All I need to get by

Chapter Ten: Never In The Field of Human Conflict

Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few

Winston Churchill

Dedicated to everyone out there called Nigel, or Lancelot…

'Do I look fat in this?' asked Hermione Granger, sighing as she did so.

She was standing in front of a gilded frame mirror propped against the bedroom wall of her flat, her hands on her hips as she surveyed herself. The black dress she was wearing stretched a little tightly across her slightly rounded midriff, but it was hardly noticeable to anyone except Hermione.

'In fact,' she continued crossly, 'Don't answer that. I look fat in everything.'

'I shouldn't worry too much dearie,' replied the mirror anyway, 'It'll get worse later on.'

'Was that meant to be comforting?' snapped the irate Unspeakable, 'Because it wasn't you know. Why on earth did I agree to a magic mirror?'

'Because you went through a phase of saying 'mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all',' Draco's voice drifted from the bathroom where he was dabbing aftershave onto his smooth cheek.

'Oh shutup!' the disagreeable girl snapped in some amusement, sitting on the edge of the bed to do the straps on her shoes a little tighter.

'Are you ready yet?' the impeccable Draco emerged from the bathroom completely ready, his top shirt button open, the jacket casually thrown across one shoulder as he checked his watch.

'Just about to be late!' chimed the watch unhelpfully, and Malfoy rolled his eyes at it.

'Yes,' Hermione said at last, spraying on a cloud of muggle perfume. 'Let's go.'

'Have a nice time!' drifted out from the mirror at the same time the watch chimed, 'fashionably late!'

'Right, where are we going again?' Hermione rubbed her bump absently, hoping she didn't splinch herself.

'Black Abbey Courtroom,' her boyfriend answered, 'Don't you dare splinch yourself.'

'I have done this before,' she snapped, and vanished with a small pop.

Rolling his eyes Draco followed, a sauve smile already fixed to his handsome face. The apparation took, as was usual, only a few seconds before he was standing in the apparation point of the Black Abbey Courtroom. Hermione was standing to one side, bent over slightly as she tried to breathe easily, one hand on the shoulder of Harry Potter, whose face radiated concerned apprehension.

'Potter,' drawled Malfoy arrogantly, 'Get your hands off my girlfriend.'

'You shouldn't have let her apparate,' Harry said complacently, completely ignoring the annoyance Draco caused him, 'She's four months pregnant you numbskull.'

'Don't tell me what to do about my girlfriend!' the blonde sneered hotly, eyes creasing into a glare.

'Oh shut up both of you,' snapped Hermione, 'Where's Ginny?'

'Looking after Nigel,' Harry responded gloomily, 'He has colic.'

'I still don't know why you called him Nigel,' Hermione tutted, 'I thought you were all for Lancelot or something.'

'Merlin Hermione!' Harry's shocked face looked down at her, 'Lancelot? You and Draco can call you baby stupid names if you want to, but Ginny and I refuse to.'

'You mean,' interjected Draco, musing over baby names briefly, 'That Ginerva wanted to call him something normal, and you gave in.'

Harry looked slightly sheepish. Hermione gave her partner a very warning, slightly amused glance, and took his profurred arm. She wished they hadn't agreed to go to this charity ball, but such was life.

'I love you,' she whispered to him softly as they exited the apparation point, and he nodded stiffly.

The first time she had told him she loved him he had said nothing, and carried on waving his wand aroun to try and rearrange the furniture. He turned awkward when she told him that – stiff and unreceptive, but she carried on anyway. She knew he loved her, but it would have been nice to have heard it as well.

'Count Draco Malfoy, and miss Hermione Granger,' announced the door boy, and they were swept into a dazzling world of low lighting and champagne fountains.

'Damn it Draco,' Hermione hissed quite suddenly, 'I need a drink.'

'You can't have a drink,' Draco answered, nodding politely to the Minister of Magic, Joseph Antonio. 'Good evening minster.'

'Count Malfoy,' simpered his wife before Antonio had a chance to say anything, 'How lovely to see you.'

Draco felt Hermione stiffen suddenly on his arm, and was willing to bet that she was swinging into protective mood again. Had she been a tiger she would have been snarling. Maybe the drink would have been a good idea.

'Draco's just going to get me a drink,' she forced out, 'Aren't you Draco?'

'Yes, I think we should,' Draco said hastily, giving the Minister a apologetic smile, which he returned with a raise of his eyebrows – amused.

