A/N: While this story does have some lighter chapters with no need for trigger warnings, this chapter is not one of them. It contains a wide variety of potential triggers, including harm to others, self-harm, mental illness, and past events that can contribute to mental illness.
April 1, 2004 - afternoon & evening
Outside a spanking new recreation center in Falmouth, Kingsley Shacklebolt held a ribbon taut and Narcissa Malfoy used her wand to cut it with a sharp diffindo, both of them offering toothy smiles for the flashing cameras.
Narcissa then looked on with every appearance of attentiveness as Kingsley gave a brief speech about the importance of offering wizarding youth from all backgrounds a safe place to play and practice their magic. Underscoring his point, he hugged a little half-blood boy while Narcissa applauded politely. When the Minister thanked the Malfoy and Greengrass families for their generous support, she said a few words in gracious acknowledgment. Nothing betrayed her anger or disquiet that her trollop of a daughter-in-law had failed to show for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
But of course the Minister of Magic noticed. "And how is dear Astoria? I was hoping to see her here today," he said in a jovial voice at the reception following the ribbon-cutting.
Narcissa smiled up at him. Really, did nothing get by that man? She decided to turn Astoria's absence to her family's advantage; there was no time like the present to lay the groundwork for the arrival of the newest Malfoy.
"I'm afraid Astoria is indisposed and won't be up for her usual charity work for the next several months," she said sweetly, "but it's for the happiest of reasons."
"Oh, is she expecting?" Shacklebolt asked, an enthused light in his eyes. "How marvelous! When is the little one due?"
"The end of the summer," replied Narcissa, deliberately vague.
Kingsley's social smile widened into a shark's grin. "Astoria must not have known she was pregnant when I saw her at the Ministry's New Year's Eve ball. She was a bit inebriated that night. Or perhaps that when she conceived?"
"Oh, no," Narcissa made a quick denial, not wanting Shacklebolt to even entertain the idea that Zacharias Smith might be the father. Astoria had been caught by the staff photographer for Witch Weekly emerging from a broom closet with Smith at the ball, ringing in 2004 with a spot of infidelity. "It was early days, and she just didn't realize."
"Of course," Shacklebolt nodded. "I understand perfectly."
Narcissa was all too worried he did have a perfect understanding that she was lying through her teeth, and decided to go on the offensive. "So, Minister, when will you be setting up your own nursery?" she asked archly.
"I'm afraid you'll never see me setting up my own nursery, Narcissa," Kingsley said with good humor. "I should hate to subject a woman I cared even a whit for to the pressures of being a politician's wife. And young children? To my mind, that sort of public exposure borders on child abuse."
Briefly, Narcissa debated whether to take offense at what could be interpreted as a shot at Draco's upbringing. She decided there were better ways to needle Shacklebolt.
"My dear Kingsley," she smiled radiantly, "we witches are much more resilient than you seem to give us credit for. And any capable witch could be trusted to shield your children from the prying public. It would be short-sighted for the Shacklebolt line to die out due to your concerns, and I know you've always been one to play a long game."
"Ah, Narcissa, how you flatter me," Shacklebolt deflected smoothly.
She laid a hand on his arm, a preliminary move to guiding him in the direction she wished. "I should like you to meet my dear friend Alecto. Impeccable pureblood lineage and, despite what the Daily Prophet would have one believe, she adores children."
"I've met Madam Carrow before," Kingsley protested, gamely repressing a shudder.
"Ah, but I doubt you truly know her," Narcissa persisted, congratulating herself on the ashy hue the Minister's skin had acquired at the prospect of entanglement with the sole surviving female Death Eater. "Come along, Kingsley," she urged with a tinkling laugh. "Don't be shy!"
A zebra Patronus ran into the room and skidded to a stop before them, offering Shacklebolt a reprieve from her machinations. "Sir, you are needed at the Ministry," the animal whinnied in Dean Thomas' voice. "Astoria Malfoy just attacked Hannah Longbottom!"
