I hope me posting this chapter can be a bright spot in your day amidst all this chaos. 3
As soon as Hermione vanished the sick off the floor of the Australian Portkey office, she clambered to her feet, panic welling inside. Shiloh had also sicked up all over her blouse, little legs and fists kicking from her baby carrier in discomfort. The baby was now screaming, her face red with misery. Hermione couldn't help but agree with her daughter's sentiment, but as a responsible adult, she had no time to cry. Casting a quick 'Scourgify' on Shiloh's top, Hermione forced herself to take deep, calming breaths.
Well-practiced at shoving her feelings aside to take care of the task at hand, Hermione found herself slipping back into the mindset that had dominated her actions for much of the last year. She could cry later. Now was the time to get to work so she could return home as quickly as possible.
Thoughts of Draco being taken away in magical suppressant cuffs by that group of Aurors flashed in her mind as she made her way over to the reception desk. Just the memory of it twisted her stomach in knots to the point that she thought she might be sick again.
"Ah, yes. Miss Granger. We've been expecting you. Please present your wand for identification." A young witch wearing a violently purple blouse greeted her. She seemed to be checking a list of some kind. "And where is… Mr. Malfoy?"
Hermione felt her jaw tighten in anger, but she knew very well how offices like this worked. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
"He couldn't make it," she said, trying to keep her tone light.
The receptionist tutted. "Such a shame. I'll have to charge the no-show fee, no exceptions I'm afraid. You may make a payment over at window number three."
Though the woman turned away, Hermione continued to speak.
"Please, if you don't mind, I'd like to arrange for a return Portkey as soon as possible."
The receptionist eyed Hermione with suspicion, her eyes flicking between her face and the baby.
"That'd be window two."
Hermione thanked the woman and made her way over to window three to make a payment of two galleons. As it turned out, window two had a minor queue, despite the fact that it was almost time for the Ministry workday to end.
She tapped her toe as the line inched forward, though not nearly fast enough to her satisfaction. What were the Aurors doing to Draco back in London? Were they interrogating him? Had they thrown him into one of the holding cells in the bowels of the Ministry? Was there talk of Azkaban?
Oh, Gods, she had to get back there fast.
Her mind was whirling, unable to focus on any one thing as she stood in that damn queue. It wasn't until a surly, older man turned around and hissed at her to, "Shut that damn baby up!" that Hermione even realized Shiloh was still crying.
Shooting the man a half-apologetic, half-vengeful look, Hermione began rocking back and forth in line, rubbing circles on her daughter's back. On top of the anger and panic she felt, guilt was now also piling on top. How had she not noticed her daughter's discomfort? She was such an awful mother.
"There, there, little girl. It's all right. We'll be home soon with Daddy. You'll see."
Hermione wasn't sure if she was trying to comfort Shiloh or herself with those words.
Finally, after what felt like ages, it was her turn to step up to the window. She was greeted by a bored-looking wizard with horn-rimmed glasses that reminded her of Percy.
"Welcome to the Portkey Office of Australia. How can I help you today?" he drawled.
"Erm, I'd like to arrange travel back to the British Ministry as quickly as possible."
The bored employee looked up through hooded eyes and then back down at his ledger. Flipping backward and forward a couple pages, he responded after a few seconds, his voice monotone.
"Our next return time is in about three weeks on the third of July."
Hermione spluttered in indignation.
Three weeks. So much could happen in three weeks. Her imagination immediately flew to all the
terrible possibilities that could await Draco in all that time. What if they threw him in Azkaban? What if they starved him or tortured him? What if he was driven to the point where he felt pressured to confess to crimes he did not commit?
She had to get back there. There was just no other option.
"Surely, there's something you can do! There's been a mistake and we've been separated from her father!"
The bored wizard stared for a moment before sighing.
"My apologies, but that's policy. We don't make exceptions."
Hermione had half a mind to give Ginny's infamous Bat-Bogey hex a go on this infuriating man.
Honey. Not vinegar.
She groaned, rubbing her temples as she continued to rock Shiloh back and forth. "Fine. Yes. The earliest available slot, if you please."
Draco Malfoy was nothing if not a proud man. Though he may have been humbled in the past year, his pride and his name still meant something to him. It had been through the compassion of others that he had been able to have the courage to transform himself into a man who could restore the name of Malfoy. He was not going to waste that chance. As the group of Aurors led him down the corridor to the lift, he thought of his girlfriend and daughter. The look of devastation on Hermione's face as he was led away haunted him as he sat in the dark, dank holding cell below the Ministry courtrooms.
Despite his determination, he couldn't help the small voice at the back of his head that whispered horrible things.
You deserve to go to Azkaban.
Soulless bastard.
A monster like you doesn't deserve a normal life with a family.
Being led down there in handcuffs had been nothing short of humiliating. He had felt people's stares pierce his back. Shame rose, hot and acidic within him. Draco knew what they were thinking: that he was just another Malfoy, dark and dangerous, who needed to be thrown in Azkaban like his father.
Draco didn't need Legillimancy to know what all these Ministry employees were thinking.
Hell, part of him believed them.
The Aurors hadn't bothered to interrogate him or even talk to him after reading him his rights. Instead, they had led him silently all the way down to the cell where he now sat, entrenched in misery and missing the feel of Hermione's hand in his. What would she say to all this? Would she still love him when he was tossed in Azkaban for torture? Would she allow him to visit Shiloh?
The thought of not being able to hold his daughter again made him want to cry.
All he had wanted to do was live. And yet, somehow, to simply live did not seem enough.
