Chapter Two: Notice Me Not
When Hermione came home that night, the first thing she did was run hurriedly up to her son's room to see if he were still awake. She had missed putting him to bed every day this week – six days out of seven last week – and she was hoping to not fall behind so badly now. But it was a quarter past twelve and there was no way an eight year old boy would be up at this time.
Not that she was expecting it or anything.
She sighed quietly when she saw his small sleeping form huddled in bed. He had somehow managed to kick off all of the covers in his sleep and was shivering in his favourite blue pajamas as a result. His father had bought them for him when he had been really little. Hermione hadn't had the heart to throw away something Hugo loved so much. So she had taken to enlarging and repairing the pajamas as needed.
Hermione kissed Hugo's smooth forehead and watched the little boy peacefully sleep on. She sat there a few moments more after she had tucked him under his covers. Hermione was glad she could do this at the very least. She was glad that she could make sure her baby was safe and sound at night.
She felt guilty for abandoning him so often. It was eating away at her insides. But she was not willing to go back to second hand clothes and two small meals a day. Hugo would eventually learn of the sacrifices she was making for him.
The wizarding world wasn't kind to single female parents, unfortunately. They were old fashioned, male dominated arseholes, the lot of them. But what could she do? She was helpless. She really, really needed this job to stick if she was going to send Hugo to Hogwarts.
After the war, the wizarding world had gone into a recession - more like a full scale depression, in reality- and it still hadn't managed to completely throw it off. The job market was still brutal, budgets were still being cut left and right, inflation, inflation, inflation... it was almost impossible to exist. Unless, of course, you were a pureblood aristocrat. It was as if the war hadn't even happened. All was as it had been.
She didn't want her baby to suffer in a world like that. If it was a choice between starving and living in the ghettos to living in relative comfort... She'd take the latter any day. Hermione was willing to go through anything for Hugo. He was the last living reminder of the love that had existed between her and Ron. Now that she was so occupied with work – her life was very lonely indeed.
Sighing quietly once more and checking if Hugo was indeed sleeping comfortably, Hermione got up and securely shut the door behind her so the child could sleep in peace.
What she was completely unaware of, however, was the lingering shadow that remained behind her beloved son's wardrobe. It watched over the boy silently. If she had turned and paid more attention when shutting the door, if she had even turned around once more to ascertain that her baby really was safe, she would have seen the shadow grow into the shape of a towering, strong man. She would have seen the man who was draped in a large voluminous cloak walk towards her son's bed and reach out to stroke his silky chocolate coloured hair.
She would have seen that his hand had six fingers, and she would have screamed.
But Hermione didn't turn back, didn't even spare another look. He had expected as much. Instead, she walked towards her own room and prepared to go to sleep in her own bed, blissfully ignorant of the presence watching her son sleep.
Hermione Weasley dreamed of warm arms and ocean breezes that night.
/
Draco Malfoy was angry.
There was no denying it. He was pissed the fuck off. He was angry enough to tear the next person who walked through his office door in half and in half again. No matter the mess...and the legal consequences. He'd fucking deal with it so long as it'd quench this blood thirsty anger that coursed through his veins.
And it was all due to his bitch of a wife – Astoria Malfoy.
He leaned back in his black leather chair, breathing through his nose to perhaps calm himself down a little. But it was to no avail. There was a slight pink tinge to his pale alabaster skin, most likely from flushing in pure rage. He grasped at his perfectly tailored black robes, wishing for once that they weren't so form fitting. His beautiful office was in danger of being set on fire – and he didn't really care, either. He was more than willing to part with it.
After all of these years, Astoria still had the audacity to question his authority. She dared undermine him? Who the hell did she think she was, he asked himself whilst clutching a piece of parchment, crushed between his long, pale, tapered fingers. He stared down at her neat scrawl, his eyes barely comprehending what he was reading. His hands trembled slightly as he re-read the letter once more, not knowing whether it was to fuel his anger further or to confirm that the daft woman had actually done the impossible again.
