Violence and stressful situations ahead. You've been warned.
Thanks as always to my fantastic beta, Highlyintelligentblonde!
mcal - Come back to life, girl! That chapter was a lovely reprieve, wasn't it?
Qween87 - Thank you! Hearing you call this realistic is a huge compliment for me.
MotekElm - Thank you!
LashesToAshes - You are this week's SUPERSTAR. You read and reviewed every chapter. Honestly, your emails were the highlight of my week, so thank you!
mega700201 - You're welcome!
HarryPGinnyW4eva - They definitely had a lot of healing to do together, didn't they? As to what's to come, my lips are sealed! Also, yay Remus!
Kyonomiko - Yeah, I'd say he wouldn't be too happy about that prospect haha
addictedtoloveandfanfiction - Thank you so much! I try really, really hard so that's lovely to hear.
The days spent at Shell Cottage were the happiest Draco had known in such a long while that he actually had moments when he forgot that the rest of the world was at war. It seemed that the other residents of the house had decided to give the couple a bit of space, and Draco felt nothing but grateful.
It was because of this purposeful space that he and Hermione had spent long, quiet hours together discussing nothing and everything all at once. Ever since the night of Teddy Lupin's birth, sex had become a regular part of their days together, and Draco was especially grateful for that. He thought he finally fully understood what people said when they said that sex could bring people closer, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He felt more connected to Hermione than he ever had before. He learned that she was figuring out how to come to terms with fact that her parents may never know their granddaughter; he learned that her strongest pregnancy craving had been sour things – and that she had satisfied her taste buds with green apples, his favorite.
He also learned that he could drive her especially wild if he used his mouth and his fingers on her at the same time.
That particular discovery, he was very proud of.
He had certainly put it to good use in their bed, on the beach during a lovely warm afternoon, and in the bathtub during the most delightfully sensual experience of his life, to name a few places.
It was safe to say that Draco Malfoy was largely content.
With every day that passed, not only did he feel more confident in his relationship with his girlfriend, he also felt the nerves about his impending fatherhood really set in. Hermione had been getting Braxton Hicks contractions more and more often, and each time she informed him they were happening, it was as though his heart jolted awake.
Other than the times they had sex, Hermione had followed orders to the letter, and hadn't strained herself. Even when Draco buried himself to the hilt inside her, he made sure that she wasn't pushed too hard. If she even implied discomfort – which she had multiple times – they stopped immediately to change positions or just to call it quits.
There was no way to ignore the impending arrival of the baby girl into their lives. Fleur had taken them shopping in the little town, glamoured as usual, to purchase some of the necessities. The corner of their room was now home to stacks of clothing, a new rocking chair, and a box containing the baby girl's new cot. Fleur had insisted on purchasing their pram which they had shrunk and stored in a kitchen cabinet for the time being.
According to Hermione's doctor, they had a little less than a month until the due date, but babies were known to arrive when they wanted. Draco knew from his reading that babies became full term at thirty-seven weeks, and they would need minimal assistance if born at that time. Hermione had just crossed into her thirty-sixth week and seemed to be growing exponentially. She could now comfortably eat her supper from a plate placed on her belly.
She had found it funny.
He had called her lazy.
"You try growing a baby inside you and see if you don't feel a little lazy?" she had retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.
She had proved just now not-lazy she was when she made him come later that night using only her talented mouth.
Yes, Hermione was feisty as ever. Though he had jokingly called her lazy, she was anything but.
No time was this more apparent than when she spent hours behind closed doors with Harry, Ron, and oddly enough, the goblin. Lately, Griphook had joined them in their meetings, and Draco couldn't quite pinpoint why the trio wanted to suddenly invite this particular fourth member along. They always met for long periods of time with silencing charms thrown up, so he had no way of knowing what they were planning.
Of course, he had agreed to let Hermione do what needed to be done in order to get one step closer to defeating the Dark Lord, but having no idea what sort of danger Hermione wanted to put herself in was driving him spare. Obviously, he knew danger was involved. In the middle of a war, danger was inevitable, no matter the mission.
Draco had his suspicions, though. During the Manor incident, his aunt had spoken at length about a sword. It had been the reason he had been forced to fetch Griphook and tear himself away from Hermione. Why had his aunt been concerned about some sword? Had Hermione actually told the truth about it? Why had Griphook been needed? Surely, there had been some sort of clue from that night that he could glean information from. But when he strained his memory, he realized his focus had been entirely on Hermione, and everything else seemed blurred.
On one particular evening at the tail-end of April, Hermione returned to their room looking slightly agitated. Draco looked up from the baby name book to see her brow was furrowed and she bit her lip as she walked through the door.
"Braxton Hicks?" he asked casually as he flipped passed the 'P' names.
Hermione made a noncommittal noise.
"Well then, what is it?" he set the book on the bed side table and turned to face her as she sat beside him and swung her feet onto the mattress. Draco scooted over to the end of the bed and took a foot in his lap for a massage. Though she smiled slightly when his thumb began to press into the arch, it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I have to tell you something," she said after a moment, looking right at him.
Draco released the pressure on her foot and took a deep breath. Her tone made his stomach bubble with nerves, and he had the odd feeling that she was about to tell him something he didn't want to hear.
"I'm all ears."
She cleared her throat. "We're leaving tomorrow."
Draco nodded his head, fighting internally to stay calm. "Any idea when you'll be back?"
"Harry and Ron won't. I will. As soon as possible, I promise. The same day, hopefully." Her tone was light, as though she was trying to convince herself as well as him.
He let her words sink in before responding.
"Is there… is there any way you can tell me what's going on or where you'll be?"
Hermione sighed and shook her head.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I just… I can't. If anyone knows, it could be a risk."
Draco leaned his head onto her shoulder and placed a left hand over her stomach, patting it lightly. He braced himself for the next words that came out of his mouth.
"I know."