(x) (x) (x)
Astoria eyed the dark-skinned Auror with calculation when he arrived outside her holding cell at the Ministry. "It's Dean, isn't it?" she asked. He was a good-looking specimen, but purely for recreation rather than procreation. His complexion was just too different from her husband's.
"Auror Thomas," he introduced himself stiffly. "I'm here to escort you to one of the interrogation rooms. Your solicitor will meet you there."
She pouted slightly as he led her down the hall. "You didn't have to arrest me, Deanie. I didn't do anything to hurt Hannah." All that Astoria had done was cast a simple spell to verify the Longbottom wench indeed was carrying a girl. Once the light from her wand flashed pink, there was no point in hexing the hapless Hufflepuff. She wasn't the one Draco had impregnated, since everyone knew Malfoys always produced boys. Besides, Draco wouldn't be strutting around like a self-satisfied gamecock unless he had a male heir planted in some witch's belly.
"Hannah's been admitted to St. Mungo's for observation and a sprained ankle," Dean said sternly, steering her around a corner.
"It's not my fault she's a clumsy cow and tripped," Astoria shrugged.
"And just what would you have done if she was carrying a boy?" the Auror asked shrewdly.
"I'm not answering any questions without my solicitor present," she glared at him.
"We're here," Dean announced, opening the door to a small conference room.
Astoria stepped into the room and frowned at the sight of her mother-in-law. "What is she doing here?" she asked Theo Nott, who Draco had seemingly selected as her solicitor.
"Madam Malfoy was with me at the Falmouth Youth Centre when I was alerted to the disturbance at the Leaky Cauldron." Astoria was slightly taken aback as the Minister of Magic stepped forward from a darkened corner. "Narcissa asked if she could accompany me, since it was a family matter, and of course I said yes," Shacklebolt concluded.
Astoria narrowed her eyes. Of course he said yes to her odious mother-in-law - powerful men always did, and she didn't even have to get down on her knees to obtain their assent.
"Astoria, an assault on a pregnant witch is a matter that the Auror Department takes very seriously," Shacklebolt said in a grave tone.
"I didn't harm Hannah at all, sir," Astoria simpered. "I was simply curious if she was having a boy or a girl."
"You couldn't just have asked her?" Dean Thomas asked with a sardonic lift of his brows. "And as your solicitor will tell you, any use of an unwanted spell on another witch or wizard may be charged as assault."
Theo nodded in silent confirmation.
"It's not just Hannah Longbottom, either," Auror Thomas reported to the Minister. "I interviewed Daphne Greengrass Nott earlier and she told me Astoria has been hitting other witches with spells to check whether or not they are pregnant."
"I spoke to dear Daphne earlier and she told me the same," Narcissa chimed in. "Needless to say, Astoria's actions were despite her sister's best efforts to dissuade her."
Astoria bit her lip to keep from screaming in frustration at being outmaneuvered by her older sister. But that was the way it always had been in the Greengrass household. Daphne was the clever one, the one who had been tutored in politics and manipulation because she would one day take over the family estates and Wizengamot seat. Astoria was the most useless sort of a spare - a female who would need to be married off, with her dowry a drain on the family coffers. All that she had ever been taught were Glamour charms, by her mother, and how to suck cock and spread her legs without complaint, by her father.
The tables had turned more than five years ago when Astoria managed to fall pregnant after seducing the Malfoy heir. Her marriage to Draco had made her nearly as important as Daphne, even more so after her older sister's divorce. All that Astoria had to do to secure her position was to produce a living male heir, but that seemed to be beyond her body's capabilities.
Shacklebolt's deep voice pulled her out of her self-pitying reverie. "These are very serous accusations, Madam Malfoy. You could be looking at some time in Azkaban."
Narcissa gasped theatrically. "Surely, Minister, you would not subject a witch in Astoria's delicate condition to the rigors of prison."