As quickly as she could, Hermione used a public Floo at the Australian Ministry to fire call Shell Cottage. Bill had answered the call. He balked when Hermione filled him in on the basics of the situation, and he immediately called Harry and Ron over. Both of her friends came running, confusion painting their faces as they knelt in front of the grate. When she retold her story, she watched as those expressions morphed into ones of fury.
"You told them about Shiloh, didn't you? You told them he's got a baby to take care of, right?" Ron's voice cracked as he spoke.
"Of course I did! What do you think I am? An idiot?" she snapped.
"It makes me want to rip up my contract," Harry said through gritted teeth. "How could the Aurors do that? Kingsley must have said something to them about Draco's help."
Hermione sighed. Her knees were beginning to hurt from crouching on the hard marble floor.
"I don't know, Harry. I just don't know. I just want to be back there as soon as I can. I'll look into other avenues to get home. But please, for everyone's sake, don't rip up your contract. In the future, it's going to be you giving orders in the Auror office, and you're sure to do a much better job at ensuring the right people end up cuffed."
Harry looked grim but nodded along to her words.
"Well, stay safe, 'Mione. Let us know if there's anything we can do."
Hermione swallowed and hugged her daughter a little closer. "Please make sure Draco is all right. Don't let them throw him in Azkaban. I… I can't do this alone."
When she pulled her head out from the green flames, an immediate sense of calm washed over her. She had alerted her friends to the situation and had made arrangements for transportation home. As her heart rate began to return to normal, she felt more prepared to look for alternatives to get back to the UK before the next three weeks were up. Her parents could wait—they couldn't remember her, after all. What Hermione needed now was a quiet place to think. She knew she could think of an answer—she just needed some space.
Hermione began to stalk up and down the corridors of the Australian Ministry looking for some sort of little alcove where she could sit and think. It didn't help that as she walked, Shiloh began to fuss. Glancing at her watch, Hermione let out a groan of frustration. It was a little early for feeding time, but Shiloh had spit up her breakfast after using the Portkey. It seemed as though she needed to add privacy to the list of requirements for her thinking spot.
In the end, she settled for the women's loo. Thankfully, the one in the Atrium resembled the British Ministry's bathrooms in its layout. Beyond the stalls, it had a little powder room attached, and Hermione settled onto one of the pink, overstuffed armchairs that lined the walls. Pulling Shiloh out of the chest carrier and setting it aside, Hermione unbuttoned her blouse and settled Shiloh into her arms. The baby sucked greedily, her whimpers subsiding the instant she began to eat. Sitting in the near-silence, Hermione allowed herself a moment to cry.
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, a few dripping onto the top of Shiloh's head. She hastily wiped them with her sleeve. Her shoulders shook as all the events of the last few minutes—had it only been a few minutes?—sunk in.
Why weren't they allowed to try and move past the war like everyone else? Were they doomed to live in the shadow of it for the rest of their lives, always afraid that someone would lash out at them?
The thought made Hermione shudder. At the same time, her forearm began to prickle. She resisted the urge to touch it.
They had to move on—do their best to, in any case.
Hermione sniffed and wiped her face with her free hand. Slowly, she felt all her panic and anxiety slowly drain from her. She had to breathe and focus if they were ever going to move on. She had to focus on the facts. Facts were what helped her get through situations in the past, and they were what would help her now.
Draco was in custody back in Britain.
The next available Portkey wasn't for three weeks.
How could she get back sooner?
She could make her own Portkey illegally. She had studied the theory and knew generally how to make one. Frankly, she was confident in her ability to successfully create a Portkey that led her to the correct destination. However, there was one big downside to this idea: creating non-registered Portkeys was incredibly illegal. If she got caught, she could end up in Australian prison.
With a baby in tow, that wasn't exactly the greatest idea. One of Shiloh's parents was already under arrest. She didn't need a second parent in the same situation.
But how else could she get back to Britain?
Apparition was out. The distance was too far between Australia and any mainland to make international Apparition possible.
So was Floo. She had reached beforehand, and while fire calls were allowed, full-body transportation by Floo powder was impossible.
She really wasn't comfortable flying by broom or any other means with a baby strapped to her chest.
But how else was there?
Hermione sat in contemplative silence as she maneuvered Shiloh onto her other breast. She took a moment to feel grateful that the pain of nursing had faded by now. It would have been awfully distracting to have raw nipples in addition to all this mental pressure.
Shiloh finished her meal and detached herself. As Hermione winded her daughter, an idea hit her.
Muggles.
They traveled internationally, didn't they?
All she would have to do is go to the airport and get a plane ticket. She could transfer some money and convert it to muggle money. That would certainly take less than three weeks. She could be back tomorrow if she wanted. Yes. This certainly was the solution.
A new determination filled her as she strapped her daughter once more.
Yet, even as she made her way toward the exit, cracks in her plan began to appear. To travel internationally in the Muggle world, a passport was required. Neither of them had these documents, and surely, they would take some time to acquire. And there would be simply too many people involved in too public a place to continually cast Confundus. No, that was a risky plan as well.
If she knew anything about her boyfriend, it was that he didn't like it when she took risks. Draco would want her back as soon as possible, but not if it meant putting themselves at risk. No, Hermione imagined he would rather she wait out those three weeks rather than do something that could possibly be dangerous.
Hermione sighed. Muggle transportation was out, then.
It seemed as though that three week waiting period was now inevitable. Though her stomach squirmed with guilt, her mind flew immediately to her parents. She could check in with Harry and Ron each day about Draco's situation and would be at his side immediately upon his return. With any luck, he would be out even before then. If any ideas occurred to her, she would make her way back sooner, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to use these three weeks to look for her parents.