When they got lost in each other that night, it seemed that Hermione paid exquisite attention to every inch of his body. Everywhere she could reach, at least. The softness of her lips left little sparks everywhere they touched, and by the time she had kissed him from head to toe, he was a livewire ready to explode. As they brought each other to the pinnacle of pleasure together that night, Draco felt a familiar sort of niggling in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, wanting to concentrate fully on the beautiful witch who was on top of him.
A little while later, as they laid together in bed, Hermione snuggled into the pillows he had multiplied for her, Draco realized with a heavy heart exactly what that familiar niggling feeling had been. The way that she took her time and paid special attention to him… it reminded him of one other particularly momentous time they had had sex.
Princetown.
That had been the night that changed everything: they had conceived their daughter; he had realized how irrevocably in love he was; she had left.
Draco kissed Hermione's bare back, moving her curls off her shoulder. A slight breeze from the open window blew in, and Draco cuddled into her more, relishing the feeling of his skin touching hers.
Even though Hermione hadn't Disapparated abruptly this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that she had been saying goodbye. Draco fell into an uneasy sleep, hoping his instincts were wrong.
She was gone by the time he woke.
Breakfast that morning seemed much quieter than normal, for obvious reasons. Draco sipped his coffee, soaking in the silence that hung like a suffocating blanket around the kitchen table. Even Luna nibbled a slice of toast without speaking. The absence of three Gryffindors and the goblin was notable, but Draco just tried to tell himself over and over again in his head that Hermione had promised to return as soon as possible. She had said there was even a possibility that she could return later that day.
She had promised.
There was nothing to do but wait, so it seemed. Fighting through his anxiety-induced nausea, Draco cleared his barely-touched plate, shoved his hands in his pockets, and headed back to his – their – bedroom. No one said a word as he left.
The bedroom seemed far too empty for his liking. He knew that if he dwelled too long on the vacant space, he would go mad. He had to keep busy – had to find things to occupy his mind until Hermione returned safe and sound. Draco tapped his foot on the floor as he looked around for something – anything – to do.
When his eyes fell on the box containing the cot, he felt his lungs unclench. Something to do.
Yes, this was a good idea.
He could set up the baby's things as a surprise for Hermione. She would likely come home exhausted. What a relief it would be for her to find everything ready. Rolling up his sleeves, Draco got to work assembling the cot.
It became apparent very quickly, however, that it was a task he was ill-prepared to do. The directions were convoluted, and it took him three tries before he identified the correct type of screws. No doubt, all the other occupants of Shell Cottage could hear him swearing up a storm. By the time everything was sorted out and ready to be assembled with magic, he was covered in sweat, ready to lash out at anyone who might have poked their head in to check on him.
In the two-minute break he took before waving his wand, his mind inadvertently wandered to Hermione. Where was she right now? What was she doing? Was she safe? The same anxiety that he had felt earlier that morning began to creep in as he stood, arms folded, in the empty bedroom. It made the hair on his arms stand on end.
Distraction. That was what he needed.
Shaking his head, he waved the snatcher's wand and watched as the various pieces of the cot assembled in the air. In a matter of seconds, the little bed began to take shape before his eyes. Wooden and white, it matched the light, airy atmosphere of the cottage. This cot was certainly a far cry from his mahogany childhood bed, austere and traditional. He ran his fingers over the bars. In a matter of weeks, there would be a baby occupying this cot…
Draco's eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in all the items they had yet to unpack and prepare. A vague sense of unpreparedness washed over him, and he dove into the fray with continued hope that this was the distraction he needed.
As he began to rip the tag out of little green pyjamas, there was a knock at the door. After a moment, Fleur stepped through the threshold, her expression melting to a smile when her eyes landed on the small mountain of baby clothes.
"Do you need help?" she asked, a reluctant smile on her face. "I heard you screaming from downstairs and thought I would check on you."
"Oh." Draco felt his face flush a bit. "That was just the cot. There were a lot of little pieces, but I figured it out."
"Ah." Fleur paused and licked her lips, looking around the room. "…Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Draco's eyes flew to the pile of unwashed, unfolded, unsorted clothes. It would take him hours if he did it alone…
"The clothes," he blurted. "I could use some help getting them ready."
"But of course." Fleur beamed and grabbed a pair of grey pyjamas. She aimed her wand at the garment, clearly about to cast Scourgify, when Draco stopped her. "What's wrong?" she asked, tilting her head in confusion.
"I just…" Draco frowned, trying to figure out how to explain his thinking. "In all of Hermione's baby books, it says that baby clothes need to be washed carefully. Is Scourgify enough? Would it be better to use soap and water?"
He might have expected the French woman to scoff or dismiss him, but she laughed instead.
"Oh, Draco. You are going to be a good father."
He raised an eyebrow. "I am?"
"You already worry so much. Scourgify should be fine, but if it would make you feel better, I can pull out that home-potion book Bill's mother gifted me and see if there is an infant-safe soap I can brew. Would you like that?"
Draco grimaced. "I don't want to be a bother…"
"Nonsense! What else am I doing? Come, let me find that book."
Draco kept Fleur company as she brewed the simple concoction of a gentle sterilizing potion in a small cauldron in the kitchen, and he was grateful for the distraction and the company. When the potion was complete, Draco levitated the pile of clothes downstairs, and they set to work washing and drying each piece.
"Hermione will be so pleased that you do the washing so well," Fleur commented as she finished drying a tiny pink jumper with her wand. "And willingly too," she added, shooting a grin at the back of Bill's head as he read a book in the other room.
"I resent that!" the redhead responded, not looking up.
"That actually reminds me," said Draco, folding a purple layette, "Hermione would be pleased. Ron and Harry are apparently terrible at doing their washing. She had to keep extra clothes for them back at Hogwarts just in case."
Fleur chuckled, shaking her head. "My, my. Your Hermione certainly takes charge, doesn't she?"
Smiling to himself, he nodded, and then paused.
Oh.
He had forgotten not to think about Hermione.
