Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Chapter 3
An owl tapped furiously against the window and a cat yowled disgruntling, tracing its orange eyes on its flying nemesis.
"Coming, coming," a sleepy voice grumbled. Hermione nudged her cat out the way and Crookshack yowled and went to sulk in his plushy corner.
Hermione fumbled with the latch and finally opened the window. An indignant owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on the breakfast table. She reached for the spare coins and dropped them in the owl's porch and the owl was gone. Hermione tried to smooth her hair out of her eyes in vain. Instead, she turned her attention to her freshly brewed coffee.
"Praise the coffee gods," she mumbled as she sucked in the steaming aroma of coffee. She snuck a glance at the baby monitor. The green light remained unlit. She flipped the Daily Prophet open, savoring the moment of peace and silence.
January 8th is declared national holiday
By Lucille FairgroundDiagon Alley—Minister of Magic, Mr. Arthur Weasley, declared January 8th as the Day of Light in celebration of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat and final demise. The Minister was adamant concerning the brighter future of the wizard world. After a brief deliberation with his Council, a newly ratified group of advisors under the Minister, an official document is drafted. It will be officially signed on March 8th, two months after the Final War ended when Harry Potter defeated He-Must-Not-Be-Named and Draco Malfoy-- A3
Harry Potter, the Puddlemere United's seeker By Georgia Delano Harry Potter, honored hero of the Final War, had just recently signed with the Puddlemere United. Puddlemere United is the oldest English team in the Quidditch league and was formed in 1163. Oliver Wood, who was the captain of the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts, is the Reserve Keeper and is excited to be working with Harry Potter again. B4Just as Hermione finished the last drop of her coffee, the green light suddenly glowed and a shrill wail resonated in her neat and tidy apartment exactly as she finished her last drop of coffee. She quickly rinsed her mug and walked to the crib situated next to her bed.
Hermione reached into the crib and took out a squirming baby. Kayleigh immediately stopped crying after she realized that she was being carried toward the kitchen. Hermione snatched the already warmed bottle of milk off the counter and tilted the bottle. The baby eagerly sucked the bottle and stared at the bottle intently.
"If you keep doing that, you might go crossed eye." Hermione mumbled.
Kayleigh was a beautiful baby. The combination of gray-blue eyes and honey blond hair was striking. If one was to look closely, he could see the resemblance between the baby's father and the baby. Kayleigh had fair complexion, sharp gray eyes, and an aristocratic nose that Hermione remembered too well was always stuck up in the clouds. The only thing that was not quite Malfoy was the hair. It was not as fair and blindingly obvious as her father's.
A loud crack distracted Kayleigh momentarily but she turned her attention back to her bottle when she found nothing of her interest.
"Sorry for being late, Hermione," Harry ruffled his hair out of habit and pushed his round spectacles up his nose.
Hermione shifts the baby into a more comfortable position. "Kayleigh just woke up. I packed the diapers. I prepared her bottles. A simple warming charm should do the trick. Oh, be careful, she is starting to roll over so keep an eye on her."
"Hermione, I have done this before. Anyway, Ginny is over." He grinned in a goofy way.
"Oh, if you wanted to spend a day with Ginny, why didn't you tell me?" cried Hermione while trying not to upset Kayleigh. "I would've asked for a baby sitter or something. You guys need sometime alone and be all lovey dovey with each other."
"Don't worry, we were lovey dovey yesterday," he winked and laughed at Hermione's horrified face.
"Harry Potter, you watch what you say around Kayleigh," she scolded halfheartedly. She could almost feel twinge of envy.
Harry leaned over Kayleigh and gave Hermione a peck on her cheek. "Yes, madam." He scooped Kayleigh out of Hermione's arms while holding the bottle in place.
Kayleigh frowned as she sucked her bottle.
"I will be back later," Hermione cooed and gave the baby a quick peck on the cheek. "You remember Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny. Be good."
"Hermione, she will be fine. I think Ginny is ready to lavish Kayleigh with all her maternal might."
"When are you going to pop the big question, Harry?"
Harry flushed crimson. "I just got a contract with Puddlemere United and she is busy at St. Mungo."
"Harry, Harry," she clucked at him fondly while fixing her cloak, "She has been waiting for so long. Ginny Weasley is born to be mother of a dozen children as mischievous as Fred and George. You better marry her and have little red heads soon or she will spoil my daughter rotten. Give her little babies to coo over."
"Her-mi-one," whined Harry. "Tell your mommy to be quiet, Kay. Go on tell her."
Kayleigh stared at Harry's carrot-red face curiously.
Hermione plucked empty bottle out of Kayleigh's hand and rinsed the bottle. "Honestly, Harry," she took on a more serious tone, "Ginny is not going to wait for you forever. And don't turn my daughter against me, Harry."
Harry grinned. "Crazy, huh? Your daughter? Who would have guess?" Kayleigh took a strange interest in Harry's hair and gave it a mighty jerk. "Ow."
