Chapter 18 – Part 6
~~~~
Draco slammed the door of his bed chamber with such force that several books fell from the shelf and Miss Kitty leapt into the air with a shriek.
"There is something seriously wrong with me," he declared to the small cat, "I am fucked in the fucking head!"
Miss Kitty tilted her own head and mewed, she then stretched lazily and yawned before padding across to him and rubbing herself against his leg. Draco bent down and picked her up, lifting her so that he could look her in the eye.
"Why can't I get over that son of a bitch?"
Miss Kitty swatted playfully at his face and he dumped her on the duvet. He then crouched down and pulled a bottle out from under his bed. He had never been a fan of Firewhiskey, until he discovered that they delivered it. A large muscular looking owl arrived most mornings with his daily supply and he considered it a close friend.
Not that he had a particular problem with going out and buying his alcohol in person, but he had to study, and Miss Kitty was far too young to be left alone at night.
He fished a glass out of the nightstand and poured himself a generous draught. He refused to drink it straight from the bottle, as to do so would be like admitting to alcoholism and he wasn't that far gone yet.
Fucking Harry. The bastard had a way of looking at Draco with a foul look of pity and Draco had a habit of wanting to throw himself at his feet and beg forgiveness. Which was pathetic in the extreme and it wouldn't work anyway – which just wasn't fair!
And he just couldn't seem to get over Harry and he just couldn't understand why. Why couldn't he walk away? What he should do is go out and screw someone new. A nice woman with soft hips and big tits. No hard angles like Harry. A big soft woman!
Maybe he could proposition Lavender, she was always up for fun. Or maybe Ginny Weasley. She'd do it to get back at Harry. They could fuck each other and get back at Harry at the same time.
He downed his whiskey and poured another larger one. Then he took the bottle to bed with him.
He should study. Exams were in a matter of weeks and he had to study. But he had been studying. He'd studying every night. If studying counted for anything he was on the fast track to being to greatest Wizard of all time. But studying was not getting Harry back…and neither was drinking himself to death.
"My life sucks." He'd been saying that a lot lately.
He'd had an idea a while back; it seemed like months ago, and could well have been that long. Give Harry the Pensieve he'd wanted. Give him the Pensieve and hope he understood. Above everything he wanted Harry to understand that he was not some cold blooded prick who did not comprehend pain and suffering. Then again, he could just forget the Pensieve and go and screw a woman with great big tits.
The rational part of his brain was winning at the moment. Give the Pensieve to Harry and not expect anything to come from it, except the blind hope that Harry would understand. He could find a bowl easily enough. Hogsmeade sold anything and everything that a Wizard could possibly require. He could find one there, do whatever he needed to do to get the memory into the bowl and give it to Harry. He could leave it in Harry's room and let natural curiosity do the rest.
"What do you think of that idea?" Draco just assumed Miss Kitty could hear his thoughts. What kind of a pet would she be if she couldn't? She yawned and settled into Draco's lap.
He could give Harry the Pensieve just because Harry had wanted it. It could be a parting gift. They would be leaving school soon and Draco would never have to see Harry ever again. It would be like a final goodbye.
And maybe; if he was very lucky, Harry might just forgive him.
*******
It was one thing being told to go to bed, it was another thing entirely to be able to get to sleep. Hermione had opened her bag to discover that Lavender had done far more than switch her comfortable underwear. Hermione's pajamas were no where to be seen. In their place Hermione found a deep red negligee with a plunging neck line that seemed to force her newly enlarged breasts up and out. She felt like one of the prostitutes that went in and out of Madam Louisa's in Hogsmeade.
That was a pretty far fetched leap of logic, as the negligee was pure silk and actually very beautiful, Hermione just really loved her old, comfortable and warm pajamas – and the negligee was completely inappropriate for this London visit. It was not a pleasure trip, they were here to deal with her pregnancy.
She was dreading the next day. Going to St Mungo's would confirm that the baby was going to be part of her future. At the moment she knew it was there, but it didn't seem official yet – and while it wasn't official she figured that she could ignore it. Not that the sickness, sore breasts and constant tiredness was something she could easily ignore, but it was easier to ignore it than admit that her life was about to be changed forever.
And now she found herself lying in her bed at Grimmauld Place in a sexy negligee with the man she wanted downstairs and a baby in her belly – and she was expected to sleep. She was tired, but she could not close her eyes without feeling the intense fear of the child and her uncertain future. She could not turn over without thinking about Severus and wanting to go back down to him.
She had tried counting. It usually worked; she had never once reached one hundred, but tonight she had, and she'd even gone beyond two hundred. With a huff of frustration, she'd finally given it away because it wasn't making an ounce of difference. She curled on her side and stared into the darkness, wanting to do something other than coping with this.