'Oh no, darling,' Hermione was being Difficult, 'You go, mrs Antonio and I just have to have a chat about that adorbale blouse she's wearing.'

Draco risked a glance at Mrs Minister, as the Daily Prophet had daubed her. She was wearing a prissy, high necked blouse with purple embroidery up one sleeve, and at least seventeen strings of pearls. Her highly botoxed bosum peered out of them. He knew from experience that Hermione was lying. The older woman was simpering slightly.

'Minister,' Draco stabbed bravely, 'won't you come and have a champagne?'

'Oh no,' Cornelia Antonio simpered, 'Darling, you promised you would stay with me. We hardly ever see each other,' she added, apparantly to Draco, with a flirty look from under her eyelashes, in an undertone.

'Draco, I really need a drink,' Hermione pressed three fingers upto her temple in a melodramatic manner, and the blonde Slytherin went, casting anxious looks over his shoulder until he was accosted by a French dignitary.

'Mrs Antonio,' began Hermione sweetly, closing her fingers over the other woman's hand, which tightly clutched a glass of red wine, 'That's such a pretty blouse, where did you get it?'

'Oh,' the former Hufflepuff smiled back, guilessly, 'From Bicester.'

'Really?' gushed Hermione, 'Oh no!'

The Mrs Minister gave a little scream of surprise and horror than nobody really paid any attention to as the glass was mentally leviated out of her hand. Hermiones hands held hers tightly as she watched in fake surprise the glass which her mental powers moved. The glass tipped slowly over the blouse, and Mrs Minister gave another tiny scream, and a gasping sob. The wine trickled down her botoxed bosum.

'Pregnant moodswings,' offered Hermione, desperately dabbing at the blouse a bit harder than was necessary, 'I'm terribly sorry – my magic swings as well, and the baby just seems to amplify them…so sorry, really, so sorry.'

'Don't worry miss Granger,' came the haunted tones of the minister as he withdrew his wand to clean up the mess, 'We sympathise.'

Mrs Minister was doing anything but sympathise. Her piggy eyes were glaring at Hermione while she squeked and snuffled, mouth twisted in anger. Hermione gave her a condescending, sympathetic look and released her hands, at the same time releasing the wine glass so that it toppled from the air and over the bufant hairstyle the older woman was sporting.

'Oh!' she gasped again, 'I'm so sorry – perhaps I should go and get a drink.'

She left the almost hysterical woman behind her and sauntered over to where Draco was watching in horrified animation from over the shoulder of his aunt Andromeda. Mrs Minister was shrieking now, and her husband was escorting her from the hall to reaffix the wig which had toppled from her head.

'Hello madame,' she murmured to the aunt, and took the glass of fruitjuice Draco was holding, 'Dear me, imagine Mrs Minister wearing a wig – how awful.'

'I know, I know,' assured the gossipy Andromeda, 'What a calamity.'

'She did it to herself you know,' Hermione innocently sipped at the juice, 'Her husband looked at that madame Artescant for a second and she tipped the glass over her to get his attention back. Simply awful.'

'Is that true dear?' asked Andromeda, her pale eyes gleaming, 'Well, well.'

'Oh yes,' the young woman assured her, 'I think it must be an awful marriage.'

'Well, it was nice to talk to you miss Granger, Draco, but I really must go and see the Marquis Depoil,' and with that she hurried over to the stylish woman to begin a humungous gossip session.

'Hermione,' growled Draco, fixing a small smile to his features, 'You are simply awful. How could you? At a charity function?'

'Maybe your Slytherin side is rubbing off on me. You aren't cross with me, are you? The baby makes me overprotective,' she adjusted the gloves covering her shriveled hands and smiled up at him.

'No, no of course not,' he melted as Harry wandered over, carrying a gin and tonic.

'Did you hear about Mrs Minster?' he asked cluelessly, 'Apparantly her marriage is falling apart and her husband's having an affair with a marquis – that's why she tipped the wine over herself.'

Hermione smirked at Draco, and rolled her eyes at Harry.

'Oh Harry,' she gushed, 'How could you say such things?'

'Lady DuLac whispered it to me,' said naïve Harry, shrugging.

'Good evening mister Potter, Count Malfoy,' came a sudden voice from behind them with a heavy Bulgariran accent cleverly masked by amplified voice training and a few spells, 'vhat a pleasure.'