"Yes, who would have guess?" Hermione mumbled softly. She watched her child, Malfoy's child, torturing Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Won, with her unwavering grip. It was so ironic. She shook herself. "Harry, you are going back by Floo right? Apparating with a baby is so dangerous. And be careful when you are flooing! Make sure you cover her face or she will inhaled a whole much of dust and you know how much she hates that."
"Hermione," Harry said firmly. "Calm down. Take a deep breath. Kayleigh will be fine. You will be fine, too. But are you sure you want to go today?"
"Yes, Harry. I have been meaning to go…" she trailed off.
"Then go," he assured gently, "Arthur gave you a pass. Even if you don't go, think of this as your day off. No paperwork. No adorable, crying baby." He nuzzled his nose to Kayleigh's cheek for good measure. The baby giggled.
"I wished Ron was as accepting as you," she sighed.
Harry looked at Hermione's solemn eyes. "Hermione, Ron will learn to deal. Although, it would help if Kay doesn't cry whenever Ron is around. And don't worry Ron is swamped with work right now. I think he is dealing with some kind of illegal dragon eggs dealing."
"Harry, thank you."
He gave her peck on the cheek and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "84 Godric's Hollow."
She sighed as Harry disappeared with her baby in a poof smoke. It almost felt too normal. Hermione grabbed the note that Arthur gave her and slid it into her pocket.
She took a handful of floo powder.
"St. Mungo."
"Level 4, please." She sank her hands deep into her pockets and her right hand gripped the piece of parchment with the Minister of Magic's signature.
A crisp voice responded to her request. "Level 4 is a restricted section of St. Mungo, ma'am. I need you to place your wand and your written pass down the slot to your right."
Hermione followed the direction and waited. An eagle quill and a scroll of parchment appeared in front of her.
"Ms. Granger, room 216 is the last room in the corridor. Your wand will not be returned to you until you exit the room. You will be required to go through a scan for any sort of suspicious items. The maximum time slot is five hours if you stayed more than five hours you will be automatically rejected from the room and you pass will be invalidated. No contact with the patient should be made at any time under any circumstances short of a life-threatening emergency. Understand that this is for your and the patient's safety. For more information, please, peruse the document in front of you. By signing with this quill, you consent to the regulations and limitations of this visit." The clear, impersonal voice finished.
She glanced at the long parchment with neatly written words crowded into paragraphs. Her heart beat erratically against her ribcage. Hermione paused to clear her mind of lingering doubts and ignored whatever cryptic messages her heartbeats was trying to send.
She signed her name.
The doors slid open and a dauntingly long corridor appeared. Her shoes seemed to be thunder against the tiled floor.
Room 216 at the end of corridor. The door was under heavy wards and complex spells. She could feel them. The details and fear laced into the long chants.
"Hermione Granger." She placed her hand on the door.
She was outside the door then the door was behind her. Under normal circumstances, she would exclaim with awe at the difficulty of the spells. This was not a normal circumstance. She was rooted in place by the head of the bed. Why was she standing here?
"Malfoy," she said uncertainly and looked at her enemy's face lost to another world. She saw the same pale blond hair, fair complexion, distinct cheekbones, and thin lips. Then she realized that it is futile to glare at a person when he is clearly unconscious.
Hermione arranged herself into a stiff position at a nearby chair. "Malfoy." For the second time, his name trembled out of her parched lips. She had not seen him since that night at the Whomping Willow.
"How are you, Malfoy?" Third time. She had not been well nor had she been bad. Everything was covered with a film of gray.
"Your daughter is beautiful, Malfoy" Fourth time. When she held Kayleigh in her arms, a calm wave of maternal instinct and affection warmed her skin.
"You would probably scoff and say of course she is in your most pompous ass voice… that is—if you were awake and bouncing, Malfoy." Fifth time. She could see the outraged anger swirling in his stone-gray eyes at her reference to the ferret incident if he was awake.
"Malfoy." Sixth time. "Why do you get to sleep and breath while everyone has to live and breath?" Hogwarts was once the emblem of knowledge and youthful joy. But after the final battle, the school grounds were strewn with blood and destructions. Trees were singed. Severed limbs scattered across the Quidditch field. Grasps of final breath mixed with the sounds of the whistling wind.
"You don't deserve this peace, Malfoy." Bitterness. Seventh time. Nightmares haunt her when the sky is dark and the mind silent. Remembrances buried in reality taunt her and chip her heart little by little each time.
Maybe she was trying to jerk his undeserving soul from the tranquil sleep. Maybe she was trying to say something to him that she did not even understand. Maybe she was just making up for all those times she didn't acknowledge him in the Malfoy dungeon.
"I think I am sick, Malfoy." Eighth time. His silence mocked her. She was here pouring out her buried thoughts to him yet he sleeps with no a care in the world. She was here with heavy shoulders and stray heart. She was here with no goals, no plans, and no future.
