Tuesday, October 24th

"Monica Granger speaking."

The familiar voice on the phone was cheerful, just as she remembered it, and yet had a hint of the professional. On the phone, her mother tended to be Doctor Granger - at least until she knew who she was talking to. Hermione cleared her throat. Her fingers were already aching from clutching her cellphone. "Hello, this is Hermione", she said, trying to keep her voice friendly and even. "I don't know if you remember me –"

"Hermione!" the voice interrupted eagerly. "Don't be silly, dear, of course I remember you!"

Hermione's heart began to pound wildly in her chest. Was it possible…? She glanced at Lucius, who was listening to the conversation. Crookshanks, who had curled up next to him in the sofa, looked rather offended - Lucius had missed a stroke.

"You were such a great help to us. I can never thank you enough", her mother continued. "I still don't know how you managed to move everything into the house so quickly!"

Hermione's heart sank. She didn't remember. Of course she didn't. Lucius went back to patting Crookshanks, Crooks went back to purring contentedly, and Hermione quickly told herelf to get a grip. The woman had meant to express gratitude, and that was a good thing. It meant that the plan was working.

"And you even got everything put into the right room!" Mrs Granger continued. "Thanks to you, we've gotten the house in order quicker than we'd ever expected. Really, it was like - like magic!"

Hermione blinked, wishing she could just laugh and remind her mother that it was magic. But she wasn't talking to her mother, but to Mrs Granger, a casual acquaintane who had no idea that such things existed for real.

"It was the least we could do", Hermione responded. "I just called to make sure you were happy with the arrangements."

"They're perfect! In fact, I've been meaning to call you, because I insist on you coming over for dinner some day!"

"That would be lovely", Hermione answered, touched by her mother's thoughtfulness, even if she had counted on it for this to work.

Their plan had been simple. After several weeks of treatment at Lucius's expense in Australia, her parents had regained most of their memories. That is, they remembered their original identities, had decided to move back to the UK and their old house and to set up their own dental practice. But they still didn't remember that they'd once had a daughter, nor did they seek out any of the friends that would easily have reminded them about that tiny detail. And while Hermione was prepared for things to take time, she desperately wanted to have some sort of place in their lives. She wanted to be able to ask them how they were doing and not have to resort to spying.

So when most of what the Grangers owned in terms of furniture and household goods had been sent to England by container, that container had mysteriously disappeared on the way. And quite by accident, it had resurfaced at a London estate belonging to Lucius. Hermione had contacted her parents, convincing them that she worked with the moving company and would compensate for her mistake by arranging everything to be moved into the right house by the time her parents arrived on English soil.

"Oh, and you must bring your fiance!" Mrs Granger continued. "How about this Saturday? I know it's Halloween and we'll have to take precautions because of the pandemic, but -"

"We'd be happy to come." Hermione interrupted, this time with a genuine smile on her lips.

When she ended the call a few minutes later, Lucius earned himself another offended look from Crookshanks when he stood up to make his way over to her. "I'll have to be careful", he said as he put his arms around her. "You might yet grow into a master manipulator."

The rest of the week passed by slowly, but Friday came at last and Hermione dragged herself to work for a few hours work before the weekend. Proud to have once again survived the elevator ride without throwing up, Hermione made her way down the corridors. She had a hard time keeping her mind on the here-and-now, distracted by the stories told in her new favourite book: The History of the Malfoys.

From the moment Hermione had first picked it up back in June, she had scarcely been able to put the book away. It was a fascinating tale of individuals making spectacular achievements, of families sticking together against adversaries, of mind-blowing prejudice and heartbreaking sorrow. And with each tale she read, each ancestor she got to know, she felt as if she had another tiny piece to add to the puzzle whose name was Lucius.

If she was completely honest with herself, she'd had a very hard time imagining herself as a Malfoy. It didn't matter that her opinion of both Draco and Lucius had improved dramatically – her first and most lasting association to that name were that of disdain – a sense of revulsion that, she knew, had been fully mutual a couple of years ago. Hermione Malfoy. It was just too weird.

But now, she was starting to see things differently. Sure, the Malfoys tended to be awfully self-centered and ridiculously prejudiced, but they were also loyal, clever and very... human. And those were traits she recognized not only in herself but more or less in all those she held dear.

She was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe she might soon be able to think of herself as a Malfoy without squirming on the inside.

Today, she was thinking about Arcturius Malfoy, whose wife had been accused of using dark magic and sentenced to death in the late 17th century. He had done everything in his power to save her but to no avail. In the end, Arcuturius had killed her himself in order to spare her the pain and humiliation of a public execution. The tale brought tears to her eyes every time she thought about it. Arcturius himself had been imprisoned but pardoned and finally killed in a duel where he had consciously neglected to protect himself.

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione found she had made it all the way to her office without without even greeting anyone. Lookong around, however, she guessed that most of her co-workers were having their ten o'clock coffee anyway. The only person she could see was Billy, who was staring morosely at a pair of scrubbing brushes at work on the floor. She supposed he'd had another accident and might have offered to show him how to do the cleaning more efficiently, but she hadn't quite forgiven him his last mistake yet. So instead, Hermione hurried into her office .