The door squeaked as it opened and she jumped involuntarily and then lay still, tense and expectant as a familiar silhouette slipped into the room.
"Severus?"
"I thought you'd be asleep."
"I can't seem to get there."
He walked around the bed until he was behind her and she heard the sound of his bag being dropped to the floor. She held her breath, wondering if he was planning to sleep here. She half expected him to bunk down on the floor.
"Can you open the window a little," she asked, hoping to get the answer she desperately wanted, "before you come to bed?"
He didn't say a word, but she heard the curtains being opened and the window being opened. She still didn't move; her ears strained, listening for any sound that might give her hope. His bag was opened and there was a rustling of fabric – and then silently he slipped into the bed behind her.
She shivered, waiting, but he didn't touch her, and she lay there, as though she was waiting for an eternity before she finally rolled onto her back and tried to focus on him in the darkness. She could make him out, when he had opened the curtains he had allowed the street light from outside to light the room a little, and she could see him – just. He was on his side, head propped up on his hand, staring at her in silence. She could see his eyes shining black in the dark.
"You smell good," she whispered and then cringed at the stupidity of the statement.
"So do you," he replied and she was horrified to note a tone of amusement in his voice.
She blinked and contemplated throwing him out. But she had ached for him to be in bed beside her for so long, and now that he was she could feel the warmth of his body spreading through her. She moved a little until she could feel him against her, snuggling up cozily to him so that her side was pressed against his front. He was wearing a nightshirt, some kind of scratchy cotton that irritated the flesh of her arm.
He sighed softly and pulled her closer, his hand slipping down the satin nightgown, skimming across her stomach and gently caressing her hip. "This feels nice." His hand slid down her thigh, "Did I buy this?"
"Yes…" she was shaking, gooseflesh spreading over her body, "just after New Year." She flushed in the dark. She had never worn it for him because he had bought her so many nightgowns, flimsy things that made her look so much more sensual than she honestly felt. He hated her pajamas and she knew it, and given half a chance he would have banished them away for ever. "Lavender stole all my underpants, she swapped them all for these little tiny ones that…" her breath hitched as she felt a finger run up her thigh.
She felt his chest vibrate with a chuckle as he crooned, "remind me to thank Miss Brown then."
"I thought you said we couldn't…" Hermione caught herself a moment too late, wondering why exactly she was protesting, and when he pulled his hand away with a sigh she thought she'd lost him again.
"Things change," he said carefully, not particularly wanting to recant everything that he had said in the past, knowing that to do so would be tantamount to admitting that he was wrong – and he didn't think he was.
"I don't want to wake up in the morning to find you beating yourself up and having the whole situation worse than it already is." Hermione drew a breath and pushed on, "if you're only going to leave me then I don't want this to happen at all."
"I'm not going anywhere, I'm yours for as long as you want me." And there it was, surprisingly easy considering that he had spent a life time avoiding being close to anyone. Things had changed, and he had only ever wanted to make her happy. Now it seemed he had worked out what everyone else already knew – that being with her would make Hermione happy. The fact that it would also make him happy seemed like some impossibly wonderful side effect that he'd never thought could happen.
Then again, it could all fall apart – but not today.
He kissed her lightly, instinctively finding her mouth with his own and feeling her shudder under his touch.
Hermione sighed, arching herself up to him as his tongue ran traced the line of her throat. Her murmured something to her that she couldn't understand and then his lips kissed the tops of her breasts through the flimsy negligee. She was instantly awash with the most compelling of needs, swimming with molten desire. When he momentarily lifted his mouth she whimpered with despair until he squeezed one of her breasts lustfully, using his thumb to rub the luxurious fabric across the acutely sensitive peak.
"You like that?"
Hermione couldn't respond with anything other than an incoherent "Oh God…" and a thick lock of hair slipped across her face as she arched up further into his grasp. Again his hand closed over her breast. She felt as though a bolt of lightening had slashed through her, searing and hot and leaving in its wake an incredible awareness of her body. Even the soles of her feet tingled. She had missed this. The build of excitement, and the way his touch could take her breath away.
He stroked the length of her, throwing the blankets off the bed and pushing her nightgown up roughly so that it bunched around her waist. Then he growled something, sounding frustrated and for a moment he stopped touching her and sat up. She frowned, wondering what he was doing as he fumbled around the bedside table.
"Lumos"
A dim light filled the room and she began to laugh as he returned the wand, hers not his, to the table. He smiled devilishly and returned to his task, reasoning that it was so much better when he could see what he was doing. His eyes widened and narrowed, fueled with intent. Gently he ran his finger tips down her thighs, causing her flesh to shiver and she gazed down the length of herself, anticipating what he was going to do next.
"These are the tiniest pair of knickers that I've ever seen," his voice was hoarse and he was silently praising Lavender Brown, ascribing her with a wondrous Godlike status or perhaps adorning her with jewels for her foresight.