"Sometimes I think she may take charge too much," he mumbled.
"This is about the war, no? I often think the same of Bill." Fleur didn't look at him as she spoke, but focused on washing more clothes, instead. "It is very difficult to allow the people we love to get involved in something so dangerous."
Draco nodded again, taking a deep breath.
"I don't know why I agreed to let her go," he whispered. "She's in so much danger. One wrong move, and I might never see her again. I might never need all these." He gestured to the neat stacks now forming on the counter.
"Nonsense."
Draco felt Fleur take his hand. He looked up to see she was looking at him, a fierce look in her eyes.
"What do you–?"
"I said it's nonsense. Hermione knows what she is doing. She mentioned that she would return immediately following today's task, did she not?"
"Well, yes," Draco began.
Fleur continued to talk over him.
"Then she will be fine. She is determined to come back to you. Nothing can stop a woman like that."
"But what if–?"
"No, Draco. Do not assume the worst. Do not dwell on a 'what if'. You did the right thing, letting her go this last time."
Draco stared fondly at pair of pink pyjamas with an owl stitched over the bum. "You really think so?"
"It will be fine in the end. You'll see."
As they continued to wash the clothes, Draco did his best convince himself that Fleur was right.
Hermione did not return that afternoon, and by evening, Bill relayed a disturbing rumor over the supper table.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron had broken into Gringotts and escaped on a dragon.
The image of Hermione, pregnant and vulnerable, clinging to the scaly back of a dragon for dear life flashed in his mind, and a wave of panic immediately settled over him.
"Bloody amazing," Dean Thomas said to no one in particular after hearing the story.
Draco scowled at the Gryffindor. It was not bloody amazing. It was bloody dangerous. Hermione was supposed to be on bedrest, and she was riding on the back of a fucking dragon?
He wanted to be so, so angry at her, but to his annoyance, he felt an odd flare of pride in his chest. This was a story he would need to hear from beginning to end. Surely, if Hermione could hold her protective enchantments through torture, she could sustain them through a dragon ride.
Right?
As the conversation about this rumored dragon ride continued, Draco felt an odd sensation in his pocket. Warmth bloomed there, spreading across the side of his thigh.
The pebble.
Hermione. She was thinking of him – was okay.
Wasn't she?
Perhaps something was wrong and she was trying to get his attention.
Draco cursed mentally as his thoughts turned to the journal still buried in the depths of his trunk with his Weasley jumper back at the Manor. If only he had it with him, he could write to Hermione to figure out what had happened.
He wanted it to be the first reason so badly. He wanted her to be okay.
These were the thoughts that he repeated mentally all through the rest of supper.
Hermione is strong. She's clever. She'll be back soon.
Again and again these words played in his mind as he prepared to sleep in an empty bed for the first time in weeks. Despite the coming of Spring, it felt oddly cold. As he settled between the sheets, he strained his ears for any sign of a door opening or muffled voices coming from below.
She had promised.
Draco couldn't escape the bitter feeling in his mouth as he drifted off.
"Wake up!"
Draco's eyes flew open. Someone was shaking him rather violently. Bleary-eyed and dazed, he felt his brain churn into motion.
Bill Weasley hovered over him; he held up his lit wand, illuminating the gravely serious expression on his face. It was still pitch-black outside, indicating that Draco hadn't been asleep long.
"Wha' time izzit?" he slurred, yawning.
"Almost ten," Bill answered. "I need you to get up now, Draco."
Something about Bill's tone drove his eyes open immediately.
"Is it Hermione? Is she here? Is she safe?" he asked, the fog leaving his brain immediately.
"No," he answered. There was no hint of his normal jovial nature in the way he spoke. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Grab your wand."
Without saying another word, Bill swept from the room, leaving Draco dumbstruck and confused in his bed. Not wanting to disobey, he jumped from under the covers and pulled on a pair of denims and the first shirt he could find before tearing down the stairs. Bill and Fleur were sitting in armchairs by the fire, stiff and silent. They looked up when his foot landed on a squeaky step on the staircase.
"What's going on?" he asked as soon as they saw him.
"We've been called to Hogwarts," Bill explained. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione are there, and the Order has been summoned."
Draco's breath caught in his throat and his stomach turned sour. If the Order had been summoned, that could only mean…
"There's a fight coming, isn't there?" he asked quietly.
"More like a battle," Bill responded, his own voice breathy.
"And Hermione–?"
"She's there," Fleur answered, grabbing the Floo Powder pouch. "She is preparing to fight, it seems."
A shiver went down his spine as he took a pinch of powder and braced himself to fling it into the fire.
"To the Hogshead Inn," Bill informed him before stepping into the green flames, speaking their destination, and disappearing. Draco followed immediately, leaving Fleur in the queue behind him. He spun past grates, mind focused on his destination, but an odd feeling in his stomach.
For the first time in almost a year, he would be going back to Hogwarts. The last time he had set foot in the castle, he had set terrible things in motion; he had been chased through the castle, captured by McGonagall, and sentenced to be the ward of one Hermione Granger.
It was not a place he was eager to return to.
After a few moments, his feet hit solid ground as he tumbled into a dirty old pub. Bill was already dusting off his trousers, standing by an old man with startlingly blue eyes…
Draco's jaw dropped. No. It was impossible.
"P-p-profess–"
"For Circe's sake, I'm not Albus!" the old man groused. "Head on through. Follow the passage into the castle." Draco's eyes flew to the large hole in the wall behind the portrait of a young girl. "And don't dally," the Dumbledore lookalike continued gruffly as Fleur came through. "I expect I'll have more people arriving by the minute at this rate."
The three of them followed orders and made their way down the dark tunnel, wands out in front of them. With each step he took, Draco tried to focus on making it back to Hermione. That's all he needed to do. If there really was a battle coming, he needed to get Hermione somewhere safe. There was no question about that.