Dearest Drakey-Poo,
I'm sorry you won't get to see your son this month, darling. We're off to Paris, then Rome, then perhaps the Bahamas for a much needed vacation. You know how tired I get of this dreadful London weather.
See you next month, darling!
Astoria.
P.S: I am forwarding last month's bills to your office. Do take care of them promptly if you can. I would rather not repeat last month's fiasco.
He nearly growled remembering exactly what last month's fiasco had been. She had gone off and spent a large chunk of his fortune, like she did so every month, and expected him to pay for it. Like bloody fuck he was putting up with that kind of injustice! So he had refused to pay them until she had used his own son as blackmail against him.
"Don't you ever want to see him again?"
His blood nearly boiled at the memory. In the past year, Draco had only seen his son a handful of times due to the ghastly witch his parents had demanded he marry. The woman was impossible and he was starting to lose his mind. As far as he was concerned, their marriage had ended the day Scorpius had been born. They had barely slept in the same house in the past eight years, let alone spend time in bed.
That didn't stop her from demanding he pay for her extravagant lifestyle with his extensive fortunes. He had had to endure this woman for years for the sake of his son. For the sake of respect in pureblood community. She knew he would never divorce her because that was simply not the pureblood way, and she was fully prepared to take advantage of that fact.
He wished his parents would just bloody roll over in their graves.
He crumpled the expensive parchment that he had no doubt paid for, and promptly set it on fire.
Draco sighed. There was no use contemplating about murder just yet. He had to come up with a proper plan in which to make his wife suffer and get his son out of the devil's claws. He had no idea how he had let it get this far, or why he'd endured it at all. She really was just a slag. Why hadn't he done away with her yet?
Because you love your son, obviously, he heard a voice inside his head. It was a familiar voice, one that irked his sensibilities. Where had he heard it before? Something to do with obnoxious know-it-all chocolate eyes and a library, perhaps? It didn't matter. The voice was right.
He couldn't deal with this now, though. It would have to wait just like it would always have to wait. He had work to do.
/
Hermione was exhausted. It wasn't the usual exhaustion, either. It was bone deep, irremovable weariness that came along with too many tasks to do. She hadn't felt this tired since her third year schedule fiasco when she had bitten of more than she could chew. And Merlin's underpants, she had done it again.
Hermione Granger had taken on a load far greater than she could manage. And it seemed everyone but she noticed it. It wasn't like she had fainted yet, or anything so drastic. But the bags under her eyes became a permanent feature, her frazzled hair remained untamed as per usual, and it seemed she was... unkempt. But no one but her assistant/secretary/pseudo-mother would let her know.
"Hermione Weasley," Margaret would say every morning, "Rolled right out of bed, did you?"
And Hermione would roll her eyes and secretly laugh inside. So, what did it matter if she had just rolled out of bed and came to work with a piece of toast in her hand as breakfast? Regardless, she was glad someone had the courage to joke with her. Margaret wasn't stiff like the rest. Hermione had quite a reputation, and it seemed because of it – not many people wanted to be her friend, or even really associate with her. It paid to be part of the broken golden trio, war hero, and a mastermind at work.
The issue was, Hermione didn't have the capacity nor the inclination to be as cautious as she used to be back in her teenage years. She was still intelligent, of course, still the best witch of her age – but that wasn't saying much anymore. Her age group consisted of a flock of blundering, idiotic sheep. Maybe a half dead salamander here and there at best.
Slowly, but surely, Hermione began to slip up.
She would come home to find Hugo crying softly in his room sometimes whilst Manny was sprawled over her comfortable couch and not make the connection. She would see the groceries she'd bought mostly untouched, even though Manny said that dinner had been made – and not see right through the lie. Where had her common sense gone? Perhaps it was stored away somewhere with her sanity. It wasn't that Hermione did not care. She cared a lot. She cared more than most people would ever imagine.
She was just too goddamn tired to manage. Her brain stopped paying attention, and with that came stupid, blind, gullible trust. Time had worn Hermione Weasley down, and she would pay dearly for it.