She took her coat off and turned around to hang it on the coat-hanger - but found she wasn't alone. Patrick was standing just inside the door. Hermione shrieked and took a few steps back, clutching her coat to her chest.

Patrick hadn't spoken to her since the ball, but the frequent accusing looks he sent her way made it perfectly clear to her that he held some sort of grudge. And now he was standing with his arms crossed barely an arm's length away. Without taking his eyes from her, he closed the door behind him, and settled against the door with another one of those reproachful looks.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked in an oddly high-pitched voice.

She had defended Patrick against Harry and Lucius. She'd been so certain he wasn't a threat to her or anyone else. But ambushing people in their office wasn't normal behaviour, was it? And at the ball... he had been angry. And as far as she knew he still didn't have an alibi.

"Sit down, Hermione", Patrick said.

She was unsure of what to do, but decided that she preferred to be as far away from him as possible, and that the best way to do that was to do as he suggested. Perhaps Billy had heard her and would come to investigate? She put her coat on her desk and, after another moment's hesitation, sat down and waited for him to speak. Her heart was pounding violently, but she tried her best not to fidget. This was the second time in less than two months that she'd had an unwelcome visitor. She would have to start locking her door.

It felt like several minutes passed before he spoke.

"I've been thinking about you, Hermione", he said at last in a tone that was surprisingly soft, considering the tension in his shoulders. "Thinking. Watching. I think I understand now."

He paused, as if expecting a reply. When she said nothing, he frowned.

"At first, I was angry. So angry. You are so pure, so good, so clever – how could you, of all people, fall prey to someone like Lucius Malfoy?" Patrick spat out the name. "How could you, the brightest witch of our age, not see through his facade? How could you, this beautiful golden girl, align yourself with the dark?" He shook his head. "I couldn't think of any satisfactory explanation. All I knew was that somehow he had managed to manipulate you –"

Hermione tried to interrupt, but he only shook his head. "And then I saw it."

"What?" she asked, perplexed.

"You were trying to tell me, weren't you?" he said, his eyes a little softened. "At the ball? Your health issues."

Hermione froze.

"You're carrying his child", Patrick stated.

He watched her expectantly, but she didn't know what to say. There was anger in the set of his mouth, and triumph in his eyes. What did that mean? Did he want her to deny it or confirm it? Would he be angrier if he was proven right or proven wrong? And then what? Would he attack her?

Patrick still hadn't moved from his place by the door.

"Somehow, Malfoy managed to seduce you, and manipulate you to -" he broke off with a disgusted scowl. He shook his head, finally looking away from her, but only for a second. "And now you're with child, and too good to consider ending it. You think you're bound to him now, that there's no way out. You're loyal, I appreciate that, and you have a warm heart. But you need to get out."

Hermione only shook her head.

"You need to get out", he repeated, shrugging off the wall and taking a step towards her. "You understand that, don't you? He might play nice now, but he'll hurt you."

Hermione's heart hammered faster, but she found it hard to speak. She just stared at the wizard in front of her. His blue eyes were burning, and his golden locks fell half into his eyes. He looked distraught, and excited. Worried and hopeful. Like a troubled angel.

"You don't have to go through with this", Patrick said.

Hermione frowned. Not go through with what? At that moment, she felt a slight nudge from inside her belly, and that was when it finally clicked. She gasped as she took in his meaning. "You're not suggesting –" she broke off, putting her hands protectively over her belly.

"No one would blame you", Patrick said calmly. "No one would even know. No one knows but me."

Patrick took another step closer to her desk, and Hermione used the wheels on her chair to roll backwards, farther away.

"It's too late for that", she said hoarsely, trembling. "I'm halfway already."

"It's not too late", Patrick said, just a few steps away from her now. "I can make it happen."

He was serious. He'd make her get rid of the baby. Her baby. Her son or daughter, whom Lucius already owed his life to.

"It's not too late", Patrick repeated.

And then finally something fell into place inside her. In one fluid motion, she picked up her wand, stood up and pointed it at Patrick. "No", she said firmly. "I'm keeping the baby, I'm not being manipulated, you have no right to interfere in my life, and you are leaving my office."

Patrick looked appropriately alarmed by her fierce reaction. He quickly put his hands up, backing a step. "Okay, okay", he soothed. "Just - just think about it, Hermione. I know it'll be hard for you, but it will be worth it."

"Out", she growled. "Now."

"Just remember I'm here for you", he added. "I'll do anything for you, if you just give me a chance."

"I said now!" she yelled and raised her wand, prepared to hex him to the moon if needs be.

Patrick backed another few steps, and with a last pleading look at her, he opened the door and left. The door was left open and she could hear Billy's brushes scrubbing away at the floor. Trembling, Hermione watched Patrick as he headed for his own little office scrub. When he turned to look at her one last time, she flicked her wand and made her door close with a final bang.

It was Friday evening, and Hermione had finally come to the point where she was able to truly relax. Lucius had hovered around her since the moment she burst into his office, pale and shaking. After she'd told him what had happened, and a brief talk with Harry over the Floo, he'd insisted she take a long hot bath. She had needed very little persuasion to do as he asked, although she suspected he'd break his promise not to call healer Abbott as soon as she turned her back. She'd told him he was all right. Shaken, but not injured. She'd felt the baby moving inside her. They were both all right.

