Hi all. Sorry if this is a bit long and morbid… I was in a funk when I wrote this, but it actually fits the chapter… Also, sorry if this is a bit predictable/cliché. Sorry. Draco in the next chapter should make up for it. :)
Note to mamiamami – sorry if you think it's going a bit slow. I wondered about the pacing myself but this is how it worked in the outline and I can't imagine it working any other way. I apologize if this is slow for you, but things are about to change. Your compliment was otherwise lovely.
Enjoy!
Chapter Five
Sleepless
Lucius didn't come into her room that night. It wasn't to be expected—it was her punishment, though it was almost worse waiting up for him.
She didn't sleep that night, not that she'd expected to. Rather, she tossed and turned, images flashing through her mind that she was sure would only worsen if she closed her eyes. A cavernous, dark room. Lines of people in black cloaks. A high-pitched keening, and a cold, high laugh. Emmeline. A face, too pale against the blackness. Eyes wide open, body twitching. Flailing. Pain.
Her heart ached as she moved under the cool, silk sheets. Her head hurt already – she was sure the sleeplessness would only cause her pain later. Her eyes strained when she stared up at the dark ceiling, too dry from crying.
The door opened around eight in the morning, when the sunlight was pushing through the tiny gap in the curtains, cutting a slice of orange through the darkened room. Hermione was too tired to move, too tired to care. She looked over, expecting to see a tall, dark figure standing there sneering at her. Rather, she saw no one.
She sat up, pulling the duvet with her, wincing as her temples throbbed. Scurrying up beside the bed, she saw, was a tiny little elf, carrying a silver platter. Her heart swelled with gratitude when Calico set the tray down on her bed and looked at her solemnly.
"Mistress Granger needs to eat," she squeaked. "Master Malfoy is angry, but he should not stop Mistress Granger from being properly nourished."
Hermione's hand froze halfway in the process of reaching for a bit of toast. "Lucius didn't tell you to bring me breakfast?" she asked numbly.
The elf's long fingers curled briefly in the fabric of her freshly pressed pillowcase-dress, wrinkling the smooth white linen. Her huge green eyes bugged, and then she ran for the fireplace, grabbing a heavy, iron poker before Hermione could stop her.
She watched in sick horror as the elf brought the poker down hard on her head, crying out in pain and stumbling to her knees. Calico stood shakily and raised the fire poker again and again, hitting herself wherever she could reach: her head, her nose, her feet, her chest… Hermione couldn't move. She couldn't unfreeze her hand from hovering in midair above the toast. She couldn't force her stiff vocal cords to order the elf to stop. She just watched, horrified, as everything she'd ever believed about the unjust treatment of house elves was proven to be true.
Calico finally looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and her nose red and swollen. "Mistress is not eating," she squeaked, shocked.
Hermione forced her hand to close around the piece of toast, not taking her eyes off the elf as she took a tiny bite out of the corner. Crumbs fell down her front and she closed her eyes as a now-familiar wave of nausea rose up in her throat. She took a few, deep breaths before taking another tentative bite, trying not to gag at the overwhelming sweetness of her favorite orange marmalade. She breathed through her mouth and reached for the coffee. Her hand shook so hard that she spilled the hot drink onto her lap and yelped in pain, tears springing in her eyes as she jumped up and the tray went flying, glass shattering everywhere.
Hermione moaned and shot off toward the bathroom as Calico hurried forward to clean up the mess. Aware of a sharp pain in her palm where a shard of broken china had sliced into her, the girl rooted frantically through the cupboard, searching for band-aids or gauze, but stopped and veered to the toilet instead when the sight of the blood running down her arm made her stomach heave.
Bellatrix came in only a few minutes later, tripping over the boxes and toiletries Hermione had pulled to the floor in her haste to find adhesive bandages.
"Merlin, Granger." She scowled, kicking a box out of her way. "You'd think it was impossible for you to hold down food."