The man who had addressed them looked to be about three years older than the three standing in a semicircle. His face was slightly haggard, and his hair grizzled with grey but cut neatly. Brown eyes peered out at them from behind black framed thin glasses. He had an average build, and was dressed in a pale beige suit with a blue sash across his waist, marking him out as a Bulgarian dignitary.

'Good evening sir,' Draco was perfectly calm and collect, 'I'm afraid I haven't made your aquaintance.'

'A matter soon remodied,' the Bulgarian man said, holding out his hand to Draco to shake. 'My name is Nicholas Krum. I believe you are in contact wiv my brother, Viktor.'

'Viktor!' Harry started excitedly, 'Yes, yes. Such a pity about the accident.'

'He is happy wiv his early retirement. He has made enough money to last him vell I believe. No doubt he vill be meddling around soon,' he did not sound at all piteous about his brother, speaking of him in rather a cold manner.

'No, no,' said the rather dazed Harry, 'I doubt very much it will keep him down.'

'He has plans to come over to Britain this summer,' volunteered Hermione, recalling her last letter.

Nicholas Krum ignored her completely; did not even give her the common courtesy of nodding in awknowledgement of her statement. He passed a rather cold brown eye over her and turned to Draco. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and gripped her glass a little tighter.

'Count Malfoy,' he began, 'Haff you any interest in the politics of your country?'

'Not particularly,' answered Draco honestly, drawling as he sipped his champagne, 'I haven't the patience to sit in an office all day.'

'Oh,' Nicholas sounded surprised, 'I vas told you vere developing an interest in it.'

'I wonder who could have told you that,' sighed the younger man, 'I honestly have no time for it.'

'That is most strange,' the Bulgarian ruminated, 'I am sure I had heard it.'

'I doubt you hear anything, you brain is so full of idiocy,' snarled Hermione under her breath.

At last Krum turned to her fully. His voice was very cold when he spoke, and Harry unconciously shivered.

'In my country whores do not speak to their betters,' he growled, 'Vatch you tongue girl.'

'Oh,' Hermione defensively snapped, 'Whore am I?'

'Vell, you vear no ring, and have the stomach of von vith child – a bastard child,' Nicholas added carelessly, 'You had better be careful or you vill end up in trouble…'

His voice trailed away into nothing, and he wrinkled his large nose with disdain. Draco Malfoy acted very quickly. His arm clamped down suddenly on her shoulders so that her knees almost buckled, and he stepped in front of her at the same time.

'Mister Krum, the child is mine, I would thank you to keep your mouth shut on matters of which you know nothing, or you will find yourself missing several limbs come morning. Hermione, come with me now.'

He steered her rather forcefully over to a large wing backed chair standing on the edge of the floor, and stood over her while she drank he glass of pineapple juice he had forced upon her. Tucking a careless curl behind her ear he smiled at her.

'Don't try and blame the baby for that one,' he rebuked gently, 'You ought not to have provoked him.'

'He treated me like dirt Draco,' she gasped, clearly on the edge of a moodswing straight into tears, 'because I didn't have a bloody big stone on my finger.'

'Wizarding systems are archaic,' explained the blonde man, rubbing a finger over her cheek, 'You had better get used to it.'

Hermione felt as if she had been stabbed with a rusty chainsaw, straight through her soul. You had better get used to it echoed through her head repeatedly. He clearly had no intentions of marrying her – she had obviously mistaken his lack of declarations of love; he did not love her. He never would. Her Unspeakable instincts took over in a simple swing. She forced the tears bubbling behind her eyes back and stood up rather suddenly, almost knocking him backwards.

Posted around the hall were faces she recognised briefly, and they were not meeting her eye. Out of the uniform of black, only one Unspeakable could recognise another. Dressed in suits with aurors on their arms – or at least she assumed they were aurors, the average Unspeakable, for all his mistique and danger was no more attractive to nosey women than a small poodle – they remained stiff.

'Draco,' she said quietly, 'something's going on. There are at least four squads of Unspeakables here.'

Draco glanced around carefully, unwilling to attract attention.

'Stay there,' he instructed her quietly, 'I do not want you causing anymore trouble. I shall go and ask Nympharandria if she knows what's going on.'

'She'd better – she's got the Head Unspeakable on her arm.'

'Stay in that chair,' instructed the young man forcefully, patting her harder than he necessarily should have on the arm, 'Don't move.'

'What, not even to mingle?' grumbled Hermione under her breath as he strode away to his cousin.