"Special arrangements would have to be made, assuming a Medi-witch confirmed her delicate condition." Shacklebolt agreed with subtle skepticism.
"True," Narcissa agreed. "I had taken Astoria at her word regarding her latest pregnancy, but perhaps I should not have done so. It's not uncommon for women who desperately want a child to fake pregnancy symptoms and even fool themselves into believing they are pregnant."
Astoria dug her long fingernails, painted a lovely fuchsia for spring, into her palms. She would not give her mother-in-law the pleasure of any other reaction. But it was clear Narcissa had turned on her.
"We shouldn't overlook the younger Madam Malfoy's mental health, which clearly is delicate," Theo said seriously. "She needs a professional evaluation to determine whether her actions are due to some sort of pathological imbalance."
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Astoria hissed. She wasn't mental, just rightfully upset at the prospect of Draco discarding her because she couldn't give him a baby. "You must be sick in the head, to marry your father's discarded fuck toy."
"Don't be crude, Astoria," Narcissa reprimanded, her blue eyes cold. "And do bear in mind that a wise woman will not fling insults at others that could be redirected onto herself."
Her mother-in-law turned to the two Aurors. "Theo raises an excellent point. Commitment to St. Mungo's for evaluation and treatment seems to be a more appropriate and compassionate response than Azkaban."
"I don't know, Narcissa," Kingsley shook his head. "Augusta is out for blood."
"But surely, Kingsley, she would not wish to subject her daughter-in-law to the rigor of testifying at a criminal trial," Narcissa cajoled. "I should be happy to speak with Madam Longbottom, but I expect she appreciates more than anyone that indefinite confinement to the Janus Thickey ward can be a punishment worse than death."
Horrified, Astoria began to protest. "No, don't make me go there! I'd rather go to Azkaban, please!" At least the prison had male guards who surely would be willing to grant a pretty witch preferential treatment in exchange for sexual favors.
Narcissa patted her with a consoling hand. "Don't fret, darling. It won't be forever. Just until you've gotten better."
(x) (x) (x)
Draco accepted two foaming mugs from the surly barkeep at the Black Cat. He had planned to meet Theo after work at the Leaky Cauldron, but his bitch of a wife had closed the place down by attacking Hannah Longbottom.
As his solicitor, Theo had promptly informed him earlier in the afternoon that Astoria was in custody at the Ministry for attempted assault. Draco had decided he couldn't be bothered to rearrange his schedule in order to bail his wife out and had requested that Theo deal with it.
Theo claimed a booth, and Draco passed one of the mugs to him, since he looked as though he needed it. "Thank you," Draco said sincerely. "I hope Astoria wasn't too troublesome."
"Not at all," Theo reassured him. "Your mother was there and had her well in hand. Astoria will be spending at least the next few days at St. Mungo's under observation."
"Good." He hoped that those days would stretch into weeks, keeping her safely out of the way until he could divorce her. He would stop by the Manor on the way home to thank his mother in person.
"How's Cho?" Draco asked, making a guess as to the source of Theo's misery.
"She was doing well until she saw my father at St. Mungo's this morning," his friend muttered into his ale.
"Buggering hell," Draco said. He might not like Cho, but he wouldn't wish that on anyone. "How did she react?"
"Not well, but better than I hoped. She doesn't have any conscious memories of . . . . " Theo trailed off, clearly not wanting to put it into words.
"It's probably better for her that way," Draco counseled.
Theo just shook his head, unconvinced. "So my bastard of a father, in addition to wanting to check in and make sure all is well with the baby, has made arrangements to put pressure on Umbridge by generating some sympathetic press coverage."
"It's not a half-bad idea, if you can keep the Skeeter bitch on a leash," Draco opined. "And a muzzle, to be safe, unless she's biting someone at your command."
"That's a tall order," Theo grimaced. "Is Hermione well?" he asked courteously.
"Wonderful," Draco grinned, unconcerned if Theo thought him a besotted fool.