Hermione winced as the corner of the box dug into her calf. She picked it up, and her eyes widened.
"How long have I been here?"
"What?" Bellatrix snatched the box and, seeing what it was, dropped it like it had burned her.
"How long?" Hermione repeated numbly.
"Five weeks on Wednesday."
Both women looked at the box of tampons like it had turned into something repulsive.
"You haven't –"
"No."
"When was your last?"
"Two weeks before you came to get me."
"You're three weeks late?"
Hermione nodded mutely. Oh, Merlin. It was all starting to make sense now. But… But… Lucius' child? She hadn't planned on getting pregnant until she was much older, when she had a stable job and at least a steady partner – preferably, she would be a Mrs. by then. Maybe a Mrs. Weasley.
She hadn't imagined finding out she might be pregnant while hunched over a toilet, bleeding, at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Maybe you're just late. Stress can make you irregular." The woman's voice was shaky – nervous instead of scornful for once.
I'd have to raise the baby surrounded by evil bastards. "I'm never irregular," Hermione snapped, staggering to her feet. She moved to the sink and rinsed her bleeding hand, not watching the water run red.
"I guess I'll have to make an appointment at St. Mungo's," Bellatrix said, still sounding stunned. "Just to make… sure before you tell Lucius."
"Lucius…" Hermione froze, fear flooding her.
"For God's sake, Granger, pull yourself together," Bellatrix snapped, regaining her composure. "It's your own damn fault you're such a slut. Go get dressed and I'll call a Healer. Lucius is at work and he'll be gone until dinner." She swept away and Hermione stood, staring after her for a long moment. Then she shut off the water and dried her hand on her shirt, going back to her room.
She wasn't surprised to find the mess cleaned up and her bed made as freshly as if she hadn't tossed and turned in it all night. She pulled off her sleeping shorts and stepped into the dark, tight jeans, then pulled off her top and found herself staring down at her flat stomach.
Images flashed through her head of Lucius pounding into her roughly, running his hands over her full, taut belly, digging his fingers bruisingly into it when he came, and then kissing it gently like he did that damn birthmark. Or of her – his – child, a miniature Draco, growing up with as cold and distant of a father as his brother had.
Oh God. If there really was a baby, she'd be the mother of Draco's half-sibling. She pulled her shirt on quickly before she could think more about that, before she was sick again.
Bellatrix came in a few minutes later and looked at Hermione frostily. "I can't get you an appointment until Wednesday," she said bitterly, like it was Hermione's fault that Saint Mungo's was booked. "I won't tell Lucius now if you don't stall telling him later. He's got meetings all day that day."
Hermione stared at Bellatrix in shock. "Are you being nice to me?" It was Monday. Wednesday seemed like very far away. The idea of waiting on tenterhooks for almost three days was unbearable. Now that the idea was in her head, she knew that it would keep nagging at her.
"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head." Bellatrix sneered weakly, her eyes flashing to Hermione's stomach. There was something in her face – something unfamiliar. Something sad. Almost like longing.
Hermione bit her lip, wanting to ask, but afraid to. Bellatrix wound a strand of hair around her finger, still eying Hermione with a sort of thoughtful regret. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Bellatrix sighed, untangling her finger. "You really should try to eat a proper breakfast. I hear underfeeding yourself isn't good for the baby. I –" She swallowed hard. "I'll send a house elf up later."
And then she was gone.
Dinner was a tense affair. Bellatrix, amazingly, kept her word and didn't say a thing to Lucius. But it was all Hermione had thought about that day – and she could tell that Bellatrix had been dwelling on it, too. The two of them arrived in the dining room at the same time, and they shared a brief look across the long table before Lucius came in. Hermione barely dared to breathe as she kissed him lightly and bowed her head. It wasn't until he sat down and indicated that she do the same that she dared relax slightly. There was no consternation on his face.
"I trust you had a good day, My Lord," she said cautiously, as the house elves started moving around the table with food and drink.
