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Chapter 6
As soon as Draco became the slightest bit conscience, he was up faster than a striking cobra. Instinctively, he made a grab for his wand which was located in his back pocket. His back was unusually straight and his eyes were observing in slits. He glanced at he watch encircling his wrist to see that it was 08:30am. His head throbbed at the sharp movements. The surroundings were alien to him. He looked down to see yesterday's clothes wrinkled and still enclosing his limbs. There was a cream comforter pooled at his shins. He was sat on a teal, leather sofa. A sofa that had a corner and filled about half of the room. The room was painted a cream colour whilst one wall was wallpapered in teal with silver detailing. An at least 50" television sat on one of the walls. And he only knew what they were because of Blaise. He even had several at the Manor. One of which belonging to the cinema Blaise had created for Draco's 19th birthday. At the time he was furious but after a rationalising talk with Blaise he allowed himself to enjoy it. And enjoy it he did. Every Tuesday evening several of his once peers at Hogwarts would meet to watch the latest blockbuster. The House elves were even given seats at the back, to keep themselves from troubling everyone else, naturally. But he was certain he didn't know where he was right then.
As his eyes adjusted to the morning light that was being projected through the closed blinds, he turned his head to find an open plan kitchen. White cupboards, sparkling, black worktops and, once again, teal interior. Whomever the pristine house belonged to they definitely had a thing for turquoise.
Draco couldn't help but chuckle. It was his favourite colour.
However the humour died shortly after. He had no idea to whom the property was owned by. He could be here as a hostage for all he knew. But he doubted it. He still had his wand. Surely if he were to play the role of prisoner, his wand would be the first item to go. Unless they were a muggle and suspected Draco had a stick fetish.
He stood to find that his shoes weren't on his feet. How peculiar. He just kind of stared at them for a moment or two. Where on Earth were his shoes? Obviously his captor wanted him to feel comfortable. Maybe.
Sighing, he took a few steps on the cream tiled floor with his black sock clad feet. When he approached a black and white rug he noticed stains on the lighter colour. It looked like either grape juice or red wine. So the person who took him must've been a 4 year old infant or a 40 year old alcoholic.
Draco laughed at himself. He did think himself quite funny. After if though he heard something he would never have thought he would've, "Malfoy, are you awake?", he recognised the voice. And he also recognised the use of 'Malfoy'.
"Granger," he chuckled, again, "of course.", however he didn't see her. Not even a shadow or silhouette. But then again she sounded to be far off. "Where are you?", he asked into thin air.
"What is that supposed to mean?", she feigned being hurt whilst walking through a doorway behind the sofa and behind Draco. He turned. He was close to gaping in shock. He'd seen her on the day of Lucius' funeral but this was different. Somehow. He didn't know how. It just was. Maybe it was because he now knew what they'd shared. Well… He didn't really know but still, he had an idea. She wasn't dressed in sleeping attire or casual attire. She looked, well, sophisticated in a grey, pencil skirt, polka dotted shirt and her tied back hair, her hair had seemed to have lost the… Bushiness. But the more he thought about it, he realised she was dressed quite similarly to their last encounter. This must be her daily dress code. He guessed people do change.
Draco decided to change the subject, "you have a lovely home.", he said.
"Thanks.", and then she laughed. As if a joke he couldn't hear had been cracked. She then kind of mused to herself and muttered something about colours. And then she looked like she could burst into tears at any moment. Was she actually stable to raise a child? Of course she was. She was Hermione Granger, smartest witch of the age, a third of the golden trio and she attained the highest amount of NEWTs in history, one more than Draco. He couldn't hear her, after all she was quite a distance, and a sofa, away. She schooled her features but had to bite her lip to do so. Which only put inappropriate thoughts into Draco's mind that he desperately did not need or want. Especially at that specific time.
"What? No tour?", he attempted to joke. Key word, attempted.
"I'll show you something. The exit.", she wasn't joking. She wanted him gone, he could tell. The only thing evident in her warm eyes was seriousness. And maybe a hint of sadness? Draco simply blinked. And once again tried to joke. He wasn't going to go that easily.
"First can you show me to my shoes? I wouldn't want to leave in socks. No matter how expensive they were.", he said trying to avert conversation from him leaving. Kind of. She seemed taken aback. Was he not what she expected? Well he didn't care.
"Of course.", she said swallowing thickly, "but quickly. Scorp'll be awake soon.", she seemed to reveal their son's nickname unintentionally. And he wasn't going to either forget it or bring it up. He'd store the information for when relevant.
He walked around the sofa and toward Hermione. She stood, arms folded. Waiting.
As Draco proceeded to reach her, he suddenly realised how short she was in comparison to him. Unconsciously he kept walking but stopped when he was nearly treading on her toes. Draco stood at an impressive 6"4 meaning Hermione was way over a head shorter than him. They were close to each other. Hermione breathed in deeply and he watched how her breasts lifted and fell as she exhaled. Whether she noticed or not he didn't know but she stepped back and turned, taking steps closer to the doorway she walked through. With Draco following dutifully.
They walked through a corridor which had a few doors branching off. Hermione stopped at near the front door when he looked down he saw his brown, leather shoes. Something suddenly popped into his mind, something he had no idea why he hadn't thought of first, "How am I here?", he asked in complete seriousness.
"You tell me.", she sighed, "you just turned up during the night. Quite drunk if I might add", she said scrunching her nose up. And he laughed.
"You're so… Cute.", he finished in a head shake. But she just stared at him with a disgusted look.
