Hello all. I left a truly mean, terrible cliff-hanger last time so let's just launch straight into this one!

As always, JKR is the original creator, sadly not me.

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Chapter Fifteen

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Previously…

"Your wife just needs to come in and pick up her new treatment, which is ready earlier than expected. We fast-tracked the brewing process due to her unique circumstances."

Draco froze, not even noticing when one of the kittens grasped onto him with its sharp little claws. All he could concentrate on was one word circling on repeat in his head.

Treatment… what treatment?

…

Now…

The word 'treatment' circled around his head several times like a taunt, but he couldn't make any sense of it. He hadn't realised Hermione was unwell or suffering any on-going conditions. She'd had the flu recently, but that had eventually passed. Knowing he needed to prod deeper, Draco swallowed the dry, painful lump in his throat and prompted,

"These er…unique circumstances being…?"

"I'm sure you realise, Mr Malfoy, how vital it is that your wife begins taking her second course of potions as soon as possible if we want to have even the slimmest chance of increasing its efficacy. I know the results of the last course were disappointing to say the least, but we all need to stay positive and keep fighting for Hermione's sake."

Draco's mouth had gone dry and had turned to ash and he felt his stomach drop unpleasantly. His hand was shaking so hard he was worried he would snap the phone in half. What she was saying, it sounded…

Bad. It sounded bad. These weren't the words of a doctor following up on a patient who'd just had the flu. This was serious. Draco closed his eyes as he clasped the phone tighter, holding it up to his ear once more. Making an impulsive decision, he licked his lips and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Yes of course, I understand. If it's all right I'd like to come to St Mungo's and pick up the potions myself. And perhaps while I'm there we could speak more about how to… uh…support my wife through her…her…treatment."

"An excellent notion, Mr Malfoy. She will need all the love and comfort she can get in the coming weeks and months. I'd be happy to sit down with you and outline an action plan for you as a family."

Draco sat there dumbly for a second, not knowing what to do. Then he blinked and swivelled his head around, as if only just realising where he was. In a split second he was on his feet and racing from the room, despite the mewling protests from the two kittens that had been displaced to the bed in a hurry.

"I can be on my way right now if you have time," he told her in a rush, a bit out of breath from running and from the sheer unadulterated panic that seemed to have taken over his nervous system.

"Of course. I'll clear my schedule right away, Mr Malfoy. And may I just say, your charitable donations to the Herbert Gladly ward this year have been a god-send!"

"Right, uhuh," he replied awkwardly, knowing that his reputation carried with it certain privileges and silently thanking his friend Theo for recommending that he donate to the hospital to improve his image following the war. He was reaping the benefits now for sure.

"I'll see you shortly," he said before snapping the phone closed and almost bowling over Theo on his way downstairs towards the Floo chamber.

"Where are you going?" his friend called to him while simultaneously trying not to drop the bottle of scotch and glass he was carrying. But Draco didn't have time to answer him. He didn't even have time to stop and just think about this. All he knew was that his friend was right. There was something fishy going on. Something Hermione had kept from him. He just knew it. He wasn't even capable of thinking about respecting her privacy or just talking to her directly instead of going behind her back. He pushed down the guilt as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and shouted the name of the hospital into the flames as they swirled around him.

Right now all that mattered was finding out what the hell was going on.

And whether or not it was keeping him from being with his family.

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…

Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around her daughter, rocking them both back and forth as they enjoyed the evening sun together. The last rays of light were dipping down below the horizon over the pond, the surface of the water glistening softly. She closed her eyes and leaned down to rest her head against Sophie's hair, breathing in the smell of her little girl's floral shampoo and shivering.

It was a beautiful spot; her favourite part of the Burrow. Down the path away from the house the trees gathered in dense thickets, circling around a small fishpond, filled with strange exotic magical fish that were a bright purple colour. As the sky darkened they became luminescent and Sophie cooed in delight, watching them frolic around each other.

It had been a strange day. After speaking with George, the two of them had agreed that it might be best if Sophie spent a little bit more time at the Burrow with Arthur and Molly before she spoke to them about her situation. So they were here for the weekend and it had been… awkward at first, but then lovely.