He looked at her smoothly, without a trace of suspicion in his cold, grey eyes. "It was dull, as usual. Nothing compares to being at home in such charming company."
Bellatrix turned what sounded like a laugh into a cough as Hermione, to her mortification, felt her cheeks flushing. Absently, she put a hand over her wine goblet when an elf came around with the bottle, the way she'd been taught to do in Muggle restaurants when she didn't care for a drink. The elf passed her by, and Lucius looked at her questioningly.
"No wine, Granger?"
Her mistake hit her, but it was too late for her to recover. She glanced across the table and saw that Bellatrix looked almost amused. She hadn't expected the woman's civil streak to be lasting, but it would have been nice to have a bit of backing.
"I've been wondering," she invented, "if drinking more wine than I'm used to is what is making me sick. If it's quite alright with you, I'd like to try going off it for a bit, just to see if it helps."
His face slid into a smooth mask of careful confusion, but no concern whatsoever. "You're still getting ill? I'd thought that yesterday was merely a result of your encounter with the Dark Lord. You wouldn't be the first to throw up after meeting him."
She wondered briefly if he'd thrown up the first time Voldemort had turned his wand on him for a little slipup. She decided she didn't want to know. "No, My Lord. I was ill again this morning."
Something flashed across his face briefly, before he could pull his mask back on. It was almost like concern, or fear. No matter which it was, something dawned on him, and he frowned politely. "Did you ask for wine at breakfast time?"
"My Lord, I –" Stuttered. She stuttered. It was the best she could do.
"Oh, Lucius." Bellatrix sniffed derisively. "If she doesn't want any, all the better. Would you really waste your fine wine on a Mudblood? As if she hasn't taken more than enough of your fine food for her unfit self. Don't push anything on her. Undeserving. Ungrateful."
Hermione looked up briefly in thanks, but Lucius waved Bellatrix away. "I've told you how I feel about your attitude, Bella. Miss Granger is my guest here, and she isn't to be treated like anything lower than that. If you can't accept that the two of you are both guests in my house, and that you, too, must adhere to my rules, you may as well just leave. Your position here is no more permanent than hers. I will not have you speaking to my guests that way. Please apologize."
"Sorry." She spat it out, like the word was poisonous.
"Miss Granger, will you be having wine this evening?" Lucius asked evenly.
"No, My Lord. Thank you though."
He watched her thoughtfully as she picked at her food, and she wondered how much more he was seeing than he let on. It made her nervous. Bellatrix's eyes were on her throughout the meal, too, cold and unforgiving. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek. She shouldn't have been feeling gratitude toward Bellatrix Lestrange, but she was in fact tremendously indebted to the woman. She knew that Bellatrix wasn't likely to let her forget it.
Hermione passed the next two nights much in the same way as she had spent the last. Lucius didn't come into her room once, which made her nervous. He'd barely spoken to her since dinner that night, and she was afraid that either he suspected something, or there was something else horrible going on that she should be aware of. She had a hard time sleeping again, mostly because she had so much on her mind. She was very glad when Wednesday came, but she woke shaking with fear.
In the time she'd had to think, she realized that she was pretty sure what she was going to find out that day. All the signs pointed to it. There was just no way it couldn't be… She just wondered how she would react when she heard the news confirmed aloud, or when she saw it in print. Or how Lucius would react when she had to tell him.
Bellatrix actually knocked when she came in, and she stayed sitting on the end of the bed while Hermione dressed. She looked up at the ceiling, twisting her fingers together while the girl stumbled into her clothes.
"So, I'll be going with you," she said to the ceiling. "And I'm going to have to take a few liberties with your identity, you understand. You're publically recognized as Lucius'… consort. Any publicity over this visit will cause a scandal. So we'll have to be very… covert about it."
Hermione nodded. She'd expected that. "What do I have to do?"