After ensuring the two of them were dressed for an Australian winter, Hermione exchanged her money and exited the Ministry. She found herself on the streets of Sydney without a real plan or even a map. But, she supposed, she would start with a phone book.
After a few minutes of wandering around, she came across a telephone box. Slipping inside, she began to page through the thick volume. Though she hadn't really a clue where in Australia her parents had settled, she figured Sydney was a good place to start.
Sure enough, under 'W' she found what she was looking for: Wilkins, Wendell and Monica. Hermione ran the pad of her finger along their names… their aliases, really. Seeing their new names written down brought a whole new layer of longing into Hermione's heart. Though she understood that her actions had likely saved their lives, it felt odd to know that their friends here in Australia only knew them by these fake names.
Shaking her head, Hermione stared at the address, trying to commit it to memory. 85 Anemone Lane.
It was where she would find her parents. Would it really be so simple?
She was able to hail a taxi within minutes, and the driver seemed to be familiar with the street name. As she rode through the streets of Sydney, she was reminded of the last two times she had ridden in a taxi. Back then, all those months ago, she had been on her way to see a doctor. Sitting in this similar backseat, those same emotions came rushing back: the anxiety, the anticipation, the fear…
Hermione had to wrap her arms around her daughter to remind herself that the little girl was now outside her womb and safely in the world.
Thankfully, Shiloh slept through the whole taxi ride. This extra quiet allowed her time to recall the volumes of information she had read on Obliviation reversal. The theory behind this magical procedure was incredibly complex; Hermione still wasn't sure she had mastered it. Yet, there was no time to fret over theory now. She now had a deadline to meet. Of course, if she failed to restore her parents' memories before then, she could always return. But still… the memory of Draco's face as he was led away… the pain reflected in his eyes… the pure terror…
The last thing she wanted to do was tear herself apart from him. Not again.
No, if Hermione failed, she would give up for now. She would focus on her family and school and wouldn't come back to Australia until she was ready to restore her parents' memories.
It would be difficult, but then again, she had grown quite good at compartmentalizing her problems in the past year. Even now, she tried to push her worries about Draco to the side and focus on the task at hand.
That is, she tried.
Every blond man on the sidewalk that the taxis past looked like Draco. Every young father brought a pang to her heart. Hermione forced herself to look away from the window and down at her daughter, fast asleep and oblivious to her mother's woes.
"We'll be home with Daddy soon, love," she mumbled into her daughter's sweet-smelling hair. "You'll be getting your early-morning nappy changes with Daddy soon enough."
When the taxi pulled up to Anemone Lane, Hermione paid the driver and got out. Number 85 was a simple house with beige siding and a red roof. It was surrounded by a picket fence.
Hermione thought it looked rather charming.
Still, no place her parents lived in would ever compare to their real home back in the UK.
Her arms clutched around Shiloh, Hermione strode toward the front door. With each step she took, her pulse increased. She was about to see her family—her family that she hadn't seen for nearly a year. So much had changed. She had changed.
Hermione's heart beat in her throat, try as she might to push it down.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked.
The sound reverberated inside, and Hermione waited for a response. Footsteps or a call of "Be just a mo'!" perhaps. Her fingers itched with the anticipation of seeing her parents again – of hugging them. She repeated like a mantra in her mind that they wouldn't know her. Not immediately, anyway.
She waited. And waited. And waited some more.
She knocked again.
Still no response.
Perhaps they weren't home? It was a Saturday morning, so they wouldn't be at work…
"Are you looking for the Wilkins'?" a voice called from nearby.
Hermione whipped her head around to see an older woman standing on the front porch of the house next door.
"Erm, yes. I am, actually."
"Well you're hardly likely to find them home," the woman chuckled, walking to the edge of her porch closest to Hermione's parents' house.
"And that would be because…?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, wrapping an arm around Shiloh.
The woman seemed to be sizing her up; she spent a moment dwelling on the babywearing carrier on her chest. Whatever she concluded, it had to be positive, because she continued to speak.
"Monica and Wendell decided to travel this winter."
Hermione blinked, her heart sinking. She licked her lips.
"Erm, it's rather urgent. Can you tell me where they're traveling?"
The woman tilted her head and leaned forward. "May I ask who you are?"
"I'm… I'm their niece, Hermione… Wilkins." Hermione answered quickly. "There must have been some miscommunication, because I thought I was supposed to come and visit in June."
"Oh dear," the woman tutted. "Well, I can tell you that they're not going to be back for some time. They decided to pack up their dental practice for the winter and travel around to more rural areas to provide services for those without access. At least that's what they told me. Bought a van and everything."
A van? Her parents were traveling around the outback in a van?
Suddenly her three-week deadline seemed oppressively close.
"Did they… did they leave you any sort of contact information?" Hermione coughed.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. Not a phone number or anything, but an itinerary or sorts."
Hermione's breath hitched, but she did her best to mask her surprise. "Oh, could I please take a look? It would be such a big help."
The woman looked down at Shiloh once again and sighed. "Well, I can't very well leave you out here, can I? It looks like it's about to rain. Come over, dearie, and let's see what we can figure out."
Shooting her parents' neighbour a grateful look, she stepped closer to what she hoped would be helpful information.
She only hoped it would be enough to find and help her parents quickly so she could get back to Draco as soon as possible.
Draco stared at the stone wall of his holding cell, unblinking. He hadn't looked away from this one spot for hours. How had it come down to this? Hadn't everything been squared away after the war?
He had finally had a life he was proud of: a girlfriend, a daughter, a future…
Had it all just been some sort of cruel fever dream?