She'd spent so little time with the rest of the Weasley family since breaking up with Ron. But it was remarkable how easily they fell back into those old comfortable relationships. They really were wonderful people. The Weasley nest was empty now, all their kids having moved out. But even just in the few hours they'd been there, several of their kids (now adults themselves of course) had already dropped in unexpectedly. The family was closer than ever, and Hermione knew that they had really grown together even more than before to help each other heal after Fred's tragic death during the war.

George had spent some time there too, and he had a wonderful way of breaking the ice with his charm and his close bond with Sophie. It wasn't long before Arthur was playing with the little girl out in the garden, tossing gnomes over the fence with squeals of delight, while Molly coddled her at every opportunity with delicious food and plenty of affection. There were even other grandkids popping in and out with their parents throughout the day, such as Bill's oldest Victoire and Percy's daughter Olivia. It was nice to see Sophie playing with kids her own age in that special way that reminded her of family.

And yet…

As magnificent as the Weasleys were, there was still something just… missing.

Almost as if her daughter had read her thoughts, the little girl leaned her head back onto Hermione's shoulder.

"Mummy-"

"Hmmm?"

The little girl paused and let out a gentle sigh.

"I miss Draco."

Hermione's stomach clenched unpleasantly. She was glad that George had returned to the house and hadn't overheard Sophie's comment. He was already cross with her for keeping her condition a secret from Draco and breaking up with him instead. And he had every right to be. The guilt was eating her up inside a little bit more every second. She couldn't get the memory of Draco's heartbroken face out of her mind. It was burned into her. Hermione burrowed her head into her daughter's hair and nodded in acceptance of her words.

"I know, sweetie."

There was a slight pause before Sophie turned in her mother's lap to look up into her eyes.

"When can we go visit him? I want to see him! And Chess and Shadow and Granny! I want to tell them all about how I lost my tooth!"

Hermione smiled sadly and stroked her hair behind her ear.

"Soon, darling. Maybe next weekend."

Sophie considered this for a moment before nodding and snuggling back against her mother. Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around the little girl as the sky turned pink and blue, darkening with every minute they remained by the lake. Eventually Hermione worked up the strength to clear her throat and speak.

"Sophie…" she froze for a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, "You know how mummy told you all about Hogwarts?"

Sophie squirmed on her lap and nodded with excitement.

"The witch school?"

"Yes! And do you remember what house mummy was in?"

"You were in Griffydoor!"

"That's right," she confirmed, lifting her hand to stroke it through her daughter's hair, "But I never told you how I got put there."

"Auntie Lavender says a smelly old hat picks it for you."

"That's partly true," Hermione chuckled, "It's called the Sorting Hat. And at your first Welcoming Feast it will assign you to one of four houses. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin."

"Draco's house!" Sophie informed her eagerly. Hermione smirked.

"That's right. The Sorting Hat will sing a little song before you wear it. It will tell you that Slytherins are clever and ambitious, Hufflepuffs are kind and loyal, Ravenclaws are smart and determined and Gryffindors are noble and brave. But really, we all possess those qualities. You just have to decide what matters to you most."

"I get to choose?" Sophie asked with wide eyes, just visible in the fading sunlight.

"Of course. The Sorting Hat will look into your heart and see what you truly desire. It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw at first…"

"You are very smart, mummy," Sophie noted with a serious expression as she considered this new information.

"Too smart for my own good sometimes, just like my daughter," she teased, giving Sophie a tickle. The little girl giggled and twisted away.

"So why did you want to be a Griffydoor?"

Hermione contemplated her daughter for a moment, a regretful pang in her chest.

"I wanted to be brave so badly," she told her, "It's hard being noticed all the time for how brainy you are or how many books you read. I was afraid of what people thought of me. So when I started Hogwarts I was determined to be confident and not be afraid to show who I really was. That's why I wanted to be in Gryffindor. I wanted to believe in myself without any fear or doubt."

"Will I be in Gryffindor too?" Sophie asked, looking up at her mother with a sense of awe and excitement. Hermione smiled and tugged on one of her daughter's loose curls.

"It's up to you. I just want you to know that, no matter what house you choose, I'm very proud of you. And all I want is for you to find somewhere you truly belong."

