August 1, 2004
Thirty-two hours later, Draco would have given his wand arm for Hadrian to have been born on Harry Potter's birthday. But the last day of July had come and gone, and Hermione still was in pain, struggling to deliver their son.
"Get the fuck out!" Granger screamed at him, her face red and her neck corded with rage and effort as yet another contraction hit its peak. "This is all your fault, you pointy-faced bastard!"
"Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of tea, while I check to see how things are coming along?" the nurse suggested in a soothing voice. She was a brisk, matronly sort of woman and seemed competent enough, but Draco was predisposed to despise her. Not only was she a Muggle, but she had red hair and looked like a Weasley.
Malfoys did not take direction from weasel-like Muggles. Draco was poised to tell her as much, when Hermione caught his eye, lifting her head off the pillow in the ever-briefer respite between her contractions. "Get out," she enunciated, with devastating clarity. "I can't stand to see you."
With that, he slunk from the hospital room. Draco leaned against the wall in the corridor, exhausted after a night and day without sleep, and pulled out his mobile, dialing Flint's number. He figured that Marcus had gone through this twice with Katie and might have some advice to offer.
"Hullo?" Marcus answered on the fifth ring, sounding groggy.
"Hi, mate. It's me."
"Draco? Why the fuck are you calling me at three in the morning?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize what time it was. It's Hermione - " he began.
"She had the baby? That's awesome!" Flint interrupted, enthusiastically. "Let's break out the cigars and champagne once it's daylight, wanker, to celebrate your son and heir."
"No, she hasn't had the baby yet. She's having a really rough time of it." Draco swallowed hard, but forced himself to continue. "I think she hates me again."
"Of course she hates you right now," Marcus said matter-of-factly. "Granger's in the worst pain of her life and your dick caused it. How long has she been in labor?" he asked with sincere concern for the Muggleborn witch.
"It's going on thirty hours since her contractions really started," Draco reported, trying to keep calm. "Hermione wanted to stay at home as long as she could, but we've been been at the hospital since Saturday afternoon. It's been more than twelve hours since we got here."
"I dunno what to tell you, Drake," Marcus said uneasily. "That seems kind of long to me. Katie was in labor with Isabel seventeen hours start to finish, and Peter only took half as long. What do the doctors say?"
"Those Muggle fuckers won't tell me anything!" Draco exploded. "I swear to Salazar I'm going to use an Unforgivable on the next one who tells me things are going as they ought, but just a bit slowly!"
"How's your wrist feeling, mate?" Marcus asked.
"My wrist is fine," Draco answered, annoyed at the nonsensical question. "It's my hand Granger's been crushing and clawing, since she can't reach my bollocks."
"That's good, then," Flint said with an optimism Draco was far from feeling. "If your wrist is fine, she's fine. The Vow will let you know if she's in danger. That's what Theo always said with Cho, at least."
Draco slumped more heavily against the wall, this time in relief. "Thank Merlin!"
Marcus, however, was no longer listening. Draco could hear snippets of a conversation on the other end of the line, and then Katie's voice.
"Malcolm? Why are jabbering on the phone with Mark?" she asked with deceptive mildness.
"Sorry, Katie," he apologized. "I didn't mean to wake you. I honestly lost track of time and didn't realize it was the middle of the night."
"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," Katie said with unusual sternness. "I don't hear anything in the background, so I assume you stepped out to phone Mark, leaving Hermione alone while she's in labor?"
"Yes," Draco admitted, guiltily. "She told me to leave, though."
"She didn't mean it, you pillock," scolded Katie. "Hang up now and go take care of her."
"You don't understand, Katie," Draco tried to explain. "Hermione really doesn't want me in there."
But Katie was implacable. "Malcolm Draco Foy, get your arse back in that delivery room with Hermione right now. Offer her juice, ice, water, whatever she wants. Rub her back and her shoulders to help through the contractions. Agree with anything she says about you - it's probably nicer than the truth. And whatever else you do, don't you dare leave her alone until your baby is born. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, Madam Bell," he acknowledged. In that moment, Draco realized that Katie was as much a force to be reckoned with as her de facto mother-in-law, the redoubtable Lucretia Flint.
"Fabulous," Katie said pleasantly. "Please do call us once Hadrian has arrived. If Hermione's feeling up to visitors, Mark and I would love to stop by the hospital and meet him."
Flint briefly took the phone back. "Sorry 'bout that bollocking, Drake, but you know Katie's right."
"Yeah, I know," he agreed.
"Er, one other thing you should know," Marcus said. Draco could tell he was choosing his words with unusual care, mindful of Katie now awake in bed next to him. "Hermione may call you some names, like Katie said. Katie called me every name in the book with our two, including my real name."
"I understand," Draco said, chilled.
"But it fades afterwards, okay? Katie didn't remember, once she had our babies, how much it hurt and shite like that."