That Sunday, Hermione made it her business to stay home and spend some time with Hugo. She worked extra hard that Saturday so that no urgent pressing matters would somehow crop up into her day. Work had seemed to mysteriously seep into her life and take over all of her time – but not today, not this Sunday. She had come home at three AM the night before with strict instructions to her secretary not to disturb her on this day of rest.
She had genuinely been excited to get to spend some time with her son. She was so happy to finally get the chance to be a mother again and resume her responsibilities, happy enough that she had owled Manny and had given her the day off. It was fantastic. So fantastic, she had only gotten three hours of sleep and felt awake enough to start her day.
With an extra large mug of coffee, of course.
When Hugo came down the stairs, sleep in his eyes, he had been surprised to see her at the stove and cooking. Hermione never had the time to cook and her son knew it. He instantly became suspicious.
"Where's Manny?" he asked, slowly.
"I gave her the day off." Hermione smiled brightly at her son. "I'm making waffles, eggs, and bacon. Which would you like first? Would you like toast? I've already poured you milk-"
"You don't have to go to work today?" Hugo asked slowly, as if Hermione was the child and he was the adult. She could see the hope grow in his eyes with his question and she smiled wider, shaking her head. He didn't seem to believe her. "So you're staying home today."
"Yeah, if that's okay with you, little man." He giggled. "Eat, and then we'll do something fun, okay?" He nodded and sat down, sipping gingerly at the glass of milk she had poured for him. She noticed he was moving slowly. "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?"
He grimaced and nodded at her. "I think I slept funny," he said, frowning, rolling his shoulders as if to relieve tension. "It hurts, mummy."
"Poor thing. I'll give you some medicine to relieve the pain after you eat, sweetheart. Okay?" She came over to where he sat at the kitchen table to stroke his beautiful, silky hair and kiss his forehead. He had gotten his father's hair texture and not hers thankfully. He nodded again, his entire face lighting up at the prospect of spending a day with his mother. Finally.
After she had seen to it that Hugo had eaten a sufficient amount of breakfast, she sent him off to bathe. It wouldn't do to lounge around all day, unwashed in one's pajamas. At least, that's what she told herself as she made her way to her room to take a shower herself. But when she saw the soft pillow inviting her back to bed, she just couldn't resist. Four hours a night, every night, was too little to function.
Only for thirty minutes, she promised herself. Only until Hugo finished his bath...
But thirty minutes turned into an hour, and an hour turned into two. It was well past noon when Hugo finally poked his head through her door to find his mother fast asleep in her bed. She was perched at the edge, as if she were ready to get up and go at any second. Hugo was relieved. He had thought that his mother had left him home and went to work instead of keeping her promise to him.
She'd kept her promise – half of it at least. She was just...tired. Tired was okay. He wasn't going to bother her or anything. He gently walked towards the bed where his mother lay, only to attempt to cover her with the blanket. But he must not have been gentle enough because Hermione startled awake, staring at him sleepily.
"Hugo! Merlin, darling, you scared me."
He hung his head in shame. He couldn't do anything right, could he? "I'm sorry," he mumbled. She smiled and stroked his hair. "You can go back to sleep, mum."
"What time is it?" she asked tiredly, pulling him into her lap.
Hugo stared at the clock over her bed. "It's twelve oh one," he said in a voice that sounded strangely reminiscent of a bushy little know-it-all that used to travel the halls of Hogwarts in haughtiness.
Hermione gasped. "Really? I'm so sorry, Hugo. I just didn't sleep much last night." She kissed his forehead. "I promise I'll make it up to do, sweetheart. What would you like to do?" Hermione got up from the bed, lifting Hugo up with her, safely tucked over her waist. She wobbled and almost fell. Hugo stared at her sceptically. He was only eight, but he wasn't an idiot. His mother was tired. Anyone could see that.
But Hugo could also see the poorly hidden hope in her eyes. Hermione was genuinely excited to spend time with him. She had missed him as much as he had missed her, and Hugo really had missed her all these days... He wouldn't dash her hopes.
