January 29, 2004
All throughout breakfast, Hermione had been casting longing glances towards the back garden, blanketed in fluffy white. A blizzard had hit London yesterday evening, wreaking havoc with the rush hour traffic but leaving snowy serenity in its wake. With UCL closed due to the snowstorm and Malcolm off work, Hermione wanted to go out and play.
When she finished her tea and looked expectantly at Draco, he already had a half-resigned, half-amused look on his face.
"Let's go for a walk," she suggested. "The snow is so beautiful!"
"It's also cold and turns to wet," he pointed out. "Why don't we build a fire and admire it from inside the house?"
"Because you can't build a snowman or throw snowballs or make snow angels from inside the house!" she exclaimed. Like Katie had said, she had found the difference between the first and second trimester to be like flipping a switch. Her headaches and nausea had disappeared, and she felt positively bursting with energy.
"You say it like that's a bad thing," he drawled.
"You're a spoilsport," Hermione pouted. "Come on - it will be fun!"
He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but an amused quirk to his lips was a sure tell to Hermione that he would be indulging her desire to frolic in the snow.
"Alright, Granger," he sighed dramatically. "But you owe me. And I will be collecting later, in one or more positions of my choice, on that rug in front of the fireplace."
(x) (x) (x)
Ronald Weasley looked at his full English breakfast with a marked lack of enthusiasm. The eggs were cooked to rubber, the bacon was limp, and the grilled bread was too dark on one side and too light on the other. The tomatoes at least seemed all right, and the pudding had come from the Burrow, so Ron knew it was good.
With a long-suffering sigh, he picked up his fork and began to eat. "Honestly, Lav," he mumbled around a mouthful of food, "how hard is it to learn a few decent cooking charms?"
Lavender whirled around from the stovetop, spatula raised. "If you don't like it, cook it yourself, Ronald Bilius Weasley!"
"Oh, bugger," he groaned at her display of temper. "Is it that time of the month again?" Greyback's mauling at the Battle of Hogwarts hadn't turned Lavender into a werewolf, but, like his oldest brother Bill, she now had some wolfish tendencies. One of those was to become irritable - honestly, a right bitch - at the full moon and during her period, which sadly for him did not coincide.
Rather than answering his question, she slammed a pot into the sink, which he took as a yes. Ron resolved to steer clear of her for the next couple of days.
He swallowed down his resentment along with a hearty bite of bacon and bread. This wasn't how his life was supposed to turn out. He and Harry should have been working together as Aurors, capturing Dark wizards like those bastards Malfoy and Flint. And Ron should have been coming home every night to Hermione and a sparkling clean house and a gourmet meal, because she was brilliant at household charms even if she found them dull. By now, he and Hermione probably would have had little Hugo and little Rose, maybe with a third on the way.
But instead, Harry was dead and Hermione was exiled and had forgotten all about him. Without the help of his two best friends, Ron had washed out of Auror training and now worked for George as a glorified shop assistant. And rather than coming home to the brightest witch of their age and a couple of curly-headed ginger sprogs, he had slovenly Lavender and no kids because they just couldn't afford them. There were days when he wished he had followed Hermione into the Muggle world, instead of being so quick to leave her and take up with Lavender after Kingsley had agreed to the repatriation of Muggleborns.
He inhaled another few mouthfuls - he was due at the shop in a bit - and spoke an indistinct "Point Me," while chewing. Instead of spinning aimlessly, as it had done the last few times he tried, his wand pointed due east, towards London and Hermione.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed in triumph. It had been proving bloody difficult to track Hermione down, even with magic. He had hung about the little park opposite her flat for days, braving the frigid January weather, before discovering that she was now spending nearly all her time at her boyfriend's place.
Ron knew he had looked like a nutter, walking through Muggle London muttering spells under his breath, but he'd finally found the townhouse where the bloke lived, not that it did him much good. The wards were even more impressive than the ones on Hermione's old flat, and the neighborhood was so posh that every time he tried to loiter outside, a Muggle pleeseman would appear and tell him to move along.
Still, Ron was a dab hand when it came to strategy, and he had fully expected Hermione to be drawn outside by the thick snow on the ground. He grinned, reminiscently, about all of the times she'd actually left the library and pulled him and Harry outside at Hogwarts to play in fresh snow. Mental, she was about snow, but in a good way.