Hermione couldn't contain her want any longer, instinctively she pushed her hips towards him, aching for him. "Touch me," she urged, "please, just touch me."
He moved so that he had almost mounted her, skimming his fingers over her smooth belly until he could slip them deftly under the triangle of dark red lace and tangle them in the silky hair that lay within. His hand cupped her mound intimately and firmly, but for the moment he resisted the urge to move his fingers. He let himself enjoy the heat of her and the way she breathed so heavily and moaned so softly, lifting her hips up to him as though to urge him deeper.
Hermione clawed at his shoulders, straining upward in her need for him, her desire pooling in her until the months of yearning and frustration were brought into sharp focus and centered on the touch of that hand between her thighs. His eyes were boring into her, fathomless black and filled with the same desire that filled her. She whimpered at his look, and then lost any reservations she may still have harbored and begged him shamelessly to take her.
His face, so hard and lean was held so close to hers that she could not look away. Severus did not change his expression even as two of his long fingers slipped inside her, sliding over her clitoris and seeking the wet heat of her depths. She drew breath sharply, her fingers digging harder into his shoulders, her gaze never leaving his.
He made a soothing noise but continued to work his fingers in and out of her and by way of reward her thighs parted wantonly. Hermione was spreading herself out for him as she thrust her hips up to his hand and instinctively wanted more of him inside her.
But she knew he would tease her and she couldn't stand such exquisite torture. She would die of pleasure, she knew it. She remained unblinking, her eyes never leaving his as the first convulsive waves of her orgasm approached too rapidly for doubt or question. The ecstasy of it broke full force inside her and she had no choice but to succumb, her entire body quaking under his touch as she looked into the liquid black pools of his eyes.
Finally the tremors subsided and she was able to look away, part of her hating him for the ease in which he brought her to climax – and for making her go through it alone. Where had his own passion been? The thought was a fleeting one, she turned her face so that her cheek could brush against the soft cotton of the pillow slip, so that she could catch her breath for a moment. Then finally she came to her senses and looked back to him, wanting to watch him now, wanting to see him lose control as she had.
He had moved his attention from her face and was looking down the length of her body with some pleasure. She wished he was naked so that she could more plainly see his arousal. She knew that he was aroused, she could feel him pressed against her leg and his cheek was infused with rare color, but otherwise he seemed to be in complete control of himself and she wanted nothing more than to hear him cry out in orgasm.
"Let's get rid of these," he said, his gaze lingering on her groin and the tiny pair of panties she was wearing. His hand slid down, taking the panties with it, but at her knees he stopped, unable to go further without moving.
A renewed desire surged through Hermione and she found that her impatience to have him inside her became an overwhelming wave. "Rip them," she urged, her impatience suddenly manifesting itself in her hands as she began to claw at the ugly nightshirt he was wearing.
He struggled to remove the offending garment, his insistent throbbing erection reason enough for haste. At the same time he tugged hard at her panties, reasoning that they were a scrap of lace and should be easy enough to tear. They weren't. For something so small they were surprisingly resilient. He tugged again and was suddenly lost in the worn cotton of his nightshirt as she succeeded in pulling it over his head.
And then he was stuck. He couldn't help himself, unable to see or move and certainly unable to tug her panties any further, he began to laugh.
"It's not funny!" Hermione protested, but she could suddenly see the funny side of it as she desperately tried to untwist the nightshirt so that she could free him. When she finally pulled the shirt away she could not help but be warmed by the smile on his face.
He pulled away momentarily to extricate himself fully from his nightclothes and then returned, still smiling and blissfully naked.
"You shouldn't have had it on anyway," she reasoned.
"I was trying to be subtle."
"You should have just come in and ravaged me."
"I thought that was what I was doing," he replied with mock indignance.
She chuckled, "well hurry up and tear those panties!"
He rolled his eyes; she just had to insist, and it was most definitely a job for both hands. He grabbed the panties and pulled hard – and felt them give with a satisfying rip. He threw the scraps of blood red lace over his shoulder with careless extravagance and then spread her legs with a movement so swift that it bordered on impatience.
Hermione's eyelids flew open wide and all humor was gone in a startled lust soaked gasp as he reached down to open her wider. With a smooth lunge; forced by his anticipation and desperation for her, Severus buried himself deep into her moist clinging flesh.
He hesitated then, panting raggedly, his hair falling about his face in disarray.
Hermione measured her breathing, trying to stay calm as he filled her, and then, supporting herself by grasping his shoulders, she lifted her legs higher, causing her inner muscles to tighten and her breath caught in her throat.
"Oh…oh S-Severus…" She couldn't say anything more; she couldn't think straight, all she could understand was the feeling of him between her legs and the knowledge that it was him. That was all that mattered.