Draco heard a sound on the other end of the phone, perhaps Katie registering her disagreement, but the Marcus was back on. "Good night and good luck, mate." He rang off.
With a sigh of reluctance, Draco pocketed his mobile and walked back to the closed door of Hermione's room with dragging steps, feeling like he had to go and face a lioness in her den.
(x) (x) (x)
Hermione initially had thought that giving birth was tedious rather than painful. The contractions were uncomfortable, to be certain, but no worse than menstrual cramps, just spiking every several minutes.
After the contractions woke her in the wee hours of Saturday morning, she had labored at home for more than twelve hours, walking around the spacious flat, climbing the single flight of stairs, and spending an inordinate amount of time in the bathtub. In addition to his wizardry with the bathwater, Draco had kept her company, rubbed her back, and cajoled her into eating some fruit to keep her strength up.
She had finally given in to his urging to go to the hospital mid-afternoon, when her water broke. His money ensured they had the luxury of a private room, but it was rather small and terribly institutional.
In the early stages, her labor experience seemed to her rather like a long plane flight. She was uncomfortable and uneasy, unable to leave a relatively small space with tiny windows and stale air, and the entertainment options were poor. The perky bossiness of the nurses also forcibly reminded her of flight attendants. But at least she had Draco for company and could eagerly look forward to an arrival - not at a destination, but of their son.
If labor was like a plane flight, hers seemed interminable. Hermione could have flown to Melbourne and halfway back at this point, and Hadrian was nowhere close to being born. Her cervical dilation remained stalled at five centimeters for hours. Hermione eventually had agreed to a pitocin drip, concerned that her labor had stalled and mindful of the risk of infection if Hadrian was not born relatively soon, now that the amniotic sac was no longer intact.
With pitocin, the contractions moved to the small of her back and intensified to the point of real pain. Still, Hermione stubbornly refused the nurses' offers of an epidural or painkillers, heeding Cho's advice. Draco was obviously unhappy with her choice, but he had not been so foolish as to argue with her about it.
Still, at this moment in her life, she hated him, hated him like before. Hermione remembered her violent urges when she first had met him - to slap the smirk of his handsome face, scratch his porcelain skin, and yank that baby-fine blond hair. Right now, she wanted to physically hurt him, like she was hurting, but contented herself with a death grip on his hand and demanding that he leave the room.
Once Draco left, the nurse conducted a quick cervical check. "The good news, luv, is that you're at eight centimeters," the red-haired woman relayed cheerfully. "The bad news is that the transition to get all the way to ten centimeters is the worst part of labor. I've had four babies myself, so I know it's true. Are you certain you don't want a little something to take the edge off?"
Hermione shook her head, her mouth set in an obstinate line. "No, thank you," she gasped out as another sharp contraction began.
"Alright, dearie. I'll send your young man back in. You'll want his help to get through this."
In truth, Hermione did not want his help, but she needed it. Logically, she knew two centimeters was a tiny distance, but this was the longest two centimeters of her life. She was drowning in a sea of pain, with Draco's hands kneading her back the only thing keeping her anchored. Even so, she feared she was losing her normally logical mind, as she found herself comparing the pain of these contractions to any number of fantastical experiences.
This hurts less than turning into a cat-human hybrid, her mind reassured her, as she cried out that it hurt. More than being Petrified by a basilisk, however.
It's not nearly so frightening as being chased by a werewolf and surrounded by soul-sucking Dementors, her subconscious counseled. Not even a blip on the screen compared to flying by dragon or thestral. Draco murmured some soothing nonsense into her ear as she whimpered, biting her lip to hold back a scream. She had hated his uppercrust drawl once, but his words now were comforting, not insulting.
Her inner monologue continued to reassure her. The recovery will be easier than from Dolohov's curse. No nasty potions to drink! She vomited into a basin and Draco handed her some juice to rinse out her mouth, saying something under his breath she couldn't quite catch. To her surprise, the vile taste in her mouth disappeared.
The contractions were incessant, and waves of pain roared through her body without pause. At least it's not as bad as the Cruciactus Curse, or so her mind claimed. Hermione had to concede that the pain was more localized, centered in her lower abdomen and back, rather than in her entire body, but that only made the agony more concentrated. And this had gone on for hours, compared to the twenty minutes or so under Bellatrix's wand.
Hermione screamed, though she would have been hard-pressed to say whether it was from her labor pains or the awful memory.
"C'mon, Granger, you can do it," Draco coached in a voice husky with concern. "You've survived worse before."
Her eyes snapped open and met his, silver-grey and wide with fear for her. The last time, he had stood by frightened and silent, his fear entirely for himself.
"No thanks to you," she spat. Draco recoiled as though she had slapped him.
"You're fully dilated," the midwife confirmed at long last. "Time to push."