Bellatrix looked down at her hands. She toyed with a delicate, golden band with a rather indecent green stone set into it. "Lucius is going to kill both of us," she said dryly. "I'm blaming it all on you, Mudblood."
Hermione reached for the ring. "I know. I'll pay for it later. It's not like you'll even have to go out of your way to torture me for any of this."
"Take care of it," Bellatrix said, handing over the ring reluctantly. "It was Ciss – Narcissa's." A shadow passed over her face at the mention of her dead sister, and Hermione had to remind herself over and over that the woman sitting in front of her was an evil witch who hated her guts, not a misunderstood woman who'd gotten the short end of every straw that life had presented her. "He'll know it's missing almost before you have it on."
"He misses her." Hermione slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, and shivered as the cool metal slid smoothly over her skin. Even though it was a tiny, delicate thing, it felt like deadweight on her hand. She twisted it uncomfortably. The silky gold felt like it was chaffing her. And yet, it fit perfectly.
"Yes."
"So, what…" Hermione frowned down at the ring again. There was something not right about it. Maybe like she was feeling the darkness that surrounded its former owner. "What exactly does this mean? Am I supposed to be… engaged to Lucius? Or married?" She shuddered.
Bellatrix pressed her lips together like she was holding back a volley of insults. Hermione was touched. "You're signed on to the patient list as 'Hermione Malfoy.' You're not to answer questions about who the father is."
Message understood: it was either Lucius or Draco. And Malfoy gold would buy silence.
"Do we need to go over proper Malfoy behavior?"
"No, thank you," Hermione said, as haughtily as she could. "I'd personally prefer not to associate myself even with the name, but considering the circumstances I suppose I'll make do with what I can. By the way, I'm not sure this color of green suits me. I thought you could do better, Bellatrix, but I understand that you did the best that you could under short notice."
"Very funny. Are you eating breakfast?"
"I don't think I will today," Hermione said carefully, trying to keep her head high. She remembered meeting Narcissa Malfoy only once, but the woman had been incredibly composed, and ridiculously haughty, almost self-righteous. If she weren't scared shitless, she might actually be able to have fun with this.
Bellatrix sighed. "Alright. Come on, then. We'll be late."
Hermione smoothed her clothes – which were, for once, not disgusting. Instead, the blazer and skirt were dignified, almost modest. The well-tailored grey material was almost too thick, and it felt boxy compared to what she was used to. And they smelled like another woman's stuffy perfume. Narcissa's old clothes, even? Bellatrix straightened the knot of her strangely scented scarf, and pulled back, flicking her wand toward the fireplace. She held out a pot full of sparkling powder, and Hermione looked up at her, amused.
"Floo?" she said drily, taking a handful of Floo Powder.
"Look." Bellatrix took a pinch of the powder herself, and closed the jar, putting it back on the hearth. "I'm not any more comfortable with any of this than you are, but what I do know is that Lucius will kill both of us if anything happens to the ba – the potential baby – before he can decide himself what to do with it. I don't know exactly what Apparating will do to you right now, and I'm in no mood to try, if only because I don't want your vomit all down my robes. Okay?"
"Fine," Hermione sniffed, shifting the ring on her finger again. "You can go first."
Bellatrix tossed her pinch of Floo Powder into the fire, and the flames roared green. She stepped into the fireplace, and looked at Hermione, cocking her eyebrow. "Be sure you do follow, Mudblood." She smoothed her robes. "St. Mungo's."
Hermione stepped into the empty fireplace, and opened her hand. The fire that licked up around her was pleasantly warm, if not distractingly green. "St. Mungo's," she said, closing her eyes and tucking her elbows, remembering Mrs. Weasley's cautions fondly. It was Molly who had taught her about Floo systems… She squeezed her eyes tighter shut so that she wouldn't start crying, and so that she wasn't tempted to look down when she started spinning.
Bellatrix was damn wrong. Floo Powder was a bloody bad idea for someone with a delicate stomach.