When they finally emerged into a well-lit room filled with hammocks, Draco squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light. Blinking, he looked around the groups of people gathered around the jumbled room. It was odd, he had never seen this room at Hogwarts before.
He pushed the thought away. This was not the time to ponder the intricacies of the ancient magic of this school. Instead, he began to scan the crowds for a familiar bushy, brown head. After only a minute, he saw her. She was tucked in a corner, talking to Ron with an intense look on her face. To his relief, she didn't seem to be in pain. The enchantments were clearly still holding: her stomach looked flat and her back didn't seem as strained as it normally was in her condition.
At once, Draco began to walk forward, his mind one-track. Hermione. She was here. She was safe! He pushed people aside to get to her, his breathing becoming shallower with each step he took.
When he got close enough to get a good look at her, he took in her full appearance. Her hair was wilder than usual, her cheeks flushed and her eyes ablaze. She looked… windswept. There was no other way to put it.
That's right. She rode a bloody dragon today.
Instead of greeting her with a hug or a pat on the shoulder, Draco launched forward, an odd sense of fury overtaking him. He stomped over to her, his heart pounding and his jaw clenched.
"A fucking dragon, Granger? You left bedrest to ride a goddamn dragon?"
Hermione looked up from her discussion with Ron, her eyes wide. Several emotions passed through her eyes at once, and Draco didn't time to comprehend them all before–
"Draco Malfoy!"
The woman's voice cut through the din, sending shockwaves down his entire body. He knew that voice.
He knew it and wasn't sure if he should be delighted or terrified.
Mrs. Weasley came barreling toward him, determination etched in her face. Before he realized exactly what was happening, she pulled him into the tightest hug of his life, his head landing on her chest as she squeezed him so hard he swore he heard his bones crack. The next moment, she held him at arm's length and had begun to yell.
"Gone! Just a note! No reason, no warning – and on Christmas! Do you have any idea how worried Arthur and I were? We searched for you for hours and hours! And, oh, Draco, you're safe!"
She pulled him in for another hug. From over her shoulder, he saw Fred and George smirking at him.
Back at arm's length again, Draco saw Mrs. Weasley wipe a small tear from her eye. "I'm so glad you're all right. I miss my cooking partner, you know."
She patted Draco's cheek before moving over to speak with Ginny.
"I suppose that makes you a real Weasley," Fred piped up as he walked over. "Welcome to the family, mate."
"A jumper is one thing, but getting yelled at like that? Oh, you're basically our brother, now." George clapped him on the back.
Turning his head, Draco intended to extract himself and get back to Hermione, but when he looked to the spot where she had been talking with Ron, he found her to be gone.
"Hermione?" he called, looking around. "HERMIONE!"
She had disappeared again. So, it seemed, had Ron.
Fuck.
Before he had time to begin his search, or even to process the anger coursing through his veins, Harry and Luna reappeared at the door, confusion painted on their faces. Various members of the Order began pressing in on the two of them, questioning them about the state of the rest of the castle. The dull roar of voices quieted down if only for a moment, to hear Harry speak.
"They're evacuating the younger kids and everyone's meeting in the Great Hall to get organized. We're fighting."
The rest of the room cheered.
Draco wanted to cry.
Somewhere in the depths of this labyrinth of a castle, his very-pregnant girlfriend was off doing who-knew-what on the precipice of a battle. He needed to speak to someone about where she might have gone off to, but everyone seemed to be focused on the swot Weasley's return. What was his name? Peter? Pevensie?
Never mind that.
As the rest of the crowd hurried toward the exit, Draco surged forward and pulled Harry aside.
"Where's Hermione and Ron? Where did they go?" He tried to keep the panic in his voice pushed down, but he was sure his heart was beating out of his chest. Furrowing his brow, Harry looked around, as if only realizing now that his two best friends were missing. Instead of giving an answer, he repeated the question to the Weasleys, who were now leaving.
"They must have gone up to the Great Hall already," Mr. Weasley replied.
"I didn't see them pass me," Harry looked around as if they might be hiding. Draco gripped his shoulder harder. Was this man an idiot? Hadn't he just implied that they had gone somewhere?
"They said something about a bathroom not long after you left," answered Ginny.
"A bathroom?" Draco implored. "Why? Which bathroom?"
Before he could give an answer, Harry doubled over, clutching his scar. Ginny rushed forward to help, moving Draco aside.
They had gone to a bathroom?
That was information he could work with.
As the rest of the crowd rushed to the Great Hall, Draco began a search of each corridor bathroom, beginning on the seventh floor. He sprinted from bathroom to bathroom, not stopping even when his lungs began to sting or when he twisted his ankle going down the stairs to the fourth floor. He had to find Hermione – had to stop her from getting involved in the madness. As he poked his head into bathroom after bathroom only to be met by silence each time, Draco felt bile begin to rise in his throat. What if he couldn't get to her in time? What if fighting broke out before he could find her? What if something happened to her? To the baby?
These thoughts grew louder and louder as his feet made heavy contact in the entrance hall. It was only this floor and the dungeons to go. Four more bathrooms. Four more chances.
When he entered the first floor girl's bathroom, something felt immediately different. Of course, he had his own history with this room. Just stepping inside the place where Harry had almost killed him brought a chill down his spine and sent phantom pains across the scars that littered his torso.
But, no. That wasn't it. Something else was off about this bathroom.
And then he saw it.
One of the taps had fallen away, revealing a gaping hole in the floor. This had to be it.
Draco took deep breaths, preparing to careen himself into the darkness when a familiar, cold, cruel voice filled the air. It didn't seem to be coming from one place in particular, but from everywhere. It was as though he was surrounded by the Dark Lord's voice. He dropped to his knees immediately, his breath coming in erratic gasps.
"I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight."
The Dark Lord wanted Harry, plain and simple. Last year, giving up the Boy-Who-Lived would have been the straightforward answer. But he wasn't the same person he was a year ago. He wasn't the foolish boy who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts any more.
