February 11th
Hermione was at her wit's end. She was determined to get a hold of Draco but he had managed to avoid her for five days. Five! It wasn't as if she was trying to infect him with the dragon-pox, she just wanted to talk to him, for Merlin's sake!
That first night after Ginny suggested Astoria might be their attacker, Hermione had forced Draco to stay the night at the Tower. He could try to pretend he didn't care all he liked, but she'd spent too much time around boys who said they were fine when they were actually hurting to believe the lie. He'd been reluctant to stay, of course, but she had insisted, and in the end, he had simply nodded and locked himself up in the room that had once been set up for him. She wasn't sure if he'd slept at all, but next morning he went home and she couldn't do much about it.
Hermione herself had slept very poorly, and woke Lucius up multiple times from her tossing and turning, visits to the bathroom and occasional contractions. Flashes from the previous evening kept running through her mind - her duel with Patrick, the way he'd calmly spoken of taring her life to pieces as if it was a good deed, the shock of hearing that Astoria might have aided in attacking her and Lucius. She kept asking herself what would have happened if Patrick hadn't fallen for her trick. What if Lucius and Harry hadn't shown up in time? What if Astoria was the culprit? What if she wasn't? What if this never ended? What if she and Lucius were doomed to a life of being hunted?
The following nights hadn't been much better. Nightmares, contractions, endless chains of what if...? But Hermione was determined to get through each day, even though she felt more tired every morning than she had the night before. Just until the wedding, she kept telling herself. Just keep it together until the wedding. And then the birth. And then catch the attacker. And then you can relax. Then there'll be peace.
Perhaps she should have left Draco alone. He clearly wanted time to himself and she wasn't his mother, after all (though she suspected he didn't exactly open up to Narcissa either). But she was his friend, and she just couldn't keep herself from reaching out to him. Especially since she seemed to be the only one to realise that Draco was going through a crisis.
Harry had been to talk to him after they interrogated Astoria, but hadn't been able to tell her very much about Draco's reaction. Mostly because Draco hadn't had much of a reaction. She would have pushed him, but Harry had let him be. Perhaps Harry was the wisest, but she couldn't be satisfied. Lucius on the other hand had been determined not to push his son for his confidence, and refused to do more than send an owl. Perhaps Lucius was wiser than she, too. But Hermione kept trying, even though she had been rebuffed every time she'd tried to reach him.
When she finally did catch up with Draco, however, it was completely by chance. The wedding was only two days off when she went to the Manor to meet up with Lucius and to set up a few decorations for the wedding. They'd decided to utilize the Manor gardens, seeing as the Lyra foundation was yet to be inaugurated.
She'd just rounded the shrubberies - making even slower progress than usual - when she caught sight of a head of familiar pale blond hair. She found Draco in deep concentration, decorating the gazebo with delicate white flowers that wound themselves elegantly up the banisters and pillars. He really did have an eye for interior design. If he'd been a muggle, she might have suggested he try his luck as a florist as well.
"That's beautiful", she approved, slightly out of breath from her walk.
Draco looked up and grimaced. It didn't offend her - she knew very well why he'd be apprehensive - but couldn't help but to feel a little embarrassed. She was well aware of what Lucius and Draco thought of her tenacity, though it was unfair that she had gotten such a reputation when the Malfoy men were rather headstrong themselves, to put it mildly.
Before Hermione could ask how he was doing or why he was here, Draco jumped off the gazebo stairs and looked around him, as if expecting company. "Where are Lovegood and Mrs Weasley?" he asked, almost suspiciously.
"Luna and Molly? No idea", she answered, rather surprised. She hadn't seen them lately - though Molly had owled her a few tinctures to try for her legs. "Why?"
Draco frowned and regarded her earnestly for a few moments. Then something shifted in his gaze and he groaned, looking up at the pale blue sky.
"You have no idea why I'm even asking, do you?" he asked, glancing at her.
"Not a clue."
Draco rubbed his face and shook his head in exasperation. "I hate my father, you know."
Hermione still had no idea what he was talking about, but grinned nonetheless. "But he's got such a lovely character", she joked, and was glad to hear Draco snort and see his gloomy expression be replaced - at least temporarily - with amusement.
His eyes fell to the shrunk set of tables she was carrying.
"Need a hand with those?" he asked. Without waiting for her answer, he took a handful of miniature tables and went about placing them around the lawn. Coming back to stand by her side, he directed his wand at one of the tables and with a quiet "Engorgio", they immediately returned one by one to their natural size.
"Sit", he ordered with a glance over his shoulders, but Hermione picked up a handkerchief-like piece of cloth from her handbag, put it on the table and enlarged it.
Draco rolled his eyes, took the miniature tablecloths from her as well and continued to work for a few minutes, until all tables were set. After a bit of cajoling, Draco showed her how to perform the spell and (once she'd caught her breath properly) allowed her to help with the arrangements. When they'd finished, Hermione had cast a protective spell over the tables to preserving everything from the effects of frost, rain and wind.