"Hey, Lav, I'm off to check on Hermione," he announced, pushing back from the table.
"Give me just a minute, and I'll come with," Lavender offered, untying her apron.
"No, I don't want you to come," Ron said bluntly. He was looking forward to a nice chat with Hermione, a pleasant change from Lavender's incessant giggling and gossip.
He shrugged on his coat and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the hearth. While Hermione had been able to Apparate herself around the whole of the British Isles like it was just a hop, a skip, and a jump, Ron knew there was a good chance he would splinch himself if he tried to Apparate all the way from Devon to London. "Diagon Alley," he called.
He stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. Before he could get his bearings, he was rudely pushed forward by his wife exiting the same fireplace.
"Merlin's saggy left ballock, Lavender! Why did you follow me?" Ron yelled.
"Because I don't trust you alone with Hermione," she cried.
"Shut your gob, Lav!" he snapped. The Order's monitoring of exiled Muggleborns was supposed to be covert, after all.
Ron, with a complaining Lavender in his wake, exited the pub onto Charing Cross Road. From there, his long legs and a series of locator spells made quick work of the short distance to Hyde Park, even with his wife bickering alongside and slowing him down.
At the park, he recognized Hermione from a distance, both by her distinctive curly hair and fuzzy pink hat, which she had owned since her Hogwarts days. She was walking next to a tall man who Ron automatically dismissed as some Muggle toff, until a gleam of winter sunlight caught the distinctive white-blond of his hair.
"Is that Malfoy?" he asked, aghast.
Lavender squinted ahead. "Oh, Merlin! I think it is," she said, sounding shocked.
As though aware of their scrutiny, the man looked in their direction and scowled. Even from a distance, Ron recognized the pointy features and unmistakable smirk as Malfoy raised his wand to the back of Hermione's neck.
"Bloody buggering hell!" Ron swore, racing forward with his wand raised. "Get away from her, you sodding Ferret!"
(x) (x) (x)
As they walked the snowy streets towards the park, Hermione's reddened cheeks, ridiculous wooly cap, and unbridled enthusiasm forcibly reminded Draco of the girl he had attended Hogwarts with for six years. Of course, that girl never would have extended an invitation to him to play in the snow.
London was beautiful like this, and it was early enough to be almost peaceful in the middle of the metropolis. His earlier complaints and grumbling largely had been for show. He suspected Hermione knew he would have agreed to go even without first extracting a promise of sexual favors, but that was part of the fun of dating a Gryffindor - they could be taken advantage of in negotiations. She even had sweetened the deal further - unnecessarily so - by offering to make him some sort of gooey Muggle marshmallow, graham cracker and chocolate treat over the fire if they could find a store that was open and sold the necessary ingredients.
"Hey, Malcolm, look over here," she called, with a telling note of mischief in her voice.
He spun around and dodged her snowball easily, advancing on her with a grin.
"Granger," he chided. "Have I taught you nothing? You should always attack from behind and without warning."
Draco caught her arm easily as she tried to run away. Hermione, laughing, slapped a handful of snow into the middle of his chest and he raised an eyebrow. "Don't think that because you're a girl, or even my girl, that you'll get a pass for that," he mock-threatened. "We'll keep walking for now, but when you least expect it, I'll have my revenge."
"All talk, no action," she taunted between giggles, grabbing his hand.
"Just you wait, princess," he promised with a dark smile.
Up ahead, he saw another couple walking. His eyes narrowed at the gangly redhead and straggly-haired blonde, staring at him and Granger with matching, horrified expressions. Draco swore under his breath, all playfulness gone.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.
Thinking quickly, he scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it into the back of her neck, making her squeal. While she was distracted, he Confounded her, the tip of his wand pressed delicately into her cold-numbed skin.
"It's your ginger wanker of an ex-boyfriend with some slag," he answered, truthfully enough, though Granger now would be confused into thinking it was the Muggle he had driven off rather than the Weasel King.
She looked over in their direction and her eyes narrowed. "He'd better not cause any trouble," she said angrily.
