Malfoy spun around, eyes darting for Granger. He dropped his bag of things on the floor, storming the bathroom and bedroom doors, pleading with any and every power above that Hermione had not been daft enough to leave in her precarious state. She was nowhere to be found.
"Fuck." He whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. There was no point in looking for her. She'd managed to evade the Death Eaters' and the Order's search for her for three years. She knew how to hide, and no amount of willpower on his end could change that.
It was three years ago, after all, that the Death Eaters had won, and the Order had been betrayed by an unknown mole. Nowhere was safe. With the help of Potter and Malfoy, Hermione was able to escape to Merlin knows where. Any attempt to contact her, or even find out if she was alive, was futile.
That was, until she had shown up ready to deliver at Malfoy's front door.
Draco began pacing, shuddering at the thought of her being found with her child by some Death Eater or Snatcher. Should he tell Potter? Where was the git these days anyhow?
A soft cry interrupted his thoughts, and he was filled with a strange mix of relief and terror. She'd left her child with him.
Peering over the edge of the crib, Draco saw the little bundle that he had delivered less than an hour ago swaddled in a soft cocoon, with a letter tucked under, the words scrawled in haste:
Malfoy,
I love this child too much to subject him to life on the run. His father was a Muggle I loved with all my heart. He is dead. They found us when I was in labor; I think it was the child's magic that alerted them. I know you felt it too. I managed to fight them off and apparate to you.
I hope you can forgive me for showing up unannounced, but I had no one else to turn to. I remember how you helped Tonks even before you were a Healer. Please forgive me for what I am to say next: adopt this child as your own. Love him as your own in a way I cannot. I don't know if we will ever see each other again, but I know that if I want to give him a fighting chance, he cannot be tied to me. He looks like a Scorpius, right? That'll suit the Black family naming tradition I hope.
Don't tell anyone, not even Harry. I don't want them to hold out hope that I'm alive, or endanger Scorp by letting anyone know that he is my child. Promise me Draco. Promise me that he'll be safe with you.
Please take care of our little Scorpius.
H
The letter disintegrated upon the first read-through, but Draco had no trouble turning the words over in his head again and again. Wide-eyed and mouth almost agape, he could not wrap his head around the situation playing out in front of him.
So he couldn't tell Potter, and he couldn't go looking for Granger. He had to keep his position in the ranks of the blasted Death Eaters and maintain his silence until the Order regrouped and formulated a plan. He had never felt more useless.
Draco gingerly picked up the fussing child and sat on the armchair, cradling him as though he was made of the most fragile glass. He summoned the bag of supplies he had retrieved from his office at St Mungo's - the child, no, Scorpius, had to be fed.
Draco gently thumbed the material of the swaddle, absentmindedly recognizing it as the scarf Granger had worn around her neck when she had turned up at his door. He wished that she had stayed long enough for him to help her replenish her beaded bag with supplies.
Looking down at the child, Draco let out a sigh, his heart wrenched in two as he took in the familiar brown hair on his head, the familiar gleam of curiosity. They could pull this off. No one would question that Draco had taken a mistress and gotten her pregnant. They would raise an eyebrow at him claiming the child, but again, he had always been different from the others in his ranks. That was why they had let him resign into the more peaceful role of Healer, after all.
Voldemort may have died that night at Hogwarts, but the Death Eaters had grown stronger and angrier in his absence. They had already infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and every post of authority in Britain. The Muggle Prime Minister had been lulled into a false sense of peace and eventually Imperio-d. There was nothing left to do but wait for Saint Potter to save them all.