"We could watch a movie on the muggle telly," he suggested hopefully.
Hermione grinned. She loved it when her baby took an interest in all things muggle. He hadn't taken much to the television as she had thought a boy of his age would. Manny had latched on it great though. She was just glad she was integrating their worlds. "I'd love that, darling."
So they went downstairs and sat on their squishy couch. Hermione turned on the telly and even made popcorn for the both of them. Hugo had a small satisfied smile plastered on his face, as if he couldn't really believe that any of this was happening. As a matter of fact, Hermione couldn't believe it either. She had somehow managed to make her son happy and not sacrifice his future at the same time.
She was asleep again within fifteen minutes.
But Hugo didn't mind. No, he was only glad that she was here with him, even if she was asleep. At least she was home. It made him happy to know that she actually wanted to spend time with him. So he kissed his mothers cheek and whispered, "I love you."
/
1 Month Later:
Hermione had taken to working long hours again. She had only managed to make it home for dinner a handful of times in the past month, and she'd definitely missed all four Sundays. But Hugo didn't mind. They had shared a lovely day.
But more than that, his mother had promised him that they would spend time together. And they had been. Every day, Hugo would wake up at an ungodly hour so that he and his mother could have breakfast together and share pleasantries before she would kiss his forehead and go to work. After she had left, he would go back to bed and sleep for a few hours. It was a lovely compromise that he was more than willing to make.
It just proved that his mother loved him, really. And she did.
It had seemed to be an unremarkable morning when Hugo had woken that day. His mother had read the paper to him before she had left. It had been perhaps the best day he had had since his birthday. His mother never missed his birthday, not for anything. And now it seemed as if she'd never miss breakfast either.
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young man. Don't let me see you skipping out on it."
So of course, he always ate extra when she was around.
He bathed, ate lunch, which Manny begrudgingly got up to make for him, and spent a few hours in his room reading the encyclopaedia his mother didn't know he'd nicked from her stash of books. If he was going to go to Hogwarts, he'd have to make his mother proud. All of his aunts and uncles told him that his mum was the smartest witch of their age! And she had done extremely well at Hogwarts. He didn't want to be a disappointment...
But reading got boring after a few hours, and the weather was nice. He wondered if the nice man and his son were out again today. They were his friends – tentative ones, yes – but friends. Even if the son was a little bit...blank.
But Hugo didn't discriminate.
And indeed they were outside again today. It was as if they'd known he would be there as they stood there, almost as if they were waiting for him. The little boy looked slightly perturbed, as if there were something wrong with him. Well, the boy was strange... Hugo didn't pay him any more attention.
"Would you like to come to my house today, Hugo? We made cookies last night," the man said, ruffling his son's hair. His son nodded dumbly. "What do you say?"
Hugo stared back at his house for a moment, contemplating. Manny wouldn't miss him if he were gone for a little while... they did only live just down the street. And there were cookies. His mother never let him have many cookies. Sugar was bad for your teeth, she said. And she'd never know he'd had them, anyhow. He looked back at the pair standing before him.
"I don't know..." he responded slowly to the request.
"Oh, it'll only take a minute. I'd take them to you out here, but I don't want to make a mess. Charlie's mother hates crumbs and I'll get into a lot of trouble if she finds out I've been giving away her cookies." The man stared at him with a knowing grin and winked. Hugo was reminded of Aunt Ginny and her cookie hoarding obsession. It wasn't too hard to believe. "Would you do me the favour?"
"I guess," Hugo shrugged. He wouldn't want to get the man in trouble. After all, the man was sharing his cookies. It was the least Hugo could do.
And so they walked down the street to the house that belonged to the nice man and his odd son. Hugo stared back at his house once more as if to ascertain that Manny hadn't caught him leaving the property. She wouldn't care, though, he reassured himself. She wouldn't care even if she saw him now. Manny didn't care about anything he did. Why should this be any different? He nodded to himself, his resolve strengthened as he began what he thought was a crusade for cookies.
That was the last time anyone saw Hugo Weasley for a very long time.