The horrible voice in the back of his head hadn't stopped whispering spiteful words to him since the Aurors had thrown him in here two days ago.
You always knew you'd end up here.
This is payback for torturing those Muggles. You deserve this.
Shiloh doesn't deserve a dad like you, anyway. She'll be better off with you locked up.
These thoughts had circulated around his brain nonstop until he could hardly think anything else. They hadn't even stopped when Harry and Ron came to visit him.
"Are you listening, Draco?" Harry pressed. "We're going to get you out of here."
"Sure," he mumbled, unfocused eyes never leaving the same spot.
"Your mother was released almost immediately," encouraged Ron. "We'll talk to Kingsley. He'll be on your side."
"And Hermione – she'll be back as soon as she can. She Flooed us nearly right after she left–"
Hermione's best friends continued to try and comfort him for some time before they apparently gave up and left. He didn't really know. He hadn't been paying attention.
Shiloh doesn't deserve a dad like you, anyway.
Draco groaned and grimaced. He was supposed to be in Australia with Hermione right now, celebrating their new life with a little adventure. Sure, they were mainly there to restore her parents' memories, but he had always wanted to see the night sky from the Southern hemisphere. He had been quietly looking forward to stargazing with Hermione – getting away from all the things that weighed them down here in Britain.
Reality always had a funny way of catching up to him, didn't it?
Closing his eyes and leaning back against the cell wall, Draco fought back tears.
He just missed Hermione. He missed his daughter. He even missed her nappy blow-outs.
An inadvertent chuckle bubbled up in his throat at the thought of his daughter's last mess, just a few days previously. The smell had been so horrendous that he had practically retched. He had tried to convince Hermione that it was officially her godfather's turn to try a nappy change, but she had refused to torture Ron in that fashion.
In the moment, he had been bitter at his girlfriend for not letting him hand over his daughter for just a moment.
But now, he was grateful for those precious memories, even if they did involve wiping poo from his daughter's bum. And back. And arms.
Gods, it had been disgusting.
But he would change a thousand disgusting nappies if it meant he could just go home.
Draco ran his hands down his face and rested them at the nape of his neck.
He paused.
Beneath his fingers sat a familiar chain. How had ne not thought of this before now?
Immediately, his heart rate sped up. Tugging the chain upward and out from under his shirt, he held the trinket before his eyes. Draco stared at the pebble – their pebble. It dangled before him like a beacon of hope.
This pebble had saved him during the war. It kept him going. Perhaps… just perhaps it could do the same now.
He wrapped his fist around the smooth surface and squeezed lightly, praying.
Seconds passed. Minutes.
Draco felt a familiar bitterness creep into the back of his mouth. The voice returned in a whisper.
You deserve this.
He shut his eyes, willing it all to disappear. The voice. The cell. The goddamn Ministry of Magic.
And then from beneath his palm, he felt the pebble heat up in a blaze of blessed warmth.
Draco jumped and nearly dropped the thing, managing to catch it just before it hit the cold, damp floor. Returning it to his hand, he squeezed again and again.
I'm thinking of you. I miss you. I'll be okay. Please come home. He tried to convey all these thoughts with just the pulsating warmth he was sending to Hermione.
She wasn't the brightest witch her age for nothing. She'd know. She'd have to know.
He could only wait here in this dank, dark holding cell and pray she did.
The woman next door – Mrs. Hobbs – had given Hermione a rather detailed itinerary of the Wilkins' three-month excursion into remote Australian communities. According to her, communication in such rural areas was spotty at best, so they had left her with the itinerary "just in case."
Their camping van had been converted into a portable version of their dental clinic, Wilkins' Wide Smiles. According to the itinerary, her parents had been driving around in it for over a month already. They had been scheduled to arrive in a community called Kiwirrkurra yesterday.
Hermione had promptly thanked Mrs. Hobbs and said her goodbyes, despite the woman's protest that she stay for lunch.
What followed next was quick thinking. She found a quiet park bench to sit on and pulled out one of the Australian guide books she and Draco had purchased in preparation for this trip. Flipping through the pages, she folded the map of Australia open and studied it. The community in question, Kiwirrkurra, was quite isolated. Still, she knew its location now. There was only one thing to do.
Pulling out her breastfeeding cover, she draped it over her and Shiloh, who remained blissfully unaware of anything happening around her. Hermione had quickly discovered since giving birth that people tended to look away when she fed Shiloh. Once she had the cover in place, she drew her wand from her pocket and closed her eyes.
Destination. Determination. Deliberation.
When Hermione reappeared, she only made a brief visual sweep to ensure she was alone before tending to her daughter, who had screamed the second they landed. The little girl had never Apparated before. Hermione had sympathy; Apparation was unpleasant for any witch or wizard, let alone a baby. She took advantage of the breastfeeding cover and comfort nursed Shiloh until she fell back into a blissful milk coma. With her daughter successfully cared for, she tucked away the cover and took in her surroundings properly for the first time. She found herself surrounded by nothing but red dirt and tall, dry grass. Whereas Sydney had been filled with the bustling sounds of a city, here, she found only silence.
After spending so long fighting in a war, she didn't trust silence.
In the distance, Hermione saw what appeared to be a town. That had to be it. Adjusting Shiloh, she marched forward.
As she approached, the little community with red dirt-stained white roofs began to take shape. A handful of kids were playing outside, kicking a ball around. Outside of that small cluster of buildings and children, the vast outback stretched to eternity.
And then she saw it: a camping van parked on the edge of town.
A logo had been painted on its exterior that looked eerily to the one that had adorned countless toothbrushes and notepads littering her home growing up.