Sophie looked a bit confused, which was hardly surprising. It would be years before the little girl began her first year at Hogwarts, making this whole conversation a bit abstract. Hermione only hoped that her daughter would remember these words in some distant corner of her memory, that it would help give her faith in her own choices in the future when her mother wasn't around to guide her.

"I want to be brave like you," Sophie announced after a pause, causing Hermione to wince as her face fell with shame.

"I'm not so brave anymore, Sophie. Not like I used to be. My courage has escaped me lately."

Sophie clasped her mother's hand tightly in her smaller one.

"Don't be sad, mummy."

Hermione sniffed and forced a smile on her face.

"I'm okay. As long as I'm with you I'm as happy as can be!"

And it was true. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind now, that she would spend every last second she had on this earth protecting and loving her daughter. That was her purpose now. She only hoped that she left some fond memories behind that Sophie could cherish once she was gone.

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It was dark all through the house. As he slowly climbed the stairs, Draco wondered vaguely why he hadn't turned on any lights as he entered. Moonlight was peeking through the shutters and into the hallway in thin strips. It was one of those muggy nights; hot and damp, but eerily still. Not even a timid breeze could be felt that night, making the air seem thick and oppressive.

Draco slowly came to a stop outside the door to his bedroom. He rested his palm on the wood for a long moment. It was surprisingly cool to touch. His body felt heavy with the knowledge of what he'd learned, even though his mind was still grappling to make sense of it.

Draco pushed on the door, hearing the creak as it opened. He stood standing there, looking into the room that was now so empty, bathed in moonlight but somehow hollow and shadowed by the loss of her presence.

Looking over at the bed, a memory came back to Draco, one that suddenly took on a new and terrible meaning. Hermione had been sick. The flu, she'd told him, lying right there in that very same bed. Her skin had been so pale and she'd been emaciated and weak. Then suddenly a day later her condition had improved. For a week or two she'd fluctuated randomly between sick and healthy, a pattern that was rather unusual for a normal flu.

You're a fool, Draco…

As he staggered backwards away from the doorway, Draco's face was suddenly cast in moonlight, as though a beacon had been fixed onto the cluttered turmoil of thoughts and memories swimming around in his head.

She'd needed money.

It was all about the money.

He remembered questioning this at the time. She'd had debts, yes, but they were almost paid off. And her new job at Malfoy Enterprises had come with a good salary.

But now he understood.

Now everything made sense and he felt numb with disbelief. It was true. All of it. Everything the doctor had said was true. After all, Hermione was the one who'd overheard him talking to Theo that day so many months ago. What was it his friend had said?

"Everything can be done for the right price mate! And it's not like you can't afford it."

Hermione had heard this. She'd jumped out with a panicked expression and blurted out her outlandish proposal. And now he knew why.

She's sick.

No…she's dying.

He was barely able to even think the words to himself, but they clung to him nonetheless like a dark cloud. She had entered into this marriage with him because she was dying and she needed money to pay for potions. Potions that hadn't even worked. He closed his eyes in pain, gripping at his chest with one hand as if that would help him breathe. He could suddenly hear Hermione's voice in his head, saying things that had seemed so innocent at the time but now… now he realised…

'Life's too short to hold grudges.'

'There just… never seems to be enough time.'

'Life can be unpredictable and stupid and so, so unfair, Draco. Don't waste time regretting things you could have done differently.'

'I'm doing it for her.'

This last one gnawed at Draco like a rotting tooth. Pushing himself off from the wall of the hallway, he made his way for the second time that day to Sophie's room. Stepping inside, he took in the yellow walls and the small, feminine touches that revealed it to be the bedroom of an innocent little girl.

For her.

That was why Hermione had insisted upon following the plan. Because the money he was giving her had not only been to pay for her potions treatment, but had been earmarked strictly for her daughter's future. Something she herself would not be around long enough to provide. She was ensuring that her daughter would be taken care of and have enough funds to live on in the event of her mother's death.

Sophie… my sweet little Sophie…

Draco grasped onto the doorjamb, feeling weak in the legs. The woman he loved was dying. But more than that, his dear Sophie's poor heart would be broken beyond repair. She would always carry the grief of her mother's death with her throughout her life. He imagined her eager, smiling expression fading into one of sorrow. The two were so endearingly close. He'd never known a mother and daughter to hold such a fierce protective love for each other. For years it had just been the two of them. And now Sophie would lose everything.