"Inside," she placed her hands on her chest, "Everything is just melting away, fading away, running away like a watercolor painting outside in the pouring rain. I want to run away like you… do you remember? You said if you had a choice, you would kill everyone and just start over.
"I was bleeding. Crusted blood clung to my skin and invaded my pores. My throat raw from screaming and you said you wanted to talk. Bastard. You thought I fainted from the pain but I heard the way your words bounced off the dirty stonewalls. Starting over. It is not that easy. Starting over is hard, Malfoy." Tenth time. His name danced on her tongue like red wine.
She sucked in a shaky breath.
"Isn't it ironic how your father destroyed me and your daughter is rebuilding me? I can't run away now because of her. She is like an anchor and I am stuck. Everyone runs. Ron runs to alcohol and work. Harry runs to Quidditch. Ginny runs to Harry. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Narcotics. Sex. Work. Love. Sleep. I can't run so I am here, remembering. Never forgetting. But I want to forget so badly and the guilt just burns and burns.
"Sometimes, I want someone to remember with me. To understand the feeling of someone else's blood coating your hands and smear across your face. To understand the vacillating feeling of wanting desperately to survive and to die. To talk about the people who are gone."
She watched his chest rise and drop rhythmically. Suddenly, she was attacked with the urge to touch to his face to make sure he is real and still here. She leaned closely. Her voice dropped in an eerie whisper.
"When George was killed, Fred wanted to died. It was in his eyes. Dead and barren. There will no longer be any mixed up with Fred and George. There will no longer be a laugh after another. There will no longer be twins. Fred sat in the Burrow in a daze. He didn't even do that when Molly died. We all thought Fred would die. Commit suicide. Die of heartbreak. Do something ridiculously foolish. But he didn't. Did you know what he said?
"He told me, he couldn't die. He couldn't hang himself and throw himself off a cliff. I asked why because I have wanted to die so many times. Every time I leave a raid, a battle, a mission, I wanted the blood to drown me but instead I am left with tears. Meaningless, useless tears. But I couldn't die… because of Harry, Ron, my parents, Dumbledore, Molly… because I was afraid and angry, hopeful and faithless… because I didn't really want to die…"
Her shameful confessions stumbled in fragments of thoughts.
"I was in between the dead and the living, wondering when I would fall off the balance. So I asked Fred. He told me about his promise. George made him promise that he won't die because of him. If he does, he would turn blue then polka dots and then a whole list of absurd colors and patterns… he said, 'George would know if I die because of him.'
"How can you turn someone blue when you are already dead? I wondered. I tried so hard flipping through memories. I wanted to laugh and cry hysterically but there would be far too inappropriate. Don't you think? No, you probably thought it would the perfect occasion to throw salt into the wound."
She breathed as if she was at the bottom of the Great Lake.
"But George knows how, Fred was so sure of it. And he turned and smiled at me; his baby blue eyes were revived. They almost… tw—twinkled." She choked.
"He said, 'I don't fancy being blue when I die. Legless and blue is an unattractive combination.' That fool even wagged his damn eyebrows."
Her voice cracked into a million glittering pieces the way her mother's favorite vase with yellow daisies and baby swallows did when Death Eaters raided her parents' home.
Was she crying or was it raining inside? She couldn't tell.
The gray ashes of the dead blurred her image. The Forbidden Forest was once again burning before her brown eyes and the heat enveloped her whole being. The flames flickered and devoured the trees that once conjured frightening shadows. The cacophony of stubborn breaths faded away into a background din. Wind whipped her hair around her neck as an attempt to snuff out her life along the hundred and the thousands of empty gazes. Her eyes were dry until a gust of violent wind blew dust into them. She wondered vaguely who is in her eyes right now. A centaur. A giant. An elf. Fang. Hagrid. A Death Eater. An Auror. Remus. Snape. Flick. Molly. Percy. Goyle. The list went go but she had forgotten the names of the specks.
The nameless dead curled up to the dying sky. Her eyes watered reluctantly and wrung the last of her into those useless, forgetful tears.
As her vision cleared with noisy sniffles, the bleary image of Draco Malfoy reappeared.
This is the man she watched killed with ruthless grace. Unforgivable cruses slinked out of his lips naturally. This is the man whose foolish actions led to Dumbledore's downfall and the bleak beginning of war. He tore asunder the hopes and foggy illusions of an honorable and righteous war. This is the man who stood and watched as his comrades shred apart her sanity… and clumsily pieced it back together with soft soliloquies and awkward confessions. This is the man who is the father of a child she considered to be her daughter.
Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy MalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyMalfoyDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDracoDraco
The chant trailed off in oblivion where the memories of shadowy ashes resided.
This is not as long because I really like where it ended.
I do realize that it has been a long time. But there is always that pesky thing call life.
Review, please.