No, he was certainly no longer a fool.
This time, he would leave the fighting to others. He didn't want to be part of any battle. Draco's self-preservation instincts were beginning to kick in, and that involved grabbing Hermione and getting the fuck out of there before curses started flying.
A movement from below brought Draco's thoughts back to the present. From the gaping darkness, two figures emerged on brooms: one redheaded weasel and a bushy-haired beauty.
Hermione's eyes widened upon landing on the bathroom floor, her face turning to meet his. Draco looked her over from head to toe. Nothing appeared to be wrong. She was carrying an armful of what looked like long, curved teeth in one arm. So was Weasley.
Questions could come later.
Draco rushed to Hermione's side and pulled her into a fierce hug, bringing his lips to hers. Whatever she was holding in her arms clattered to the floor. He needed to feel her – to confirm that she was alive and right by his side. She returned the kiss briefly, but pulled away when Ron cleared his throat. The moment there was distance between them and Draco looked into her eyes, he practically exploded.
"What the hell are you thinking, Hermione? Riding on a dragon? Disappearing into some gaping hole to get – what the fuck are these things? Teeth?"
"Basilisk fangs," she corrected as Ron bent down to retrieve them.
Draco drew back. "Fucking basilisk fangs? Are you saying there's a basilisk in the castle? And what the hell is that?" he indicated the hole where they had emerged.
"It's the Chamber of Secrets."
Draco's jaw dropped. How could Hermione give an answer like that like she was telling him it was time for tea? He spluttered, trying to grope for a response. When none came, he blinked several times, eyes falling back onto her stomach, flat and well-enchanted.
"I don't give a damn what was in the bloody Chamber of Secrets or whatever! You're thirty-six weeks pregnant, woman! You can't just go running about extracting basilisk fangs and breaking into banks – I'm over here losing my mind!"
He expected to see remorse in Hermione's eyes, but instead, he saw fire.
"I feel fine, Draco! I know I said I would finish after our task today, but one thing led to another, and I don't think I could leave right now if I wanted to. Please don't make me leave. Not now. Not when we're so close."
Draco sighed. Hermione really was the most stubborn woman he knew.
"Fine. But I'm coming with you, wherever you're going tonight. No more secret missions or conversations. Got it?"
Hermione nodded. "All right then. Want to carry some fangs? We need to go find Harry."
Draco accepted a small armful of the large, venomous teeth from Ron. "We'll need to head back to the Great Hall. That's where Potter was headed, last I heard."
As the three of them stepped out of the bathroom and into the corridor, they were meet with a great boom. The whole castle seemed to shake, leaving the air full of dust, and bursts of light could be seen just outside the castle windows.
The battle had begun in earnest, then.
Draco fought to stay in the present. The debris and the flashes of spells were all too reminiscent of that June night almost eleven months ago. If he didn't put one foot in front of the other and force himself to focus, he was afraid he would get caught up in bad memories.
There had been a bloody handprint on the wall…
Running into Harry had been pure luck, and it had snapped him out of his bad memories. Draco could hardly follow along with the conversation they were having – something about stabbing horcruxes, whatever those were – but the Room of Hidden Things appeared to be their destination. The three of them made their way back to the seventh floor corridor only to find Tonks, Ginny, and Longbottom's grandmother still inside the room.
The elderly woman took her leave first.
Tonks, who Draco only just remembered had given birth merely two weeks previously, seemed ready to join the battle. After inquiring about her husband, she took off as well.
"Ginny, I'm sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in." Harry directed Ginny toward the exit, too, and the redhead left with a grin on her face. Harry seemed distraught at her eager face. "And then you can come back in! You've got to come back in!"
A beat.
"Hang on a moment!" declared Ron. "We've forgotten someone!"
"Who?" asked Hermione?"
"The house-elves, they'll all be down in the kitchen, won't they?"
"You mean we ought to get them fighting?" asked Harry.
"No," retorted Ron. "I mean we should tell them to get out. We don't want any more Dobbies, do we? We can't order them to die for us!"
"Oh, Ron!" Hermione beamed at him, tears in her eyes.
"Come on, then, you lot. There's a war on and we've got to find this diadem." Harry corralled them back out into the corridor. The moment Draco set foot back into the main castle, he knew that the battle had truly commenced. A handful of windows were missing panes, and both Ginny and Tonks were positioned by them shooting jinxes out into the night.
A wave of terror crested inside of him. He wanted to run and hide with Hermione and not look back even for a moment.
But one look at Hermione, and he knew that would never be an option. She was steeling herself, clearly ready to take on whatever was waiting for them when they reentered the Room of Hidden Things.
Just as he, himself, had done all those months ago, Harry began to pace back and forth in front of the blank wall, muttering to himself. The door reappeared after only a moment. When they entered this time, the hammocks had all vanished. Instead, Draco was greeted with a familiar sight.
He wanted to vomit.
He was back in the one place he never wanted to see again.
Taking deep breaths, he held Hermione's hand as they began to navigate through the labyrinth of items. Hermione had briefly explained that they were looking for Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem, though frankly, Draco had no idea what that would look like. Instead, he kept the snatcher's wand held tightly in his fist. Just in case.
They split up. Draco insisted that he accompany Hermione.
The room was eerily silent. The quiet felt especially oppressive, given the knowledge that a battle was raging just outside the walls. The two of them walked up and down several aisles, eyes searching for anything sparkly that might be a tiara. Hermione kept her hand in his. After a few minutes, Draco realized that she was squeezing his hand.
"Everything all right?" he whispered as they turned a corner past a suit of armor that was missing both its arms.
"Braxton Hicks," she hissed back, her face contorted.
Draco shot a glance at her stomach. The charms were still well in place.
"As soon as we find this diadem thing, we are getting out of here. Got it?"
Wincing, Hermione nodded in agreement. "Fine. Let's find the damn thing, then."