He would lose everything too.

It couldn't be real. It wasn't possible.

Draco stumbled over towards the dresser. He used it to support his weight as he knelt down, struggling to breathe. A crumpling sound made him look down. His leg had fallen onto a piece of paper. He slowly reached down and picked it up between his fingers. Then he lifted it up to his eyes, peering at it through the gentle haze of the moon's light.

It was a drawing. One of Sophie's. She'd drawn the outline of several figures standing in front of a big house, illustrated with bold, eclectic splashes of colour. The top half of the page was dominated by a big yellow sun. And the people gathered below were standing close together with glowing smiles on their faces. Sophie was in the middle holding a kitten in each hand. Then there was Hermione with her curly hair, and 'Granny' was there too wearing a pretty apron. But it was the man standing by her side that drew his attention. And if the yellow blond hair didn't give away his identity, the label scrawled almost neatly to one side certainly did.

Draco.

His name was accompanied by several love hearts, scattered around the lettering. The care with which she'd included him into her little family portrait tugged at his heart, especially when he noticed how she'd drawn him holding hands with her mother.

Draco clenched his eyes shut, unable to hold back his grief any longer. He collapsed against the dresser, gripping onto it so fiercely his knuckles turned white as he shuddered.

Please… it can't be true. There has to have been some mistake.

This whole time. This whole goddamn time she'd been dying. He wanted to be angry at her, he wanted to yell and curse to the heavens. But all he felt was a raw, sharp pain in his chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

She'd just needed his money and he'd been none the wiser. He hadn't even suspected the truth even though he could clearly remember times when her desperation was now so obvious. Draco's face scrunched up in agony as he sobbed into the piece of paper still clutched in his hands. Soon he was gasping for breath as it all became too much.

He'd only just found her. She'd only just come back into his life. He had long since realised that his life had been so small without her. It had been petty and hollow. And then she'd suddenly leapt out at him from behind a screen proposing marriage and everything had changed. Before he'd merely worked and worried and worked some more. But since their wedding he had experienced true joy. And desire, and passion and humour and jealousy.

Ironically, she was the one who had brought him back to life.

And yet he couldn't do the same for her.

Why… why had this happened? Why her?

It wasn't fair.

Draco pressed his hands into his eyes. His throat was scratchy and raw and his head was starting to pound from crying. With a sob he remembered the book he'd bought for Hermione that day at Flourish and Blotts.

Dark Magic and the Mind.

Oh God. He thought she'd just been morbidly interested in the topic; she was the Brightest Witch of their Age after all. But no… it turned out she'd been researching ways to save herself. Had she found anything? Obviously not yet, if the doctor's words were anything to go by. Draco closed his eyes in anguish. The Medi-Witch had also mentioned something about a trauma during the war, that Hermione had been subjected to a barrage of mental torture, resulting in her condition.

Torture…

Was it possible? Could this whole devastating situation really be due to that night at Malfoy manor? When his aunt Bellatrix had tortured her to within an inch of her life? It must be. The memory of seeing her writhe and scream on the floor of their drawing room had proved so traumatic to Draco that he'd sold the house shortly after the war to some old pureblood fanatics. He couldn't stomach the thought of owning a place where so much despair and torment had taken place. The stench of Voldemort's evil was too thick and pervasive there. And now to discover that Hermione was dying because of something he himself had witnessed in his own house. That his aunt had perpetrated.

It was too much.

Draco pushed himself up off the floor. He smoothed out Sophie's drawing, trying to get rid of the creases, knowing how precious this little piece of paper now was. Looking around the room once more, Draco clenched his hands into fists.

This wasn't over.

He had sworn to himself after the war that he would never again allow anyone or anything to make him feel so helpless. Living under the control of the Dark Lord he had been a mere puppet, impotent and powerless. But not anymore. Now he was in control of his own life. He had his own money and ran a successful company. And he was a good father, god damnit, even if it had all seemed like a sham at the time.

He would not lie down and let the world walk all over him again.

He wouldn't rest until he fixed this.

By god… he was going to fix this.

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Sorry this chapter was a teensy but shorter than usual. But it seemed like the right time to do a cut off rather than make one enormous chapter. Next time… the big confrontation! Please review!