"Shut up, Malfoy", she said, rolling her eyes.
"So I just… Turned up?", he said, whilst Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation.
"Yes, exactly that.", she said. He gave her a look indicating that he wanted to know more, " I have no idea how it happened, though I do have an idea of how you know where I live", her eyes narrowed in annoyance, "and, quite frankly, it's kind of stalker-ish.", she said distastefully.
"One, Mother, have you see the Daily Prophet?", Scorpius interrupted, leaving the two grown ups speechless. "Two, what on Earth is he doing here?", Draco flinched as the word 'he' was sneered, it was just as he would refer to Lucius as, "and, lastly, stalker-ish is not a word", Scorpius was perched on the grey carpeted steps looking at them expectantly.
"Scorpius", Hermione stared, "How long have you been there?", she asked, "and what have you read in the paper?", she added.
"I've just come down now", he said but it wasn't his face that revealed it to be lie, but his eyes. Something wavered and he look to his hands that were resting in his lap. "The papers were talking about me", he mumbled, even though this was the second time he'd seen him, Draco was shocked at his body language. During their first encounter, Scorpius had an air of arrogance around him that seemed like it wouldn't budge in a thousand years. That day, at first, the same confident aura was around him but it was gone as soon as the topic of himself came up.
"What? It's impossible. Nobody knows you exist.", Draco winced with Scorpius at Hermione's words. She seemed to regret the words, "I mean, nobody in the wizarding world knows about you, except for your grandparents, Mr Fisher and, well, Ma- Draco.", he liked how his name rolled off her tongue, like a perfectly in tune melody.
"Exactly! Him. Everybody knows about me now. Thanks.", and he looked down. A weird feeling nagged at the back of Draco's mind. The boy wasn't telling the complete truth. If he felt this he wouldn't what Hermione did, considered she'd raised him and knew him better than anyone. But he then tried to think back to the night prior, but he couldn't. All he could recall was being with Blaise and Hermione saying he'd stumbled into her home drunk. Which made him click on.
"Who else was mentioned in the article?", Draco asked wearily, he didn't even attempt to defend his innocence. Because he wasn't.
"Nobody", he mumbled again, eyes flashing to Hermione
"Show me.", Draco challenged.
"No", he said with a stubborn pout.
"Why?",Draco asked, knowing the answer. Everything was caused by him. Every problem. He wouldn't be surprised if world hunger was somehow his doing.
"Because.", he wasn't elaborating or reacting.
"Why?", Draco pressed, causing the younger boy to shake him leg in no sync.
"I just-", he was cut off by his mother, hands on her hips, scowling.
"Accio Daily Prophet.", Scorpius was slightly lifted and from under him levitated a bound up newspaper. "There. Simple.", she said, not hiding the triumphant look. But Scorpius contrasted that with slight trembling hands and bobbing knee. Draco knew what was to come could not be good.
After reading the front page, Hermione blanched and passed it over to Draco, with a gulp he read,
Out With The Old Malfoy, In With The New
Last night I, Rita Skeeter, was the finder of a somewhat scandalous story. In a loud brawl in the Leaky Cauldron, some news was strewn around the pub for anybody to hear, all from the once thought to be youngest Malfoy. However, I am delighted to have the honor to reveal that that is, in fact, false. From the pronoun used by Mr Malfoy himself, I can disclose to you, fellow reader, that we have another Mr Malfoy on our hands.
From more information that was gathered, I can tell you that the secret son of the now billionaire, Draco Malfoy, is one year short of being a decade old. From the new, or should I say old, father's mouth, it was said that he 'just forgot about her'. Though, whoever the lucky woman is, wasn't particularly happy with passing down genes to a Malfoy bastard, as, also said by the male procreator, 'after finding out she was pregnant, she left the Wizarding world, obviously wanting nothing to do with the Malfoy name.' Who could blame the presumably young woman? The name Malfoy had been dragged through mud and back, even those associated with the name felt the wrath of the public as the war drew to a close. However now they are tolerated in society, especially the recently widowed, Miss Narcissa Malfoy. The bravest woman in England, particularly for saving our saviors life by going head to head with the most evil of deceased.
The once thought sole male Malfoy, it appears, has began to resent his life. He revealed his inner thoughts of feeling 'trapped' and 'cursed'. Is this child detaining the Wizarding world's once most eligible bachelor into a life he doesn't want? Well I certainly believe so, especially after he expressed his anger at both Mother and child. It seems he forced the mother to leave or conduct feticide. He even went to admit that his baby's mother is a floozy and that 'there was not an ounce of love in making the kid', I simply cannot fathom the atrocity of the woman, keeping an unwanted child. Who would want to chain a proven innocent man to a child? Unfortunately I can't answer this question as the now Malfoy senior stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron in a drunken state, showing he is no way fit to be a father, even if he did not choose the path himself.
Please send your feedback of the topic to the Reader's Opinions section, where I will be reviewing questions and statements and replying to as many as I can. Do you agree with what the runaway not-so-lover did by keeping the baby? Or do you agree with me, Rita Skeeter, in believing a young man should get to choose his own fate, not to be blocked by a tyrant? Bear in mind at the time of the pregnancy, Mr Malfoy was just exiting his teen years.
I and everyone at the Daily Prophet, wish Draco Malfoy a good and prosperous future.
Reported by Rita Skeeter.
Draco raised his head to look at Hermione. A look of determination had settled over a features. He was scared for anyone that got in her way from here in after.