cheeks. He should leave her be, and let her rest, but she was talking to him again, so he could not leave her, not yet.
She claimed that she believed him. She claimed that she no longer believed that he betrayed her during the war. Why was she still so resistant to him, if that was the truth? "If you believe me, then why do you act as if you still hate me?"
"Because you lied, about many things, things that happened during and after our marriage, and when we married, you promised me that you would never lie to me again."
"I have not lied, my wife!" he proclaimed. "I have kept some things secret, but I have not lied!" Hermione tried to sit up, but Draco pushed her back down. "Do not try to move. You are still weak."
"I do not want to talk of the past. It serves no purpose," she said, still struggling to sit, although it was futile. "And Draco, secrets and lies go hand in hand. You can try to convince yourself otherwise, but you shall not convince me."
He sighed, pushed on her shoulder and said, "I shall not upset you anymore tonight. I have done that enough in our lives. I will not press you for explanations. Nonetheless, I wish to remind you that I have never lied to you since we have been married. I know things were said that night you left me eight months ago, but those things were the lies. Not the things I said, but the things that girl Marie said, they were the lies. I love you, Hermione. I do, and I have loved you since the war. What can I do to convince you of that, and to make you see that you love me back?"
She began to cry. He hated upsetting her. He said, "If you do not wish to recall how we fell in love during the war, that is fine."
"I did not fall in love with you during the war!" she denied.
"You may not love me now, but I know that you did at one time," he alleged. "I am not a stupid man."
She turned her head back toward the wall. "That is debatable."
He laughed and said, "I am so pleased you are feeling better and are up to exchanging cutting remarks again, my love, my wife."
She turned back toward him. He stood to go and when he reached the doorway, he turned back and said, "Rest now. We have all the time in the world to talk. Perhaps tomorrow you might like to get out of bed."
He walked out of the room and once in the hallway he heard her say, "I did not fall in love with you during the war. I did not." He leaned against the door, and hung his head. He did not know how much more of her denial he could abide. If it was not denial, but the truth, than he had never been a bigger fool. He was about to walk away when she said, "I started to fall in love with you during the war, and I might have, but I fell in love with you the night you stole my book. However, that was all a lie. I have been such a fool."
He sprang back into the room, surprising her, and he said, "No, you are not a fool." How did she know that he was the highwayman?
"Yes, I was a fool, because that was not the real you," she argued.
"Hermione, what do you know? Tell me?" he urged.
It was too late. She turned her head, closed her eyes, and let slumber overtake her. That was fine. He would wait until tomorrow for explanations.