Pink and mint green, with a single molar in the middle.
There was no mistaking who would be awaiting her inside.
She could have chosen that moment to freeze or to turn around and take deep, gulping breaths until she convinced herself that this was a horrible idea.
But she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.
Instead, she continued forward. With each step Hermione took, she composed a list in her head of all the reasons this wasn't a horrible idea.
One. Her parents had a whole life they were missing in Britain.
One hundred meters.
Two. Draco missed hugs from her mum. She could tell.
Seventy meters.
Three. They deserved to know their precious granddaughter.
Fifty meters.
Four. They would be perfectly safe now.
Twenty meters.
Five. Her parents would surely miss her if they knew.
Five meters.
Six. She just missed her mum and dad. Plain and simple.
One meter.
Hermione paused just outside the door to the camping van, her knuckle paused just inches away. Her heart sat in her throat, unmoving and almost blocking off her breathing.
She had survived torture and battles and birth. Certainly, she could knock on a door.
Steeling herself, Hermione closed the gap. Her fist made contact with the metal door, and the sound echoed.
"Just a mo'!" she heard a familiar voice call.
Hermione could have cried.
Dad.
Immediately, memories of her father flooded her vision. She shook with emotion, blinking back tears.
"How can I help…oh!" Dad stuck his head out of the camper van. He looked just as she remembered him: short, brown hair, a button-up shirt and khakis, and a warm smile. Hermione's brain froze as she struggled to find words.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" Dad asked. "I haven't seen you around here before. You aren't a local, are you?"
A direct question. She could answer that.
"No, sir. I'm not."
"Aha. Is that a British RP accent I detect?"
Swallowing, Hermione inhaled through her nose. She could do this. She just had to get inside the van so she could perform the counter-charm behind closed doors.
"Yes, actually. It is. I'm on holiday. I was camping nearby and I heard you were hosting a dental clinic. I was hoping to talk to you about, erm… well, about my daughter."
She indicated Shiloh, who had begun to squirm and fuss against her chest once more.
"Your daughter? How can we help? She looks a bit young to see us."
Hermione inwardly cursed. She hadn't done much research yet on baby teeth.
But she could use that deficit to her advantage.
"I… was just wondering if I could ask you about dental care for my baby. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm afraid that if I don't get it right, she could end up with odd-looking teeth." Hermione lied coolly, a demure smile on her face.
From behind her dad, another face appeared.
Mum.
She looked just the same as well.
Hermione resisted the urge to beam.
"So you're looking for some reassurance and advice?" her mum asked. "I'm not opposed to that. Come on in, dear."
Even though she went by a new name now, her mum was still the example of kindness she had always known her to be.
Hermione stepped up into the camper van as her dad held the door open for her. The movement seemed to have startled Shiloh, because she began to whimper.
"Shhh, darling. It's all right," she cooed at the little girl, unstrapping her. "These nice dentists are going to have a look at your mouth."
"What a darling baby," simpered her mum. "How old is she?"
"She's about five weeks," answered Hermione as she cradled her daughter in her arms. "But she was born three weeks early."
Hermione's insides began to twist with nerves as she steeled herself for what she was about to do. For all her courage, she wished that Draco could be here, squeezing her hand, reassuring her. A fresh pang of grief rolled over her when she recalled exactly why he wasn't here.
But this wasn't a moment to get distracted with her pain. She had to focus to do this spellwork properly.
"My goodness! So little," said her dad, reaching forward to play with Shiloh's toes. "Well, let's get a good look inside your mouth." He beamed at the baby before looking up to address Hermione. "Just set her down on the counter over here."
Hermione followed her parents into part of the van that looked like an exam room. It was nearly identical to the ones she had spent so much time in while growing up. Following her dad's instructions, she laid Shiloh down on the countertops that lined the side of the examination area. Her parents leaned over Shiloh's upper body while Hermione kept her daughter still by holding onto her legs.
"All right, little girl. Let's take a look!"
As her parents concentrated on her daughter, Hermione withdrew her wand from her back pocket. Silently. Slowly. Fighting to keep her hand steady. She had studied the theory. She had practiced the wand movement and felt the words on her lips countless times.
This was it. She aimed her wand and took a deep breath.
After over a week in the same clothes, Draco could tell he was beginning to stink. He could actually smell himself, and it wasn't a pleasant odor.
Not even during the war had he gone through a stint this long without a bath.
The one thing that kept him going was his continued connection to Hermione. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had turned their pebbles into necklaces for his birthday. Even if he didn't know exactly what was happening with his girlfriend or daughter, feeling warmth radiating from the pebble whenever he woke up and before he went to sleep reassured him that she was still out there, somewhere, thinking of him.
That knowledge kept hope beating in his chest, even when an Auror had stomped down to his holding cell to announce that he would be going to trial the next day.
It kept the faintest glimmer of optimism in his normally dour heart as he was dragged from that cell into a massive courtroom.
When chains snaked around his ankles and wrists, tying him to a simple, wooden chair in the middle of the chamber, he tried to picture Hermione's kind face. He tried to hear her reassuring voice in his ear, telling him that everything was going to be all right.
However, when the trial opened with a few members of the Wizengamot demanding for his immediate removal to Azkaban, that hope began to fade.
"He's the son of Death Eater scum who belongs in the trash with his father!" he heard one particularly indignant wizard yell.
"He deserves to rot for torturing those poor Muggles," insisted a haughty witch.
"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater in my book," sneered a younger man.
With each insult spat his way, Draco felt his already-shaky self-image crumble. The voices that had been whispering horrific things to him grew louder with each derision that was hurled at him. Involuntarily, he began to curl into himself, unable to look up from his own lap.