She staggered to a stop in an unfamiliar fireplace, and unfamiliar hands helped her out gently, gripping her tightly when she stumbled over her own feet. When she was sure she was steady, she shrugged off the hands and looked up at the green-robed Healer who had helped her out. The words to thank him were on the tip of her tongue, but she caught Bellatrix's warning expression at the last minute so she swallowed them back and nodded curtly, flicking an invisible piece of soot off the shoulder of her jacket.
"M-miss, er, Mrs…" he stammered.
"Ms. Malfoy will do," she said coolly, ignoring the nerves that twisted in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she was glad she hadn't eaten breakfast that day.
"Ms. Malfoy…" The Healer said the words like they burned his tongue. She looked up and was mildly surprised to see Ernie McMillan poking his head out of the robes – and realized they were the robes of a full Healer, but only of an apprentice.
"McMillan."She had to say his name like it was dirty, and she certainly felt disgusted enough with herself to screw up her face properly. She looked over to Bellatrix. "I assume we do have an appointment, Bellatrix? I didn't come to exchange conversation."
Bellatrix's lips twitched slightly. "I was under the impression that someone was supposed to be meeting us to show us to your room, but apparently this is the best they can come up with. Until you can stop sputtering, McMillan, we'll be seeing our own way out." She reached for Hermione's arm, but Ernie stepped forward.
"I'm perfectly capable, Madam Lestrange," he said bitterly, shooting curious glances at Hermione. "Forgive me. I was merely shocked to see you here. I thought for sure that your family would have its own Healers on staff."
Hermione swallowed convulsively, and Ernie looked at her again. She looked away, twisting the ring on her finger.
"If you ladies would please follow me," he mumbled, starting off toward the tall, winding staircase.
Bellatrix climbed the stairs behind Hermione, keeping a close eye on the girl. Hermione tried to climb smoothly and regally, feeling ridiculous as she kept her head high and trailed her hand smoothly over the railing. They crossed a few people who were going down, and all of them looked at their little trio curiously. She glared back at them, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Bellatrix fingering her wand menacingly.
Ernie led them to a private room just off the stairs on the second floor and looked up at Bellatrix speculatively, trying not to look like he was afraid of her. Hermione noticed through carefully narrowed eyes the way his face paled and his hands shook slightly.
"Madam Lestrange, there is a strict patient confidentiality clause…"
"McMillan, I'm not sure you see the dilemma," Bellatrix said sweetly. "Ms. Malfoy is family now, and I am her official escort today."
Ernie swallowed hard. "Might I have a word in private with Ms. Malfoy, first?" he said, his voice quavering. "I'll be done before the doctor gets here."
Bellatrix looked questioningly at Hermione, who pushed all her self-respect away and looked down at Ernie icily. "McMillan, I cannot imagine anything that you would need to say to me that you cannot say in front of Bellatrix. As she rightly pointed out, we are family now, and she is in fact my escort. Now, unless you really want to have this discussion with the two of us, I suggest that you go and fetch the doctor right away. We're on a bit of a tight schedule today, and we don't really need to spend any more time than is necessary waiting around here with overly nosey Hufflepuffs."
Ernie looked as hurt as if she'd smacked him. Bellatrix pretended to pick at her nails, looking bored.
"I'll go get Healer Johnston right away then, Ms. Malfoy. Madam Lestrange." He opened the door to the examination room, then left quickly as soon as they'd filed in.
Hermione sank down onto the exam table, her knees trembling. "I'm such a horrible person," she moaned.
"Sit up straight," Bellatrix snapped, slouched agonizingly casually into the chair against the wall. "God's sake, Malfoy, we wouldn't want you bringing the family shame after you just blended in so beautifully, would we?"
"Shut up," Hermione mumbled, sitting up so straight that her back popped. Both women winced at the sound.