Even with the Vow, he had never anticipated feelings this intense for Granger. Lust was a given, and that had yet to be slaked despite having enjoyed her body repeatedly, in a variety of ways and positions. Concern for her, too, was not unexpected, particularly now that she was carrying his heir. Draco was grateful every day that Hermione was having a relatively easy pregnancy. But deep affection had come as a surprise, along with the pride he felt in her.
"She's gotten acceptance packets from both Oxford and Cambridge," he related. "Granger being Granger, she's fretting and making lists to help her decide where to go, but it's a nice dilemma for her to have."
"Do you care?" asked Theo.
"Not particularly," the blond answered. "I can Apparate easily enough to work or the Manor from either. Once Hermione picks her school, we'll get a flat or maybe a house. I like the idea of the sprog having a garden to play in."
Theo blinked. "You know your mother thinks the baby will be raised at the Manor."
"Yes, well, that's an awkward conversation I'm postponing until after the baby is born," Draco admitted.
"I don't blame you," Theo smirked. "Narcissa is a formidable woman. Now, speaking of formidable woman, I've looked into whether you break any laws by teaching Hermione magic."
"Yes?" Draco leaned forward, eagerly. This was important to him, for a variety of reasons.
"As I understand it, you want her to know magic exists, but not that there is a separate wizarding world. Correct?" Theo asked.
"Correct," Draco verified. Naming rights to their son were at stake, after all. And it would be convenient for him to not have to hide his magic from her. But there was something even more important. "I also want her to be able to do magic, at least enough to defend herself."
He had been terrified to see Hermione down on the ground in the snow, seemingly helpless against even a pathetic excuse for a witch like Lavender Weasley. That had been the impetus for him to have Theo look into the legalities of whether Granger could use even a fraction of her magic.
Theo made a noncommittal noise, common to the legal profession the world over. "You have no intention of restoring her memories, do you?"
"Never," Draco said with vehemence. "I can't run that risk."
"Well, that's a relief, because restoring her memories would earn you at least a decade in Azkaban, courtesy of the Muggleborn Repatriation Commission," Theo advised.
Draco merely nodded, though he had not been particularly focused on the risk of incarceration. He was more concerned about Hermione's reaction. As much as he liked the notion of being in a relationship with a version of Granger who knew his past and forgave him for it, he was too much of a realist to think that could ever happen.
"You also can't give her a wand. That's punishable by five years in Azkaban," his solicitor continued.
Draco frowned at that. Hermione was a powerful witch, and Draco wanted her to be able to use that power, within certain boundaries, to keep herself - and their son - safe from harm.
"As it turns out, though, there's nothing on the books about wandless magic," Theo emphasized. "In fact, the Ministry has no mechanism in place to detect wandless magic, whether accidental or deliberate, by Muggleborns. There's no Trace."
That made Draco smile. Granger always had been a dab hand at wandless magic, especially shield charms and those blue flames she was always conjuring. "You're right. When she knocked the Weasel's bitch on her arse, no one at the Ministry was any wiser." And that was precisely the sort of magic he wanted Hermione to be able to perform on a deliberate basis.
"You're cutting it rather fine with the Statute of Secrecy," Theo warned him, "but that's a relatively minor offense. Typically, if a wizard slips up and divulges something to his girlfriend, he's let off with a warning or at most a fine."
Draco waved that off as a matter of no account, pleased that Theo had found a usable loophole. "I can afford it. And Granger's worth it."
(x) (x) (x)
Hermione had just returned home from uni when the doorbell rang. When she peered through the peephole and saw Cho, she hesitated for just a moment before opening the door to her erstwhile ally.
"Hi, Cho," she said civilly, willing to mend fences if that's what the other woman was here for. "I was just going to make some tea. Would you like some?"
"No, I can't stay," she said quickly, shifting nervously.
"Really, are you sure?" Hermione asked with genuine concern. Cho was well into her second trimester and should have gained some weight by now, but her arms and legs were stick-thin. Hermione was reminded of pictures of famine victims, their bellies bloated with hunger even as they starved to death. "Are you quite alright?"