Think of Hermione. Think of Shiloh.
"I heard that he had the nerve to reproduce!" A new voice sniffed from amidst the crowd. "We can't have him indoctrinating a new generation. For the sake of the magical community, Mr. Malfoy shouldn't have any sway over his spawn's upbringing."
He should have been outraged. He should have lunged out of this damn chair and strangled whoever had said those words.
And he wanted to.
But the voice in his head – Hermione's voice – was growing louder by the second. Draco wanted to throw his hands over his ears, squeeze his eyes shut, and pretend like none of this was going on, but he couldn't do that either.
Instead, the pit in his stomach grew larger with each abusive word said about him until he felt that there wasn't much left of Draco Malfoy sitting on the courtroom floor except the empty shell of a man.
If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
Though Draco was vaguely aware of actual arguments in his favour taking place above him, he couldn't hear them. Not really. The others had drowned those voices out.
It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice address the crowd that he lifted his head to properly pay attention to the event that was set to change his future.
"…you'd find that Mr. Malfoy quickly adapted and had valid reasons to fight against Voldemort."
Draco flinched at the name. There was only one person who was foolish enough to use it so brazenly in a crowd like this; only one person who could be allowed to even think about pulling a stunt like it.
Potter.
He took deep breaths and focused his ears, trying to listen to Harry's words.
"I watched the way that Draco changed over the course of those several months. Though I wasn't in contact with him directly for most of it, I saw the way he acted this past March when we all escaped from Malfoy Manor. I saw his desperation to escape and the toll it had taken on him to be there."
Harry was defending him. Properly.
Draco looked up.
The boy wonder addressed the Wizengamot directly, his face dead serious. What a strange turn this world had taken, to see Harry Potter, himself, defending him in court.
"Do you deny the allegations that Mr. Malfoy cast the Cruciatus curse multiple times throughout his stay at Malfoy Manor?" accused an older witch.
"Of course I don't. But under the circumstances, I can't imagine he had options other than to follow orders. He was just trying to survive."
"Young man," the same witch began, leaning over her small podium to address Harry directly. "There are a great number of witches and wizards who would give their lives and did before they bowed to the whims of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Draco watched in awe, slack-jawed, as Harry stared back, unblinking, his own jaw set.
"Draco Malfoy did what he did to protect his family. The crimes he committed, while horrible, were the result of an attempt to not just survive, but live. After he began to see Miss Granger, I saw a change in him. Even if I didn't recognize it for what it was at the moment, it was there."
Harry sighed and looked over at him, his green eyes shining with honesty.
"Draco Malfoy used to be a boy who was lost and confused as to what was right and wrong. But that's exactly what he was. Merely a boy. The events of this past year have made him a man. They've made adults out of many children. And when I look at the man he's become – the father that he is – he deserves the opportunity to live that good life he suffered to create."
The witch behind the podium sniffed.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter."
Draco eyed the woman, and thought she looked stiff and unimpressed.
"Is there anyone else who can speak to the character of the defendant?"
In that moment, Draco wished more than anything to have Hermione by his side. She knew him inside and out. She could speak to his character – could attest that he wasn't his father.
But it looked like Potter would be it.
Members of the Wizengamot kept whispering to one another, occasionally shooting him disdaining looks. Draco braced himself for a disappointing ending to his trial.
"Excuse me," came a breathless voice of another witch. "I would like to act as a character witness for Draco Malfoy."
Draco whipped around to his righthand side.
There, in the doorway stood Molly Weasley. His heart soared.
"Molly Prewitt Weasley, wife of Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. I believe you are familiar with our family."
Draco noticed immediately that Molly looked… worn. Her hair was frazzled and there were bags under her eyes that he had never seen before. She had hardly left the Burrow in weeks, overcome by grief, so her appearance was understandable. To see her here, at the Ministry, ready to defend him with fire in her eyes… Draco felt something within him far beyond gratitude—beyond any single word in his vocabulary.
Louder, more obvious whispers broke out amongst the members of the Wizengamot.
"Ah, yes, Mrs. Weasley. We do know who you are–"
"Then I'm sure you're aware of the opinion I have of dark wizards at this time."
Silence swept over the crowd.
"I would never waste my breath defending anyone who I believed to be a risk to our community."
A sneering voice piped up from behind the witch at the podium. "Molly, you just lost your son. Don't you think you might be too distraught to properly–"
"Don't you dare accuse me of feeling a certain way or being incapable of doing what I know is right!" Molly Weasley's face shone with pure rage. "The people responsible for my son's death are dead. Do you think that for one second I would defend someone who I believe whole-heartedly meant to cause pain to others, like those men did to my family?"
Draco could have heard a bowtruckle fall to the ground, it was so quiet.
"While Harry can speak to the beginning and end of Draco's journey this past year, I can attest to the middle. I watched Draco Malfoy transform from a sullen boy unsure of his path to one who wanted to do right by himself and by others around him. He is empathetic and capable of great kindness. And he's a new father. I've seen the way he interacts with his daughter, and he is a wonderful parent. The true crime would be to separate those two, and for that little girl to never properly know her dad."
Draco had never seen Mrs. Weasley look so indignant. And to think it was on his behalf? A wave of emotion flooded his body, nearly drowning the horrible words that had taken refuge there.
"Draco Malfoy deserves the chance to live a good life," Mrs. Weasley declared, her own voice shaking slightly. "He deserves a chance to continue to grow into the man he is capable of being. And what would it say about our society if we condemned young people as rotten from the start?"
Silence dominated the room once more.