"Too late," Draco muttered pessimistically as Weasley pulled his wand and began running towards them, screaming like a maniac.
He shoved Hermione behind him and took careful aim at the ginger's wand arm. His Confundus charm was good, but it wouldn't explain away a full-blown wizarding duel. He needed to end this quickly and keep Hermione and their baby out of the way of any spell fire.
Draco's precise Expelliarmus sent the other wizard's wand flying into the snow, but his Stupefy went wild as the Weasel tackled him and began punching, Muggle-style. He had just a moment to internally sneer at the ginger's barbaric techniques before a fist crunched into his nose, and then they were fighting in earnest, hitting and kicking as they rolled around in the increasingly bloody snow.
(x) (x) (x)
"Make him stop!" Hermione yelled at the other woman. Andy had seemingly gone mad, racing up to Malcolm with a stick in his hand and attacking without provocation. "Get off him, you stupid oaf! He hasn't done anything to you!" she screamed at Andy, but he ignored her.
"I can't believe you're defending him!" the blonde told her, wide-eyed.
"Why wouldn't I defend him, you stupid bint? He's my boyfriend!" Normally, Hermione would never speak so harshly, but something about the woman made her resentful and angry. The blonde looked familiar and Hermione assumed she was the woman Andy had been cheating with on graduation day.
"Your boyfriend?" the blonde screeched with laughter. "You're just his whore. He's using you!"
"You're one to talk about whoring around!" Hermione scoffed. "With your past and how you were shagging my then-boyfriend like a bitch in heat before we ever broke up!"
"How did you know?" the blonde gasped.
"You two weren't exactly subtle," Hermione sneered. "And unlike you, I don't keep my brains between my legs."
"You always did love to show off how smart you are, Hermione! Brightest witch of our age, but still you're too stupid to realize you're nothing but Mal Foy's whore!"
Briefly, Hermione puzzled over the description of her as a witch rather than a bitch, but passed over that in her rage that the other woman had once again called her a whore. She struck back hard, seeking to hurt with words.
"Your boyfriend knows I'm not a whore. He'd still be with me if he could. You're nothing but a cheap substitute!"
"Bitch!" screamed the blonde, now nearly frothing with rage. Hermione thought the woman might slap or shove her, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out a stick.
"What are you going to do with that?" Hermione laughed at the absurd sight of a grown woman brandishing a twig as though it were a weapon. "Poke my eye out?"
She stopped laughing when a jet of red streaked from the wand. Lavender Brown is trying to hex me! Acting on pure instinct and muscle memory, Hermione dove to the left and rolled. The red light missed, but now she was prone on the ground with nothing in her hands to defend herself or counterattack.
Lavender stood over her with a feral grin, her canine teeth prominent. "I may be just a substitute, but I'll make sure he wants me instead of you," she crooned, raising her wand.
Hermione raised a hand in a futile gesture to ward her off, and dredged deep down in her mind for some way to protect herself from this madwoman.
Nothing. She could remember nothing.
(x) (x) (x)
As he and Weasley rolled around in the snow, each desperately trying to gain an advantage, Draco dimly was aware of Hermione and the Brown bint screaming at each other like banshees. He was too occupied in fighting off the Weasel to pay much heed, until he felt a sharp pain in his wrist that had nothing to do with the other wizard's bruising fingers immobilizing his wand hand.
Draco whipped his head around, in time to see Lavender's first spell miss by mere centimeters.
"Fuck, Weasel! Your wife is attacking Hermione! With magic!"
He gave up the fight, frantically focusing on freeing his left hand. He still had his wand, but the Weasel's grip on his wrist kept him from firing off any spells.
"Huh?" the ginger grunted.
"Your wife!" The raw panic in his words got through to the other wizard, but too late.
"Lavender, no!" her husband's shout was ignored. Gold light shot from her wand, impossible to miss at point-blank range.
With wide grey eyes, Draco saw Hermione helpless on the ground, one hand cradled over her belly and the other raised in surrender.
Or not. A clear blue light exploded from her hand, covering her entire body and knocking Lavender off her feet. The gold light hit the shield and ricocheted off, hitting a tree with a dull thud.
The clear blue light dissipated, leaving two women lying motionless in the snow.