"Quite," Cho said brightly with a manic energy that deepened Hermione's concern for her. "Is your boyfriend here?"
"He won't be home from work a little while. We certainly have time for a cup of tea before he arrives. Please, come in." Hermione knew there was some tension between them, and hoped that Cho would be more willing to linger if she knew Malcolm wasn't around.
"Okay," Cho agreed, hesitantly stepping inside. "Did Katie give you the book?" she asked anxiously. "Have you read all the way through it? The last few chapters are the most important."
"I did get the book, but I wasn't able to read it," Hermione said in a gentle voice. She made a mental note to reach out to Theo. Something serious was wrong with Cho if she expected Hermione to read a blank journal. "Now, how about that tea? It's a chamomile blend - very soothing," she coaxed the skittish woman.
Cho hesitated, but then shook her head. "You won't want me to stay. You know what they say about shooting the messenger." She handed Hermione a glossy magazine, somewhat worse for wear.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Hermione demanded, eyes wide as she scanned the cover photos of her boyfriend with a woman identified as his wife. "I've never even heard of a magazine called Witch Weekly. How do I know this is even real?"
"It's not a joke," Cho averred. "It's a real magazine, just with a niche audience." She choked out the last bit.
"Maybe it's someone else who looks like Malcolm," Hermione said, grasping at straws. "It's not the same name."
"You're in denial, Hermione. Malcolm Draco Foy and Draco Malfoy are the same person. He lied to you about everything, including his name." More so than the words, the malicious glee in Cho's voice caught Hermione's attention.
"You're happy about this?" She looked up from the magazine angrily.
Cho said nothing, but her lips twisted in a nasty smirk that was answer enough.
"Get out," Hermione told the other woman. "Get out now, before I throw you out."
But she kept the magazine.
(x) (x) (x)
Draco was barely through the front door of their flat when Hermione pounced on him, and not in the way he preferred. She hit him hard in the chest with a rolled-up magazine, seeming to take pleasure in his grunt of pain.
"Explain this," she demanded, angry and suspicious but still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He unrolled the magazine as Hermione watched him carefully. As he took in the immobilized cover of Witch Weekly, Draco's expression darkened. He stood still, but not stiffly, ensuring nothing in his body language gave him away. This was a lie that it was critical for Hermione to believe.
"It's not real, obviously," he spoke calmly.
Searching brown eyes stared into his, trying to sort the truth from a lie. Draco met her gaze with apparent candor: he was an excellent liar and Occlumens, who had deceived his way through interrogations much more brutal than anything Granger could do.
"Then what is it?" she asked. From the faint, pleading note in her voice, he could tell that Hermione wanted to believe him. That meant the battle was more than half won. Still, he was ever so tempted to slip her a few drops of the Befuddlement Draught and Forgetfulness Potion that he kept in a magically-locked cabinet in the kitchen, just in case a situation like this arose.
"Would you like some tea? It might calm you down," he offered.
"Absolutely not. I would like an explanation as to why you're the cover boy on some rag of a magazine with your wife." Clearly, Granger wasn't going to be falling for at least one of his tricks.
"Not my wife, my ex-girlfriend. The one who cheated on me, who I broke it off with before I ever met you, remember?"
He hid a smile as she nodded. It helped that she was wearing the charm bracelet he had given her, with enchantments to encourage Granger's trust forged into the platinum and sealed with her blood.
"Do you really think I could be married to someone else, with all the time we spend together?" Draco asked rhetorically. He didn't wait for an answer before pushing on, speaking as persuasively as he knew how.
"There are some people in my set in Wiltshire who have far too much money and time on their hands. Once a year, they put out a magazine as an April Fool's joke, poking fun at us all for things that happened during the year," Draco explained. He had seen a few Muggle equivalents in the past week and Witch Weekly, with the moving pictures frozen by a charm, looked like a tawdry tabloid. "I suppose this year's theme was to pretend we're all witches or wizards. The cover article is a parody of my rather humiliating break-up."