She was now swaddled up in her bath robe and a soft blanket, nursing a steaming cup of tea that Tilly had brought her. Across the room, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and she could smell cooking. And, as always, she was now starting to feel a little silly for getting so upset. Patrick hadn't actually tried to forcer her into anything, he'd only tried to persuade her. She certainly didn't like the way he thought he knew her without even bothering to listen, but he hadn't been violent or properly threatening, had he?

Hermione felt the baby nudge her from the inside, and smiled gently. You're mine, she thought. Nobody will hurt you. Then she put her cup down and leaned her head back, breathing out a soft sigh of contentment.

She heard steps in the corridor.

"What did healer Abbott say?" Hermione asked without looking up.

Lucius huffed. "The same as usual: 'No need to worry, Mr Malfoy'. There has got to be someone better qualified than that person", he muttered. After a moment's silence, where she was sure he was trying to determine whether she really was all right, he cleared his throat. "I have a question for you", he announced.

"What?" Hermione lazily turned her head to look more directly at him. She found him leaning against the doorway, with a cocked eyebrow. Slowly, he held out his index finger, from which a piece of red clothing was dangling. Her nightgown.

"You found it!" she exclaimed.

If healer Abbot was correct, it was perfectly normal for pregnant women to become a little distracted and forgetful, but it was rather inconvenient when her clothes and other possessions were starting to disappear. She'd looked for her favourite nightgown for weeks.

Lucius sauntered over to her, speaking in a lofty voice: "Actually, now that I think about it, I have two questions." He stood beside her, hanging her nightgown over the back of the sofa, and leaned down over her. "First: why was your nightware hiding behind a couple of books in the library? And, more importantly: if you're not wearing this, what are you wearing under those bathrobes?"

Hermione smiled up at him innocently. "I deny any involvement in the hiding of my own clothes", she said. "I think you have greater motives for such behaviour".

Lucius quirked an eyebrow, but didn't deny the logic. There was a hunger in his eyes that she quite liked.

"As for your second question –" she continued, but never got to finish her sentence.

The flames in the fireplace turned green as the Floo network roared to life, and Hermione heard Lucius mutter something under his breath as he took a step back and turned to face their visitor.

"Draco", he said coldly, as his son stepped out of the fireplace and brushed off his robes.

Draco frowned as he looked between them. "What?" he asked, likely puzzled as to why he was treated as an annoying disruption when he was the one who had been urgently summoned on a Friday night as if he had nothing better to do.

Lucius simply sighed and told Draco to sit, taking the opposite arm chair. Lucius rubbed his forehead, a clear sign that another one of his headaches was coming on. They'd gotten fewer and milder over the weeks, but Hermione knew he still suffered from them regularly.

For a few moments, nobody said a word and Hermione grew nervous. They were going to tell him about the baby - they had already waited too long - and she worried about his reaction. Would he be angry? Disgusted? Displeased? The best she dared hope for was indifferent.

"Are you both all right?" Draco asked, looking genuinely worried.

"Yeah", Hermione said, biting her lip. "I - I just had an unpleasant conversation with a colleague today and we realised – erm, we've been planning to tell you – that is, we shouldn't have waited so long, because if anyone should know it's you –" she fumbled.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Congratulate us, Draco", he said abruptly, "we're having a baby."

Draco froze. Completely. For the longest time, he was staring at his father with a completely blank expression. Hermione was actually beginning to worry that he'd gone into a trance like Lucius did last spring, but Lucius calmly watched him as the seconds ticked by. In the end, it was Draco who looked away first. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hermione tought she heard him sigh something like: "Will it never stop?", but she couldn't be sure.

Lucius was rolling his wand between his fingers with a look of apprehension.

"A baby?" Draco said, finally looking back up. He looked utterly astonished. "You're serious? Hermione's having your child?"

"Yes."

Lucius and Draco continued to look into each other's eyes, and Hermione had the strange feeling that she was left out of an important conversation. As if they shared some secret that she wasn't part of. As if they were discussing the solution to a problem she didn't even know existed. Herione grew more annoyed by the second. Finally, Draco broke the gaze, smiling a little to himself.

"Well, that's good news I guess", he said. "Congratulations!"

Lucius was smiling too, but differently; Draco looked strangely relieved, but Lucius smiled almost as if he thought he shouldn't.

"Thank you, Draco", Hermione said crisply. She didn't like being left out. It made her feel stupid. The two wizards looked a little apologetic, and Lucius moved to sit next to her, but she pointedly ignored heim. She did not like to feel stupid.

"Any other news?" Draco asked awkwardly. "Anything about the attack?"

Lucius shook his head, instantly looking grimmer. "Potter had nothing substantial to report. No witnesses and no proper alibis. Ronald and Molly Weasley are clear, but none of the others that knew about us." He sighed. "Besides, it could literally have been anyone at that ball."

"And it could happen again", Hermione added. Nobody argued.