Before any awkwardness could settle between them, Hermione glanced at Draco and nodded her way toward the main building.
"Walk me to the Manor?" she asked.
Draco sighed, but followed her. That distressed look that had troubled Hermione for the past week, making her determined to talk to him, was back on his face. She didn't like it - it reminded her of the way he'd looked in sixth year when he was tormented by the task Voldemort had imposed upon him.
"So -" she began awkwardly.
Draco cut her off. "I knew you'd bring it up", he complained.
"I've barely said a word", she defended.
Draco kicked the pebbles on the stone paving as they made their way through one of the shrubberies. "You're going to ask me how I feel, and if I've been to see her", he muttered, "and tell me to eat better, or whatever."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though he wasn't entirely wrong. But she already knew that Draco hadn't been to see Astoria - because she had. Lucius and Harry had both advised against it, given her condition and the stress and everything else. And in one way, they'd been right. She was glad she'd done it, but Astoria had been in such bad shape, it had added another weight to her chest, further reducing her short hours of rest at night.
Physically, Astoria had been doing fairly well. She looked thin and haggard, but the Aurors had given her a cure for the hex, which had at least stopped the bleeding and healed her wound. But mentally... Hermione shook her head at the memory. The moment Astoria had seen Hermione, she'd broken into tears, gasping out how sorry she was and how much she hated herself. It had taken Hermione a good ten minutes to calm her down enough to have an intelligible conversation. And then, Astoria had told her everything she had told Harry - and which Hermione knew Harry had told Draco.
"Actually", she said, "I was going to make sure Astoria is coming on Saturday. I know they'll let her out tomorrow."
"You want her to come to your wedding?!" Draco asked. He almost looked insulted.
"Why not?" Hermione asked calmly.
"Because she bloody attacked you!" he spat out. Without realising it himself, he was picking up his pace from agitation, causing her to struggle with keeping up with his long strides.
"It wasn't her fault..."
Astoria had told her everything she'd told Harry. It turned out that she didn't remember much of what had happened. She had gone to Diagon Alley that day to pick up a book she'd ordered, on some creature that sounded suspiciously similar to those Crumple-Horned Snorkacks that Luna had always gone on about. After taking a short cut back to the Leaky Cauldron, Astoria had only vague - but frightening - memories of hiding, of throwing curses, of shattering glass, of a searing pain in her side. When she got home, she had an ugly wound to her side, but something had told her to keep everything that had happened to herself. And when she'd heard that Lucius and Hermione had been attacked, she'd panicked.
"One can fight the imperio-curse, you know!" Draco bit out.
"I know", Hermione wheezed out. "But not everyone is strong enough."
"So she's just weak, then", Draco bit out in pretended nonchalance. "Either way, I don't care."
A contraction made her step slow for a moment, and she grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him to a stop. Panting, she put her hand on her belly, only to find that it was rock hard. She'd always found Lucius's lack of patience with healer Abbott difficult to understand - but no more All the healer would advise her was to relax and not stress - as if that was possible in her circumstances!
"Why are you acting like this?" she demanded. She couldn't make him out. "Do you still distrust her, even though you know what happened?"
"No", he muttered and shook off her arm.
"What, then?" she insisted.
Draco wouldn't look at her. "Nothing."
"Stop it!" Hermione snapped. "I know Harry told you everything. You know she was a victim as much as we, so why are you refusing to see her?"
"Because she kept this from me for a bloody month!" Draco half-shouted. "A month! She went around with a bleeding - literally bleeding - wound, and she didn't ask for my help! She knew it had something to do with the attack on you, and still, she never told anyone. They might have caught the attacker already if she'd spoken up, so why are you so keen to forgive her?"
"Because she didn't choose to get involved in this, Draco", Hermione argued. "Yes, she should have told you, but she was afraid."
"So she doesn't trust me", Draco said through gritted teeth. "What did she think I'd do? Get Potter to throw her into Azkaban?"
"No", Hermione sighed. "She thought you'd hate her."
Astoria had hid herself from everyone, even her mother. Especially from her mother, perhaps. She'd voiced her fears to Hermione. Her fear that Eloise would be angry with her for hurting a man she obviously still cared deeply about. Angry, but perhaps most of all: disappointed. Daphne would never have gotten involved in a mess like this. She would never have been weak enough to be imperiused. She'd never find herself being dragged to the Aurors' Office. She'd never do anything to risk her liaison with a man like Draco Malfoy. And Astoria, who truly cared about him, had been induced by both magic and her own fear of disappointing him, to keep what had happened to herself.
"For the love of - " Draco rubbed his face for a moment, before he burst out: "I've tried so hard, Granger! I've tried so hard to be someone she could trust - I thought she already did. But she didn't."
Hermione blinked. "So that's what this is about!" she exclaimed. She should have seen it sooner. "You think she doesn't really love you."