"Oh, I see," Hermione said, a look of sudden comprehension mixed with compassion for him and embarrassment at herself for being fooled. "I'm sorry," she offered, picking up on his lingering sense of emasculation at being so publicly cuckolded.
"Don't be. It certainly worked out well for me in the end." Draco gave her a warm smile that she returned, despite some clearly lingering suspicion.
"But the pictures of you dancing?" Hermione asked.
"Those are real enough," he admitted. "Taken at some society ball as I was fulfilling my social obligations while you were in Australia. Do I look as though I'm enjoying myself?"
"Not really," Hermione conceded.
"You'll note the names are all changed around. Tori's real last name is Green, not Greengrass. Have you looked the reporter up on the Internet?" Draco inquired.
Hermione shook her head.
"You should," he suggested. "I doubt you'll find that Rita Skeeter," he rolled over the name with disdain, "has any other bylines. Same with any of the other names listed - you won't find anything online."
"That's a very sensible idea," Granger agreed. "I should have thought of that before flying off the handle at you." Now she sounded just a little bit sheepish.
Draco took a chance and ran a hand through her hair, futilely trying to smooth it in a gesture she always found soothing. Hermione leaned into his hand rather than jerking away, and he counted that as a victory.
He drew her into the living room and pulled her down on the sofa, partially in his lap. Seemingly at random, he flipped to a page in the magazine. "Would you like to read about the Weird Sisters' European tour - that's the most famous band you'll never have heard of - or the best way to de-gnome your garden?"
That drew a watery little laugh from her. "I should have read this cover to cover. Then I would have realized the entire magazine is a joke."
"That's one way to describe it," Draco concurred. He never had understood why witches liked to read this rubbish.
Hermione twisted on his lap, turning so she could once more look up into his eyes. "If I someday find out this is true, I'll never forgive you," she warned.
"I know," Draco whispered softly, pressing a kiss against her temple. You won't ever find out, he promised silently.
(x) (x) (x)
As soon as Hermione was asleep, Draco stormed out of the flat into the back garden and spun in a tight, deliberate circle, picturing his destination. Despite his white-hot rage, he knew there was no danger of splinching himself. He was a gifted wizard and had Apparated to this desolate stretch of Hampstead Heath often enough. The Dark Lord had favored it as a gathering place for his Death Eaters, holding impromptu meetings there before releasing his followers to wreak mayhem in Muggle London.
In an echo of those times, Draco was dressed all in black, though this time he was wearing trousers and a thick jumper rather than robes and there was no silvery mask tucked into his pocket. Still, he hoped that Chang - the most likely person to have given Witch Weekly to Hermione - retained enough memories in her subconscious to be properly intimidated.
From the Death Eaters' meeting point, it was a short walk to the southern tip of the heath and the Royal Free campus. Draco covered it in long, loping strides, slowing only when he reached hospital reception.
"Good evening," he gave the woman working the desk his most charming smile. "I have an important message for Doctor Chang-Nott."
The Muggle simpered and chittered and finally agreed to page her. Draco took a seat in the lobby that allowed him to watch the elevator banks and stairs, and was rewarded when Cho arrived within a few minutes, making a beeline towards him.
"Is everything alright with Theo?" she demanded abruptly, real anxiety underlying her sharp tone.
Draco raised an eyebrow. Apparently, the selfish bitch did care about someone other than herself. That would make this all the sweeter.
"I really couldn't say," he said levelly, "because I spent the entire evening calming Hermione after you left that joke of a magazine with her."
"It's no joke, and you know it. She needed to know about you," Cho said heatedly, confirming his suspicion that she was the source.
"Did she really?" Draco drawled. "It's not going to change the fact that we're having a baby together. She's not going to leave me, if that's what you hoped. You just made her upset and unhappy, to no real purpose."