There was a soft tap at the door, and then it swung open. A squat, bald man with glasses and a seemingly permanent frown stepped inside and closed the door behind him. If he was surprised or frightened by Bellatrix's presence, the only way that he showed it was looking away from her quickly, his eyes going instead to Hermione with a probing curiosity.
"Ms. Malfoy?" he asked, looking down at his file.
She nodded curtly, too afraid to speak.
"I'm afraid we don't have you on file yet…"
"It doesn't matter for today," Bellatrix said, glaring. "It's just a quick check up, you see. We don't have time for formalities." She shifted in her seat so that he could hear the clinking of money in her pocket. "I'll remind you that my brother-in-law has been more than generous in his donations to St. Mungo's over the years."
Healer Johnston pushed up his glasses with his index finger and nodded absently, looking over at Hermione again. "What seems to be the problem, Ms. Malfoy?"
Heat flushed through her whole body, staining her cheeks, her neck, flooding all the way down from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She struggled to maintain her composure. "I have reason to believe that I may be pregnant."
"Mphf." He scribbled something down on the parchment he held. "When was your last menstrual cycle?"
"It ended seven weeks ago," she said flatly, looking at the wall, at the floor, at the ring on her finger, anywhere but at him.
"And have you been sexually active?"
She braced herself. "I thought that much would have been clear."
"Touché," he murmured, noting something. "Other than missing your cycle, have you been experiencing other symptoms of pregnancy?"
"Erm." Oh God, this was awkward. Bellatrix still lounged in her chair, looking like she was fighting back a laugh. "I've been… having trouble keeping food down," she said, as delicately as she could. "Eating makes me feel quite nauseous."
"Any unusual fatigue, or soreness of breasts?" the Healer asked, sounding clinically detached.
"Actually, I've been having trouble sleeping for the past three nights. It takes me a long time to fall asleep, and when I do it is a light sleep."
"Is it because of physical discomfort, or are you too mentally active to sleep?"
"I've – I've had a lot on my mind lately."
His frown deepened at this, and he turned to Bellatrix. "Has she been eating well, Madam?" he said, almost accusingly.
"Not really." Bellatrix flipped her hair. "She's been too nauseous to eat more than a few bites at any given meal. I think she eats just enough to get by, but it isn't much."
Healer Johnston looked at Hermione sternly. "I can give you potions for the nausea, but if there is a baby you need to be getting as much nourishment as you can. Even when it sounds unappetizing, eating is important. Do you understand?"
She nodded blankly.
"If I might ask, who is the potential father?"
Hermione licked her lips, groping for an answer, trying to ignore the revulsion that swept through her. Lucius or Draco. What a choice. "I would think it would be obvious, Johnston. If it's not, then I seriously question your capability for this job."
His face closed. "I was merely curious," he said, in his detached, professional voice. "Some men or some families have more genetic potency than others. It might help to know your chances if we knew who the father was."
"Again, I thought it would be clear. My surname is Malfoy now."
He looked at her ring finger quickly, and bit his upper lip when he saw Narcissa's engagement ring. "Alright, Ms. Malfoy. I'm going to do a few charms that will test your body for the presence of another human. If this bubble" – he held out a little glass ball, and she too it, confused – "glows green, then you're pregnant. If it flashes red, you're not." He smiled at her tightly. "Clearly."
She gripped the little ball tightly. It reminded her forcibly of a Remembrall: clear glass, with delicate etchings in the sides. She recognized them as ancient runes, but she didn't really feel like deciphering them. She could easily guess at their meanings. Life, fertility, women… She held it so tightly that she was sure it would break – it looked like a fragile thing – but it remained mercifully solid and whole in her hand as Johnston started to mumble incantations.
And then it started to change. A curl of smoke started at the bottom of the ball, and drifted lazily to the top, coiling off to fill the glass. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, afraid to see the smoke turn colors, but heard Bellatrix's gasp.
"Congratulations, Ms. Malfoy," the Healer said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "Would you like to know the sex?"