They rounded another corner, and Draco heard a new voice coming from the other side. A familiar voice. He threw his arm out in front of Hermione, bringing his finger to his lips. Standing there, facing Harry, were Crabbe and Goyle.
His heart fell to his feet. No. Not now. Not them. Not when they were about to get out of there.
"So how come you two aren't with Voldemort?" he heard Harry ask.
"We're gonna be rewarded," Goyle replied. "We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to 'im."
"Good plan."
Draco watched as Harry's eyes darted to a bust sitting on a table. There, on top of its head, sat a dusty, old tiara.
The diadem.
Shite.
They were so close, and bloody Crabbe and Goyle were in their way? The idiots. Draco watched as Harry began to move ever so slightly, never breaking eye contact, making his way slowly toward the table with the diadem.
Clever Potter.
"So how did you get in here?" he asked.
"Watched Draco do it all last year. S'not hard," Crabbe boasted.
"We was hiding in the corridor outside," continued Goyle. "We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What's a diedum?"
Draco thanked Merlin silently that his former friends were so dumb.
Out of nowhere, Ron's voice sounded from several feet behind him, hidden behind the wall of objects. "Harry? Are you talking to someone?"
Draco barely had time to register that Crabbe had turned toward the unseen voice and pointed his wand, before the wall concealing Hermione, Ron, and himself came toppling over. Acting on instinct, he wrapped his body around Hermione's and shoved them out of the way moments before an old desk smashed right where they had been standing.
He must have hit his head. For a moment, everything was spinning. Sitting up, Draco placed his palm on his forehead to steady himself. He definitely had not been hit by any falling objects. Looking to his left, he found Hermione to be unscathed as well.
Breath returned to his lungs immediately as his vision leveled once more.
From across the room, he heard more objects falling and smashing. Crabbe was such an idiot. Didn't he realize that any physical spellwork in here would have a ripple effect? It was too crowded not to.
Hermione was breathing heavily, her eyes closed. For what felt like the first time since he had seen her back at Hogwarts, he got a decent look at her.
She was covered in dust and exhaustion painted her face. And on her wrists and hands… were those burns? But they didn't have the luxury of time for him to inquire in depth about her injuries.
"Are you all right, love?" he whispered, ducking down to remain concealed.
"More Braxton Hicks. I'm all right." Through clenched teeth, she managed to sit up. "Where's Harry?"
"He's just around the corner. I think he might have found your diadem thing."
Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Finite!" they heart a male voice cry from around the corner. Harry. At once, the rumble of falling objects ceased. Draco watched the mountain above them cease its swaying and stand stock still once more.
"Draco? Oi, Draco! Is that you?"
Shite. Goyle.
His platinum hair must have stood out amongst the dark debris littering the floor.
"Well, well," chuckled Crabbe, a cold look in his eyes that Draco had never quite seen before. He'd have called it calculating if the bloke were any smarter. "Look who we found. Ooh, the Dark Lord will be so 'appy with us. Not only did we find Potter, but we found the Blood Traitor Malfoy too."
Ignoring Hermione's tug on his jumper, Draco scrambled to his feet, wand in hand and pointed at his former best friend. Though his heart beat erratically beneath his skin, he managed to school his features.
"Come now, Crabbe. Be reasonable. How do you think tonight will end? Stop this foolishness and get out while you can."
Draco raised one threatening eyebrow at Crabbe, praying that he would fall in line as he always had in the past. It seems that was not meant to be. Instead of lowering his wand, Crabbe sneered, his thick facial features contorted into something unrecognizable.
"Who cares what you think, Blood Traitor? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You an' your dad are finished."
Draco's stomach bottomed out at the mention of his family before Ron called out again.
The idiot.
"Harry? What's going on?"
Crabbe had begun to mock Ron. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived dove for the tiara. Whipping around, Crabbe yelled, "Crucio!"
Hermione screamed beside him as the curse exploded the bust, sending the tiara flying into the darkness, likely into the mountain of stuff standing nearby. From behind him, he sensed movement. Hermione had emerged, determination etched on her face. Before Draco could stop her, she took off at a run, sending a Stunning Spell at Crabbe as Harry dodged a jet of red light.
"It's that mudblood! Avada Kedavra!"
The world all around him froze as the green light flew through the air straight at Hermione. He watched in horror as she threw herself out of the way with great effort.
This action seemed to kick Harry's instincts into high gear, because he let out a roar of fury and doubled his efforts to stun Crabbe and Goyle. The two returned their aim to Harry, and Draco used the opportunity to crawl toward Hermione, now lying on the ground somewhere nearby, out of sight.
From just in front of him he heard Harry yell, "Expelliarmus!"
Draco looked up just in time to see Goyle's wand fly into the darkness. The poor sod started jumping up, trying to locate it. Just as he was about to reach her, Hermione leapt to her feet in front of him. At the same time, Ron whipped around a corner, shooting a body-bind curse at Crabbe. It missed, but only just.
Crabbe shot another killing curse at Ron, chasing after him as the redhead ran for cover.
This situation was getting far too dangerous. Diadem or whatever be damned, he had to get Hermione out of there. It didn't matter that Neville's grandmother had sealed off the only escape. They would find a secluded corner of the castle. Wait the battle out. Enough was enough.
But when Draco turned his attention back to the spot where Hermione had been lying, he found her gone. Instead, she had pulled herself to her feet. Though she showed signs of fatigue, the charms around her stomach were still miraculously in place. Panting and angrier than he had ever seen her, she shot another stunner at Goyle. This time, it hit him squarely in the chest.
Atta girl, Hermione.
As Hermione dug her heels into the stone floor, widening her stance to be ready for another curse, Draco's mind flashed back to just over a month ago, when he had seen the same girl broken and bleeding on the floor, but with fire still in her eyes.
It was the same fire in her eyes now.
If she's not giving up, then neither am I.
Draco jumped to his feet and joined Hermione at her side, reading to grasp her free hand.
She squeezed back.