"At least she knows you aren't to be trusted," Cho spat like an angry cat.
"Hermione knew that before," he shrugged, also in a feline manner. "Still, if you truly believe that women should have full disclosure on their partners . . . . " Rather than anger, he now was feeling smug, like a Siamese who had gotten into the cream and then topped it off with a live canary and some caviar.
Draco reached into his satchel and pulled out Cho's copy of Hogwarts: A History. "Hermione asked me to give this back to you. Among other reasons, she's a bit irked at you for giving her a blank book."
"It's not blank," Cho insisted, puzzled.
"Perhaps not to you," Draco said with practiced insouciance. "But to anyone who isn't a Nott by blood or marriage, it is."
"So you used magic to hide this from her?" Cho accused.
"Not I," Draco said innocently. "I recognize the cover, of course, but the pages appear blank to me as well. Someone in the Nott family cast this spell, and I can tell you Theo used a similar charm back at school to protect his journal from prying eyes."
Cho blinked. "Theo wouldn't do that to me."
Draco just smirked at her flimsy denial. "Speaking of Theo and what he would and wouldn't do, you might want to read this. He handed over the issue of Witch Weekly Cho had given to Hermione, open to a one-page fluff piece on how Daphne Greengrass Nott had thrown herself into charitable works to recover from the shock of her divorce.
Cho's face turned ashen, and a nasty smile crossed Draco's face.
"You can dish it out, but can you take it?"
(x) (x) (x)
No, I can't take it, Cho thought to herself, silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
She had lasted at the hospital less than an hour after her confrontation with Malfoy before the consulting physician ordered her home. Cho managed to stammer out something about a family emergency that seemed to placate her supervisor, and she could only be grateful that none of her errors had resulted in any harm to a patient.
Cho crept quietly into the flat, not wishing to wake Theo in the middle of the night. Her plan had been to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and crawl into bed, but she found herself stalled between steps one and two, huddled in misery on the bathroom floor, toothbrush in hand.
Theo had been her rock, the foundation that held her steady, until she had been brutally informed by the events of the day that her foundation was nothing but quicksand. And now she was being sucked down into it, drowning in despair. Malfoy would be so disappointed if he knew the article he had shown her in revenge for her revelation to Hermione barely registered against Theo's breach of trust. As bad as it was that her husband had been married before and divorced within the past year, all without ever telling her, that wasn't what had Cho reaching for her sleeping pills through her tears.
She was grimly pleased that she had refilled the prescription only last week. She rarely took them, since they didn't prevent her dark dreams and made her almost too drowsy to function the following morning, so the bottle was only a couple of tablets short of being full.
Theo had tried to deny it at St. Mungo's, telling her that her memories were faulty and not to be relied upon when making such a serious accusation, but she knew his father from her nightmares. She had taken the weight of that stocky body atop hers and felt him painfully thrusting into her. She had seen those icy blue eyes, too much like Theo's, looking on with cruel amusement as she was used and abused. She had heard that gravelly voice, the same one that had so respectfully recognized her today as his daughter by marriage, hissing to her that she was a filthy Mudblood whore. And Theo, despite his legalistic defense, knew - had to know - that his father was one of her rapists.
She pawed through the medicine cabinet, looking for something with codeine to drink. They seemed to be fresh out of any prescription cough syrups, but Cho's searching hand alighted on a purple glass bottle half-hidden on the top shelf.
"Dreamless Sleep," she read the handwritten label aloud. There were no warning labels or dosage instructions. She unstoppered the bottle and sniffed the purplish liquid with suspicion, fairly certain that it had never been subject to any MHRA regulation. Then Cho gave a brittle laugh at the absurdity of worrying about that under the circumstances.
She upended the bottle of sleeping pills in her mouth and chased it down with a sizable swallow of the purple potion. Right now, dreamless sleep sounded like the best thing in the world. And Cho really didn't give a damn if she ever woke up.