"I never said anything about - about that", Draco muttered, a little startled. "I'm just disappointed, that's all."
Hermione wished she could hug him, like she would Harry if he'd been similarly afflicted, but Draco's crossed arms and averted gaze clearly told her it wasn't the right thing to do at the moment. She settled for stepping a bit closer and catching his eye.
"Draco? Look at me", she asked, and waited until he reluctantly did as she bid. "Go talk to her. She was wrong to hide from you - so don't hide from her."
Draco shrugged, and Hermione decided that was as close to winning the discussion she would get. At least he didn't swear at her and run away, like she'd half-expected him to. Instead, they walked in silence, at a much more reasonable pace. They went down to the dungeons which Hermione had thought only contained wine cellars and storage nowadays. But when Draco opened a large pair of oak doors to let them in, she was surprised to find herself in a dueling hall.
Her eyes soon found Lucius, and her mouth fell open. He wasn't shirtless - oh no, much better: he was wearing a half-opened shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off just enough of his chest to tempt her to step closer and let her fingers uncover the rest. He was panting with exertion, and his eyes shone with excitement as he ducked under a spell and quickly turned to cast a hex in retaliation at his opponent. Oh, dear.
She snapped out of it when Draco cleared his throat next to her.
"You're sickening", he muttered with humour in his voice.
The combatants paused at the sound of his voice, and Hermione squirmed as she watched Lucius's lips slowly curve into a wicked smile as his eyes landed on her.
"Thank Merlin!" another voice exhaled, and Hermione turned to see that Lucius had been sparring with none other than Neville Longbottom. "He's been toying with me for over an hour," Neville complained good-humouredly.
"Do you yield?" Lucius asked disinterestedly, though Hermione could plainly see that Neville had put up resistance enough to make him quite exhausted.
"Yeah, yeah", Neville shrugged and grabbed a flask to gulp down some water.
Lucius approached Hermione, placing his hand on her belly in a silent query. It was still hard, and though she told him she was fine, he transfigured a wooden splinter into a chair for her to sit on. They'd been to healer Abbot's just the day before, and apart from the contractions, everything seemed fine. The baby proved it by moving about just as it should, frequently stretching or pushing its little feet to different sides of her belly - to Lucius's great amusement.
"Well, I'm off to the gardens", Neville said. "I've got a new batch of lilies to plant before sundown. Might as well get it done before I shower."
"Thank you for indulging me", Lucius said graciously, "I didn't realise how much I missed dueling until now."
"Anytime, Malfoy", Neville grinned and turned to leave.
"How are the decorations coming around, Draco?" Lucius asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
"They're coming around nicely", Draco said slowly and continued pointedly: "Didn't see Lovegood or Weasley around, though."
Hermione leaned back on her chair, rubbing her belly as she heard Lucius laugh and saw Draco roll his eyes in response. They said something about Harry not being let off the hook, but Hermione didn't pay them much attention. Her mind had been tickled, and she was trying to catch the elusive thought flitting around somewhere at the back of her mind. Neville. Lillies. Oh!
As quickly as she could, Hermione got up from her chair and ran - well, waddled - after Neville. He turned around in surprise when she called him, and waited for her to catch up with him.
"I have a question", she panted, ignoring the concerned look on his face. "The muggles have this idea that different flowers symbolize different things, like a secret language. Is it the same in the magical world?"
She'd always thought it was a load of rubbish, sho she hadn't bothered with it.
"Yes, of course", Neville answered. "Why?" he asked, just as Draco and Lucius caught up with them.
"Lillies, what do they mean?" Hermione asked. "White lilies?"
She glanced at Lucius, who seemed to realise where she was going. The white lilies brought to him by the poly-juiced mediwitch after he'd been hit with the hex at the ball. There was no message attached, but perhaps the flowers themselves had been a message?
Neville thought for a moment. "I think they have something to do with rebirth and commitment", he said, looking between the two of them. "And purity. You'll find white lilies in a lot of coat of arms. The older noble families liked to show off the purity of their line." He hesitated "The purity of -"
"The purity of their blood", Hermione filled in.
The invitation to the infamous wedding lay white and pristine on the table before her. Pristine white parchment with gold engravings. It seemed to taunt her, goading her to take action. But she couldn't. Not yet. She could no longer control his wand from afar, but a few precious drops of his blood remained. Just enough to allow her to concoct a plan. But this time, it would have to be flawless.
So, she had to let it happen. The wedding would have to take place, though it would forever be remembered as a day of disgrace. And the bastard child - unless by some lucky intervention by fate it died in it's mother's womb - would have to be born. But after that, she would be ready to put an end to this farce.
She would give Lucius Malfoy a choice which he would not be able to back out of, and she would win. He would come to see it sooner or later, and then he would be proud of what she made him do. It would mark the end of Lucius's madness, and the beginning of something new.
A rebirth.