They ran over to Harry, who was gesticulating to a large pile of junk. "It's somewhere here! Look for it while I go find R–"
"HARRY!"
Hermione screamed her friend's name as she caught sight of something horrible.
Ron and Crabbe were sprinting up a side aisle toward them. Panic filled Ron's eyes; in Crabbe's, triumph.
"Like it hot, scum?" his former friend shouted.
Great flames the size of trolls barreled toward them, moving at an unnatural pace. The fire consumed everything in its path, crumbling the generations of junk into ash in its wake.
Draco knew what this was. They had to run. They had to run now.
"Aguamenti!" Harry cried, pointing his wand into the inferno. Draco grabbed Hermione's hand as the water evaporated instantly, leaving Harry distraught and confused.
"No use for that, Potter! Run!"
Crabbe had gotten ahead of them all, a terrified look on his face. Clearly, he had learned the spell, but could not control it. Once an idiot, always an idiot.
Draco pulled Hermione along with Ron and Harry falling just behind them. They ran through aisles and aisles of stuff, the cursed fire chasing them with what felt like purposeful fury. Draco could feel the heat lick his ankles as it closed in on them.
This is not how he wanted it to end… it couldn't end this way.
Hermione… the baby… they had a life to live.
He could feel the fire closing in on them, great flame beasts with a hunger for their flesh sniffing them out like bloodhounds. There had to be something they could do – anything.
"What can we do?" Hermione shrieked over the roar of the approaching fire, "What can we do?" She held her invisible stomach with one hand, the other squeezing Draco's hand with a firm grip.
Draco saw the cogs turning in Harry's head as he looked around for a half second, sudden inspiration striking in his eyes.
"Here!" he called, grabbing a pair of old, beat up broomsticks from a pile of junk that was yet unburnt. Harry tossed one to him. "Get out of here."
Draco didn't need to be told twice. As Harry and Ron mounted the other broom, Draco swung his leg over the one in his hands, leaving space for Hermione in front of him. He wanted to leave room for her disillusioned belly. The moment they kicked off, flames poured over the ground like waves, consuming the spot where they had just stood. The two brooms sped toward the exit, a tiny rectangular patch on the far wall. It was so hard to make out, the smoke was so thick. Draco moved his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. He heard Hermione cough and yelled at her to do the same. They soared high over the Room of Hidden Things – the place he had so hated last year – and watched it burn.
Crabbe and Goyle were still down there, somewhere, likely dead.
Even after years of friendship, at this moment at least, he couldn't bring himself to care.
When they were nearly halfway there, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry and Ron's broom do a nosedive straight into the flames.
"What are they doing?" Hermione shrieked, her voice shaking with panic.
"I dunno, but we can't wait around for them," Draco shouted in her ear over the roaring, monstrous flames. "I wouldn't worry too much. Youngest Seeker in a century, right?"
Even as he spoke these reassuring words, he wasn't sure he believed them.
The smoke grew thicker as they flew, the door growing larger and larger. They were so close…
Clean, cool air filled their lungs in great gasps as they made their great exit. With the greatest concentration he could muster, Draco pulled the broom up severely; it came to screeching halt three feet above the ground, and he and Hermione slid off onto the floor, panting.
Moments later, Harry and Ron came careening through the door, the flames licking their heels. Unlike Draco, Harry did not slow down. With a smack, the two collided with the wall and fell to the floor, coughing.
Draco blinked and the door disappeared.
Crabbe and Goyle had not made it out.
His chest tightened for a moment. Was he allowed to grieve for them? Should he? He gulped in the night air, trying to find some sort of equilibrium. Though the details differed greatly, tonight was far too similar to the night Dumbledore had died. All the blood… all the panic… all the death.
He highly doubted Professor McGonagall would swoop into save him this time.
No, he had to save himself.
To his left, Hermione was taking deep, rasping breaths. Her face was blackened with soot, and her eyes were closed her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach.
"Are you all right?" he managed to gasp.
Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed. "Uh-huh," she managed.
A series of ghosts charged through the corridor, and Draco immediately became more aware of the chaos surrounding them.
"Where's Ginny?" he heard Harry cry. "She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement."
"Blimey, d'you reckon it'll still work after that fire?" Ron inquired, pulling himself to his feet. Taking the queue, Draco stood, holding a hand out for Hermione, who still seemed to be catching her breath. "Should we split up and look–?"
"No," said Hermione, her voice clearly returned. "Let's stick together. I say we go – Harry, what's that on your arm?"
Draco turned to look at Harry's wrist.
"What? Oh yeah–"
There, in Harry's hand, was a blackened tiara. That must have been what they were looking for. Harry squinted at it for a moment, before flexing his fingers. A dark liquid seemed to be seeping from it. Draco watched as it began to hum ever so slightly before falling to pieces in Potter's hands. He could have sworn he heard a scream of sorts coming, not from the battle surrounding them, but from the thing itself.
How very odd…
"It must have been Fiendfyre," Hermione cried, her eyes wide with concern.
"Yeah it was," confirmed Draco.
"Sorry?" Harry looked incredibly confused, his hands still held out in front of him with the burnt bits of tiara hanging from his fingers.
"Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it's one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes, but I would never, ever have dared to use it."
"I've heard about it, but never seen it," Draco piped up. "Not even in the Dark Lord's inner circle."
"It's so dangerous – how did Crabbe know how to–?" Hermione wondered, wincing slightly.
"Must've learned from the Carrows," said Harry.
"Shame he wasn't concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really." Ron swiped his hand over the top of his head, now singed from the fire. Draco suspected they all must look similarly. "If he hadn't tried to kill us all, I'd be quite sorry he was dead."
Draco almost felt a flare of anger at Ron for the dab at his recently-deceased friend, but decided to ignore it.
"But don't you realize?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide with some sort of new comprehension. "This means, if we can just get the snake–"
Hermione's words were drowned out by the sounds of shouts coming from nearby. They heard spells and curses cutting through the air.