"Well then," mumbled a wizard. "Thank you for your testimony, Mrs. Weasley. If that is all, we shall adjourn for now. This council will reconvene one week from today with a verdict."
He banged the gavel on the podium and noise erupted in the courtroom immediately.
Draco shot a grateful look at both Mrs. Weasley and Harry as the chains fell away from his ankles and wrists. Before he had the chance to call out to them or to thank them properly, two Aurors flanked him on either side and dragged him back toward the dank, dark holding cell.
It had been two weeks since Hermione had reversed her parents' memories.
Two long, painful weeks.
As it turned out, reversing their obliviation hadn't been nearly as difficult as she imagined. After all that study, it was rather straightforward, actually.
Her parents' eyes had clouded for a moment as they stood over Shiloh. But with a shake of their heads, they had looked up at her, their own daughter, with a spark of recognition.
"H-Hermione?" Mum had spluttered, confusion in her narrowed eyes. "What's going on? Where have you been?"
Both her parents were so focused on her that their grip loosened on her daughter. The little girl's whimpering quickly morphed into screams. Her little arms flailed about in distress.
Hermione hurried and scooped up Shiloh, cuddling the baby to her chest. Though Hermione shushed her daughter, she continued to wail.
Very aware of her parents' eyes boring into her, Hermione whispered soft words of comfort.
"There, there, sweet girl. It's all right. Mummy's got you."
Hermione looked up to see her parents exchanging significant looks. Though she had never seen her father cry, tears filled his eyes as he turned back to face her.
"Hermione, darling? What's going on? Whose baby is that?"
Hermione let out a soft whimper of her own before the whole story came spilling out. Shiloh's cries grew louder. She tried to quell them as she regaled everything that had happened in the last year.
The war. Obliviation. Draco. Horcrux hunting.
When Hermione reached the part of her story about her pregnancy, she hesitated, unsure how her parents would react.
"She's your daughter, isn't she?" Mum whispered in a voice so quiet it was barely there. "Yours and Draco's."
Hermione nodded.
"I see."
An awkward silence fell between the three adults as Shiloh continued to whinge.
Her father was the first to speak up. "Do you need to take care of the baby? She seems uncomfortable."
"Erm, yes. I think she needs a nappy change," Hermione explained. "We can keep talking if you like. While I'm doing it, that is."
Her parents had expressed disappointment. Anger, even. They never yelled, though.
Their only reactions had been questions and heavy sighs.
She wished they would yell, though. A part of her wished they would scream or cry or even throw something. Anything – anything – would be preferable to this cold, apathetic reaction.
The ice between her and her parents remained, even after they invited her to remain with them as they traveled around in their camper van. They claimed they needed time to reacquaint themselves with the new Hermione.
She saw right through that.
They didn't trust her. It was understandable, really. She had altered their memories significantly without their consent using powers they hadn't ever truly been able to fathom. Hermione saw the way her dad looked at her through cautions, sideways glances; she saw the way Mum whispered the same phrase over and over to herself like a mantra whenever she first woke up: "Your name is Jean Granger. Jean Granger."
Earning back their trust would take time. Lots of time.
Hermione decided to do what she could.
She offered to help with the business as best as she could, filing paperwork and booking appointments during their short stay in each community they visited. And all without magic, of course. Her parents made her promise to do things the muggle way while she was visiting.
"I'm – we're just not ready to trust you with a wand yet," her mother insisted in a clipped tone one evening as they sat in awkward silence at the dinner table.
Hermione nodded with understanding. She had to take what she could get. It wasn't much, but it was better than getting kicked out or failing to reverse their memories.
Doing everything the Muggle way meant that all her work took extensive amounts of time. It was relatively mindless. While that sort of work may have been a relief to some, it only brought Hermione compounding anxiety. Her thoughts landed on Draco more often than not, and with plenty of time on her hands as she filed paperwork alphabetically in cabinets, her mind tended to wander to places it shouldn't.
Draco, alone. Draco, scared. Draco, in Azkaban. Draco, thinking his girlfriend had abandoned him.
The thoughts in her head swirled around so much that sometimes she just broke down, her heart and lungs seizing as she panicked. When it got that bad, she would excuse herself and take a walk on the outskirts of the village. She didn't want Mum and Dad to see how much her worries troubled her. They already had enough on their plates, trying to come to terms with their daughter's horrible actions.
Hermione couldn't imagine explaining to them that their granddaughter's father could be labeled a war criminal.
But then, just imagining Draco, all alone, facing that label, summoned an even deeper sense of worry.
The worry had even begun seeping into her dreams, waking her in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. She fumbled for the pebble around her neck, holding it fast in her palm until it warmed. With its comfort radiating in her grip, Hermione was usually able to fall back asleep. Usually.
If there was one positive that came out of this mess, it was her parents' reaction to Shiloh. Shocked though they were to find out that their eighteen year-old daughter had gotten pregnant and had a baby, they had taken to her little girl right away.
It made Hermione's heart stutter to watch her mum cuddle her in the evening and to hear her dad call Shiloh 'sweetpea.'
She couldn't help but watch with a slight air of envy. It made sense that her parents were still angry at her, but was it too much to ask for a little cuddle from her mum and dad? This past year had been a lot, and with a newborn in tow, she hadn't really had the proper time to sit down and process it all. In the back of her mind, she knew that a hug from her parents wouldn't fix it all. She had Draco, after all. And Harry and Ron. And Mrs. Weasley, of course.
But none of them quite filled the space in her heart that she knew her parents would.
So she did whatever they needed as they moved from community to community over the next couple of weeks, hoping that somehow, they'd find it in their hearts to forgive her before her Floo appointment back to London.