Hermione's whole body was shaking. "No," she choked. She forced her eyes open and stared at the swirls of grass-green smoke that filled the ball. She forced it back toward Johnston. "No, thank you. Please take this."
He took it, and his crinkled eyes softened a little. "I take it the baby was a surprise."
"Bellatrix, can we please leave?" She fought to keep her voice level, to keep it from squeaking or cracking, because she knew that if she let her control slip even a bit now she would break down into a blubbering mess.
Bellatrix started to stand, but the Healer waved her back down. "You need to be back here in a month for a follow up appointment, Ms. Malfoy. I'll arrange with the receptionist downstairs to get you a set of potions to take for nausea or aches and pains. And the due date…" He looked at the ball that sat, small and innocent, in his heavy hand. "February 1."
"Please," Hermione whispered. "Please can we leave now?" There was a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach that made it hard to breathe. Her throat was being squeezed shut painfully, and she had to gasp for air. Her heart barely felt like it could beat anymore – it had turned to ice.
They made their way quickly downstairs, where Bellatrix gave the receptionist an absurd amount of money in exchange for a bag full of potions. They Flooed back to the Manor, and then looked at each other in awkward silence.
"So…" Hermione said nervously, frightened by the sudden blankness in the woman's eyes.
"So Lucius will be home in ten minutes. I suggest that you figure out how to tell him yourself, because I'm not helping you." Bellatrix snarled and shoved the potions at Hermione. "These are yours. Do try not to throw up or anything." She stormed away.
Hermione wished more than ever that she weren't locked up here, confined to her rooms and to the library. She wanted her wand, she wanted a newspaper, she wanted to see Harry and Ron. She couldn't just sit, or pace. Unacceptable. It would give her time to think.
She didn't want to think.
She went to the bathroom and lined the potions in careful rows on the shelves, making sure that they were alphabetized and lined up exactly straight. She'd just put the last one in place when a dry clearing of a throat behind her alerted her to Lucius' presence. She stiffened.
"My Lord."
Turning around slowly, she saw that he was looking at her with a blank face that meant he was furious. She saw his eyes move over Narcissa's clothes, and Narissa's ring. His eyes stayed for a long time on the ring before he held out his hand.
"I think I'll be taking that back, Granger."
She slipped it off with trembling fingers and dropped it into his palm. He held it gently for a moment before putting it into a pocket deep in his robes. His eyes ran over the shelf of potions.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"My Lord, Bellatrix took me to St. Mungo's today –"
"I'd noticed," he said glacially. "I had seven memos on my desk asking if I was aware that you were out of the house."
She swallowed and nodded. "Please forgive me. I wanted to make sure you had the full story."
"Go on."
"You know I've been sick for the past few days, and I've been having trouble sleeping. On Monday, Bellatrix and I realized that my period was three weeks late."
His already stiff posture became, if possible, stiffer. "And?"
"And I'm… pregnant."
Lucius was silent for a long moment, and half a dozen emotions flickered across his face, gone before she could identify them. His eyes burned holes in her, and he finally settled on furious. His fingers curled over his wand and she knew it was coming. She deserved it. She'd ruined everything.
"Crucio!"
Hermione had never known more pain in her life. Time slowed agonizingly as a million knives cut into her, as ever piece of her was torn apart and shredded into a million bits. The five seconds that it lasted were five eternities as she screamed and writhed on the hard, unforgiving marble floor.
And then it stopped. He was gone, and she was curled up on the floor. She picked herself up gingerly and stumbled out into the bedroom, where she fell onto the bed limply. She didn't cry – not that night. She'd done enough crying. She just curled up until, at last, she was able to sink into a dreamless sleep.
Thank you all you lovely darlings for your lovely reviews already. Best reviewer gets the next chapter dedicated to him/her and we all know why next chapter is super special. There's already some really good ones up... It's going to be hard to choose. :)
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