"Stay at my shoulder," Hermione snapped at Draco as the midwife positioned her towards the end of the bed, knees apart and legs splayed wide. Hermione did not want him to see her so vulnerable, though Merlin knew he had seen it all before.
He stayed obediently behind her, continuously massaging her neck and shoulders, pausing only to wipe the sweat off her face with his handkerchief. Hermione felt like an animal, a filthy animal, as she strained and grunted with effort, no longer in control of her body.
"Good girl," he softly praised her efforts, making the mistake of speaking.
"Fuck off, ferret," she panted back. After that, Draco prudently remained silent.
"He's crowning," the midwife announced, after what seemed like hours. "Take it nice and easy now, so you don't tear."
Hermione already knew the baby was crowning, as her most tender flesh was impossibly stretched. It burnt like Fiendfyre, and she felt an urge to expel the baby quickly that was close to irresistible. But she did resist, pausing to take shallow breaths as the midwife worked, waiting until the next contraction to push Hadrian's head from her body with torturous slowness.
After that, the delivery was easy, and the baby slithered from her body into the midwife's waiting hands. Hermione could hear him crying, with surprising volume and strength, but could not see him. She felt battered and bruised, physically and mentally, and too tired to even open her eyes and catch her first glimpse of Hadrian. And part of her mind was silently screaming that she did not want to look upon the living proof that she had just given birth to Draco Malfoy's son.
(x) (x) (x)
"Here's your son!" the midwife said, relief evident in her voice at the safe delivery after Hermione's long, hard labor. "A big baby boy!"
Draco could see him between Hermione's legs, red-faced and screaming, his little limbs flailing in rage at this bright, cold new world he had finally been delivered into. Despite the midwife's words, Hadrian looked impossibly tiny. For several heartbeats, Draco was too overwhelmed with emotion to even speak.
"Oh, gods, Hermione!" he exclaimed, finding his voice. "He's perfect! We made the most beautiful little person together!"
"Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?" the midwife asked him, holding out a pair of sterilized scissors.
Draco tore his eyes away from his son and looked to Hermione, seeking permission, but her honey-brown eyes were shut tight.
"It won't hurt either of them," the ginger-haired nurse promised, misunderstanding the reason for his hesitation.
"Alright," he agreed, uncertain if this was what Hermione wanted but desiring nothing more than to hold his son, to present him to his brave, exhausted mother.
The sharp blades easily cut through the umbilical cord. The midwife held Hadrian out and Draco took him, heedless of the blood and vernix still coating the baby's skin.
A scream rent the air, louder and more desperate than any Hermione had uttered over the past hours. Blood was gushing between her legs as her body arched off the hospital bed in pain. The midwife shoved him out of the way, yelling for assistance. Draco gripped Hadrian tightly, shifting the baby's weight to his right arm as a searing pain, comparable to taking the Dark Mark, encircled his left wrist.
Hermione's scream turned into words. "Malfoy, please! Help me! Please!" Brown eyes locked onto his, filled with terror and pain.
Draco could feel the malevolence of Dark magic as the curse ripped through Hermione's body. It made his skin crawl and tasted acrid in his mouth. His instincts screamed for him to shield the baby and shield her, but Draco knew this curse was too strong for him to overpower. There was nothing he could do to save her. He pushed Hadrian blindly into the arms of the red-haired nurse and groped for his wand, to cast some pain-numbing charms if nothing else.
Instead, his fingers connected with Hermione's betrothal ring. She had taken it off back at their flat, along with her charm bracelet, before they left for the hospital. Draco had pocketed them, uneasy about Cho's purported medical advice and the prospect of Hermione not wearing her enchanted jewelry throughout her hospital stay. He shoved the ring onto one of her fingers, heedless of which one, muttering the spell to hide it from Muggle eyes. "You'll be fine, Granger," he lied reassuringly.
Two orderlies sprinted into the room and the midwife jabbed a syringe into Hermione's hip. She twisted on the bed and screamed again. Blood continued to pour from her body, staining the midwife's makeshift compress a Gryffindor red. The Muggles left the room at a dead run, the two men pushing the entire bed. The midwife ran alongside, holding towels between Hermione's legs, trying and failing to stop the hemorrhaging while calling out instructions and codes into some Muggle device that looked like a chunkier version of Draco's mobile.
The ginger nurse handed Hadrian back to him. "They are going to operate now, to try and stop the bleeding," she explained. "I need to join them. Wait here, and someone from the neonatal staff will be along to examine the baby and give him a bath."
Draco stared at her blankly. Just right now, he was beyond comprehension.
"Sit here and wait," the nurse instructed in simple words, pressing him down into a chair.
He did as he was told, clinging to a sobbing Hadrian and staring with anguished grey eyes at Hermione's blood, spattered scarlet across the walls and floor.