As the days to her departure drew closer, Hermione's anxiety about Draco built higher and higher. She tossed and turned between Shiloh's feedings in the makeshift bed she had made out of sofa cushions in the front of the van. When she wasn't dwelling on her ruined relationship with her parents, the precious little time she was able to close her eyes, visions of Draco being led away by Aurors played over and over in her head.
Given the lack of Floo access in rural Australia, she hadn't been able to contact anyone in Britain since her first day. She had continual thoughts of owling, but no bird could fly to the other side of the world and back within that time frame. She had no idea what was happening with Draco. Was he still in custody? Had he been taken to Azkaban? Had there even been a trial?
Not being with Draco was difficult, but not knowing anything about what was going on was eating her alive.
She picked at her meals.
She hardly slept.
Mum commented about bags under her eyes and the way she pushed her eggs around her plate.
Hermione shrugged it off, though what she really wanted to do was to sob into her mum's shoulder and vent all her frustrations. She couldn't help but wonder if the simple act of her mum rubbing gentle circles into her back would somehow make some of this pain go away.
She never found out.
Hermione suffered in tortured silence as her parents tiptoed around her distress. The only thing tethering her to her sanity was the countdown to her return to England.
Two and a half weeks after her arrival, she informed her parents of her need to use the Floo as they lingered at the table after breakfast.
Her parents winced at the magical reference and Hermione felt her heart sink. They used to love it when she talked about anything from 'her world.'
"How soon do you need it, dear? It's a full day's drive to the nearest city," Mum asked as she gathered plates.
"My… erm… transportation back is in four days. As long as I get to the Floo early that morning, I'll be fine."
"Is it safe for a baby to travel by Floo?" Dad glanced over at cot Hermione had insisted she transfigure.
"She'll be fine. She might spit up when we land, but that's nothing I can't handle."
"Well, if you say so. We have to stock up on some supplies anyway, so I suppose it won't be too difficult to make a trip into Perth."
Hermione grinned and reached across the table to squeeze her dad's hand. "Thanks, Dad. It really means a lot that you're helping me out like this."
He squeezed back.
"Of course, darling."
"And you're welcome to come back to the UK whenever you like. Like I said, the war's over and you'd be… erm… you'd be safe."
The words died in Hermione's throat as she watched her dad's expression shift to one of apprehension.
"I… I don't know, Hermione. Your mum and I… we've made a life for ourselves here in Australia. And with your… well, with your magic, you can bring Shiloh to visit any time."
Hermione pursed her lips. He hadn't mentioned her visiting. Or Draco. Just Shiloh. She bit back the bitter words that were bubbling up inside her and kept their talk to pleasantries alone. There was no need to burn bridges. Not ones that were already crumbling anyway.
"All right, Dad. That's fine."
Four days later, after spending a night in a hotel with a fireplace in each room, Hermione bid her parents goodbye. There were no emotional sentiments exchanged; no tears were shed. Except Shiloh's. But she just needed a nappy change.
Without knowing when or where she would see her parents again, Hermione threw a pinch of her Floo powder stash into the grate and stepped into the emerald flames. As she turned and saw her parents staring back, she couldn't help but notice the strange looks on their faces. It looked oddly like regret.
But then she heard herself say, "Australian Ministry of Magic," and their faces spun away, out of sight. Hermione's only consolation was that she now knew they were safe. There was no room for regret on her part. Even if their relationship would never be the same, she had saved their lives. And that would just be something she would have to live with.
Hermione stepped through to the lobby of the Australian Ministry with practiced grace before immediately turning around and making a Floo call to Harry's. It was nighttime over in the UK, and he was sure to be home at Grimmauld Place by now.
Sure enough, when she stuck her head through and called for her best friend, he appeared in short order.
"Hermione!" he cried. "Please say you're coming home. Is today the day?"
"Yes," she answered quickly. "My Portkey leaves in about thirty minutes. Is everything all right over there? How's Draco? I want to know before I arrive in case… in case…"
"He had a trial last week."
Hermione's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. "And?"
"The verdict was issued today." Harry licked his lips as he spoke, crouched down behind the kitchen table.
"And?" She pressed Harry again, tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.
He gave her a watery smile of his own. "Cleared of all charges."
She gave a choked sob. "Are you serious? How?"
"You'll have to ask him for yourself. Take that portkey and get over to The Burrow as soon as you can."
Hastily nodding, Hermione withdrew from the flames. She wiped her face and cradled Shiloh to her chest as she stood.
Draco had been cleared. Completely cleared.
Hermione didn't remember making her way to the Portkey Office. She didn't remember filling out all the necessary paperwork. She could hardly remember grabbing hold of an old, slightly lumpy pillow and spinning back toward home.
When she looked back on her day as she laid in bed at Shell Cottage that night, the only thing she really remembered was flying into Draco's arms as he walked out of the doorway to the Burrow and into the garden. He had been carrying a pitcher of pumpkin juice, which had promptly crashed to the ground, splashing them both with the sweet drink.
But that could be tended to later. In that moment, all she needed was to feel Draco's arms around her, strong and very, very real. She cried into his shoulder as he lifted the baby from Hermione's chest and cuddled her close.
"I thought I lost you," she murmured.
Words came later, followed by lips. He reassured her he was fine with his lips, sweet and loving. By the way he held her tight that night, it seemed he had needed this as much as she had.
They were each other's family now.
Updates every other Saturday. Next update - March 28. All your comments from last week were so encouraging. It was lovely to see so many familiar usernames and a treat to see many new ones! So much love to you all 3 3 BiscuitsForPotter