A low laugh made her start from her sulky surveying of the floor. The man in turn surveying her was a young man of around thirty five, with muddy brown hair of a medium quality, and muddy brown eyes. He was wearing traditional robes of black, with a high collar and yellow trim. Next to him stood a smaller man, half bent over, thinning to bald on his head with nervous darting eyes.

'Good evening miss Granger,' the older man said in a resonate voice, smiling an easy grin.

'Good evening,' she replied, and got to her feet.

He clasped her small hand in his large ones, and bowed slightly. His hands were warm and slightly damp, tight around her wrist. A tiny bubble of anxiety rose in her guts and popped as she noticed Draco gesticulating wildly to his cousin, who was shaking her head. The smaller man was darting his head around to watch them too, and a little smile of satisfaction graced his face.

'Sire,' the small man cried out in a shrill, annoying voice and a feeling of fear shuddered through Hermione as she almost fought to release her hands, 'We should go!'

'I feel that would be prudent,' the grip on her hands tightened so that she cried out suddenly, and the smaller man grasped her other wrist.

Draco watched in horror from the other side of the room as Hermione struggled noisily for a millisecond, and the older man bend over her and pressed something to her forehead – one of his papery fingers. There was no flash of thunder as the feeling of dread and horror swept over the room, rendering almost everyone on their knees crying furiously. Draco fought back the rising nausea and took a step forehead.

Hermione's depsairing eyes met his, and she opened her mouth to scream. No sound emerged in the Hall as they vanished, fading away slowly, tantalizingly.

Draco ran forward suddenly, and stretched his hands out to where Hermione had been. His hands hit the cold bareness of the stone floor as he crashed to it, and around the room Unspeakables blinked and moved forward into a ring, surrounding him until he felt suffocated.

Dear reader, you will understand the nausea and terror in the room when I tell you that the events of the last three paragraphs took place a few seconds after eleven, and lasted approximately three seconds. The time of the shihads had once again struck the Wizarding World.

Explaining Paragraph:-

There are approximately two more action packed (well, kinda) chapters following this instalment, and an epilogue. This does depend principally on the amount of work I have to suffer, so blame my lovely teachers when updating becomes less frequant. Unforetunately, I am not allowed to present All I Need To Get By as an English essay – darn it all. So tell me what you think – did you like Hermione's violent moodswings? Teehee.

Tracy3:- You'd better learn some patience, because I have a feeling you'll be waiting for the one after this, even if I didn't make you wait too long for this one! Thankye kindly.

MadAboutHarry:- I think I may have to develop this side of Severus – I believe he might make a very good babysitter for just about anyone who smiles prettily enough at him (the baby that is) and runs him over enough. Imagine the embarassment when Severus takes great delight in reminding Alfie on his first day of term…

Sunflower18:- I'm glad it was cute. Thanks!

Miss3y:- If that's hyper, I hope you get hyper more often! Ta v much!

Rae:- Calm down, and keep breathing. You're worrying me. Unforetunately parenthood is just a side plot, although it is fast becoming a completely different story! Thanks for your enthusiastic review.

Sweet Beatrix:- Oh, I have a feeling that if I develop Alfie he will me mischief personified. Was that good fluff? Well, I'm glad it was. What did you think about pregnant Hermione?

Nitengale:- No, you weren't at all rude. Silly you. I may be able to loan you Alfie, but only if you review again…What on EARTH were you doing reviewing at one in the morning? Honestly, it's not that good. Thanks!

Obbsesive:- I kind of get the similarities between this and friends, and kind of not. At all. Never mind! I don't think Draco would cry, or at least not yet. Maybe the chapter after next…Thankye!

Foxer:- I asked if I could use your emails, but everybody said no. Was this a soon update? I can never tell. Thankye.

Jean jelly bean:- Some of my favourites were 'Women in Love' by D H Laurence, 'To The Lighthouse' by Virginia Woolf, 'The Scandel of Grace' by Selwyn Hughes, 'The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency' etc etc. I was away for three and a half weeks, playing bridesmaid and getting covered in mud. Oh, and all the Chales Dickens. 'Words, glorious wo-o-ords,' yes, well. Ta!

P.S. I apologise if your name is Nigel, it's a cool name really, I just like abusing it. ::guilty shrugs:: and technically the stats are wrong; if you have a weird name yourself, you're more likely to call your child something weird, but never mind. So technically Harry should have wanted to call the baby something weird etc etc. Never mind. And Lancelot is not weird – it rocks!