Death Eaters in the castle. Death Eaters inside the walls at Hogwarts. It truly was like reliving that awful night. Draco tried to steady himself with deep breaths as two red-headed Weasleys came into view, both dueling Death Eaters.
Immediately, the dire nature of their situation hit him. Hermione was in no condition to fight in a battle. She had destroyed this… thing. Now it was time for them to go. They had to find somewhere to hide. His incredibly pregnant girlfriend had seen enough fighting to last a lifetime. Yet, even when he reached out to take her hand, she hurtled forward.
Damnit, Hermione!
"You're joking, Perce!" he heard one of the Weasley twins shout as both of the Death Eaters fell to the ground. "You actually are joking, Perce… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were–"
BOOM.
All at once, the world was fire and ash and sound. Draco found himself flying backward through the air, propelled by some sort of unforeseen explosion. He heard screams and the dull thuds of bodies hitting stone… stones hitting bodies…
For the second time that night, Draco fought through dizziness and pain; though his head swam and his ears were ringing, one thought managed to penetrate the haze.
Hermione.
The world came back into focus as cool night air hit his face. Had the castle fallen apart? Draco staggered to his feet, willingly ignoring the gashes on his arm and cheek, both of which were freely bleeding.
Hermione. Where was she?
And then he heard it. A gut-wrenching sob.
All other thoughts were abandoned as he hurried as fast as he could, still dizzy, to the group of redheads now huddle on the ground. The closer he got, the louder the cries of pure agony ripped into his heart.
No, no… it couldn't be…
Movement to his left made him whip around.
Hermione was struggling to her feet, grasping onto large chunks of rubble for support. The charm had worn off, and her distended belly now showed fully, covered in debris. He grabbed Hermione's hand and helped her to her feet.
If it wasn't Hermione who had induced such a terrible cry, then who…?
"No! Fred! No!"
Ron was on his knees, crying. The other Weasley brother was shaking the twin, whose still face still carried the hints of a laugh. Draco watched as Harry's and Hermione's faces fell in horror. For them, the world seemed to stop. He could see it in their eyes. Harry, completely numb. Hermione, tears in her eyes. The Weasleys, frozen with grief.
And then the moment was gone, and curses began to fly everywhere once more.
"Get down!" he and Harry had shouted together, pulling Hermione and Ron to the ground, respectively.
He had to get Hermione out. He had to get her out now.
While Harry shouted at the Weasley brothers to move, Draco grabbed Hermione as she began to scream. Giant spiders began to crawl into the castle through the hole in the wall. Following his instincts, he curled his body over hers as Harry and Ron shot Stunning Spells at the spider, knocking it back over the side of the castle.
The slight victory lasted only seconds until more curses came flying over their heads.
"Let's move, NOW!" he heard Harry yell.
Draco grabbed Hermione with one hand, Ron with the other, and pulled. When the two of them were safely ahead of him, he turned and followed just behind. They needed a place out of sight… just for a moment…
He had to gather his thoughts. Think of a plan.
No longer concealed under and assisted with enchantments, Hermione's gait had slowed to a persistent waddle. He needed to find a way to help her. There was no way she could fight like this now. As they rounded a corner, Draco spied a tall tapestry that spanned floor to ceiling.
"Over there," he indicated to Ron and Hermione. Weasley sped up. Draco placed his hand on the small of Hermione's back to help her move a bit faster. The moment they were all hidden behind the great, ancient fabric, breath seemed to return to all three of them. Hermione leaned against the wall and Draco placed his hands on his knees, filling his lungs slowly and deliberately.
Ron, on the other hand, had begun to breathe harshly; Draco could hear the forceful rush of air in his flaring nose, and when he looked up, he saw pure hatred in his eyes.
"Easy, Ron…" he cautioned. "Just breathe."
"I'm gonna kill them. I'm gonna kill them all."
His hands curled into fists as his expression grew angrier and angrier with each inhale.
"Ron, you can't. Not yet. Think how close we are! If we just get the snake…" Hermione's voice was urgent, despite the fact that she was still leaning against the wall, eyes closed.
Ron paused for a moment, seeming to consider their words. Draco saw his jaw tense with anger and unshed tears.
"Fuck it," Weasley whispered, taking the tapestry in hand, clearly preparing to make a run for it.
"No! Ron! Listen to me – ahhhh!"
Draco's head whipped around as Hermione gave a cry of pain. Her hands had moved to her stomach; she clutched it with ferocity, her fingers trembling.
Every inch of her was trembling.
It seemed this had gotten Ron's attention, because he turned right around, anxiety in every inch of his already grief-stricken face. The two of them huddled over Hermione as she slid down the wall, whimpering.
"Braxton Hicks, love?" he whispered, kneeling beside her.
She shook her head. When she spoke, her voice shook. "This is different. Something's… something's not right."
Draco's entire body turned cold. Had he waited too long to get her out? Had his hesitation doomed their child? Dark thoughts swirled in his mind for a half second before he shook himself mentally. Now was not the time for a break down. It was time for action
"Ron!" Draco turned to Weasley. "Go to the other edge of the tapestry and keep an eye out for Harry."
"But–"
"We've got to step the fuck up, Weasley."
Draco watched recognition flare in Ron's eyes as he quoted the man's words back at him.
Ron nodded and did as instructed.
He turned back to Hermione, whose whimpers had turned to full-blown cries.
"It's going to be all right, love. You'll see. It'll be–"
Blood.
Lots of blood.
Flowing down from below Hermione's stomach down her jean leg.
Panic welled in his chest as his own hands began to shake.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
From his right hand side, he heard Ron call out, "Harry, over here!"
He had to find a way to fix this. There had to be a way.
Draco leaned forward and touched his forehead to Hermione's.
"It's going to be all right, love."
He only hoped he wasn't lying.
I apologize in advance if I've just stressed you out - this chapter was very stressful to write, honestly (but in a good way).
We are really in the thick of it now!
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