A loud groan burst from his throat. It really had been too long. He'd been dreaming of her, but his dreams did no justice to the pleasure of touching her, being with her, and of connecting inside her. She was so soft, her body was lithe beneath him and warm and wet around him. He couldn't hold himself back from her any more than he could staunch his growing ardor. He had been a fool to try and do without her. Surviving two wars, had that not been some kind of testament to some kind of worth on his part? Didn't he deserve some kind of happiness? He loved her, as inappropriate as many would find it; and indeed, he thought it inappropriate himself, and he honestly loved every part of her. He could not believe that there had been a time in his life when he did not love her.
With gentle hands she drew him down to her. "Deeper," she whispered and kissed him with soft lips, her tongue bold and eager to taste him, "I want to feel you…deep…in me."
He braced one foot against the bedpost and dug his knee into the mattress and used all the power his legs could muster to thrust up hard into her. She cried out, her lashes fluttering, her eyes rolling back a little. The palm of her left hand skimmed down his lean back to the hollow side of his buttock and it felt as though his skin was burning under her touch. "Yes," she panted, "Oh Gods Severus, like that…"
Severus felt desperate, frenzied. With his hands behind her knees he levered her higher so that he could push himself as deep into her as possible. He drove hungrily into her again and again and when he heard the tremulous cries of her climax he answered with his own explosive release, so strong that any fears he had that this was wrong were allayed.
He sank beside her, spent and satisfied. Lovingly he drew her to him, drawing blankets around her petite body. They were both confronted by a maelstrom of emotion that refused to be tamped back down. Rising above it all was a strange feeling of relief; they were here, together and they didn't have to part. He had surrendered and she had won – he savored her victory. He closed his eyes and held her close, fighting off any feeling of uncertainty. They were together, linked now not only by their overwhelming need for each other but by the child growing inside her.
He allowed himself to relax, shifting so that they were entwined comfortably around each other, both needing to sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.
*******
"I see you have finally stopped waiting for that pathetic Elf to return."
Lucius jumped and his eyes flickered, hunting around for the Curator who had come through the door but was outside his field of vision. It was the first mention Semeuse had made of Non's disappearance and when the Curator finally walked around the bed Lucius could see why. Semeuse was disheveled, his hair in all directions, his skin sallow and a little grey.
"He's not coming back," Semeuse spat viciously, "you should have known I would find out. Imagine, trying to keep your spy here? Who did he report to? Your son? That greasy bastard at Hogwarts or that Muggle lover from the Ministry?"
Lucius said nothing. Semeuse had been drinking, and Lucius could smell the stale stench of alcohol oozing from his pores. The Curator was staggering dangerously, as though threatening to fall onto the bed and beat his Angel to a bloodied pulp.
"I have told you time and time again!" The Curator began pacing around the bed, a little like a predator waiting to pounce. He did not seem to be talking to Lucius at all, instead he seemed to be addressing himself and Lucius could do little more than follow him with worried eyes. "I've told you," he repeated, shaking his head, "why do you think you can beat me? Look at yourself Lucius, I give you everything, everything you could possibly want or need and still you push and push and push. You can't win. You can't escape me Lucius. You are my Angel, nobody else's. You are mine!
How many of them are your spies? How many have you planted here? I will rid this place of every one of those disgusting little vermin. I'll destroy them all and you'll have nothing. Do you understand?"
Lucius couldn't nod, and he couldn't reply; he was lost for words. He wondered how long this rant would last and how fast the House Elves would abandon the museum once they realized what the Curator had in store for them.
Semeuse began to gnaw absently on a thumbnail. "You should be grateful," he muttered, "you should be bloody grateful, you should be thanking me, you should love me! Look at what I have done for you! But no, not you. You are an ungrateful Angel. You bring in parasites that infect my home and spread lies about me. But NO MORE!"
Lucius watched, impassive as always but knowing that Semeuse must have been stewing on this for a good long while.
"And that man! That man! They are saying he'll be Minister! That Muggle loving fool, MINISTER! Take you away will he? I'll take you away. You are not his, YOU ARE MINE! "
Or perhaps something else had happened, something that Lucius had no idea of.
"How dare that man think that he can take what is mine. That Elf. That disgusting Elf, running around and spreading lies about me. Your spy. Now that man wants you – but he can't have you! He won't have you. He won't have either of you!"
Either of them? Lucius flinched, his hand fluttering on the coverlet and Semeuse noticed it and began to grin. He crawled up the bed towards Lucius, looking so much like a large demented...and drunken spider.
"That scares you, doesn't it? Something finally scares you! But I'm taking you away from here, and we could hardly have it that you never saw him again now could we?" Spittle flew from his mouth and splattered across Lucius' cheek. "No, no, no, I'll have to take you both, take you both far away where no one can hurt you."
"But you said you'd leave him alone."
Semeuse laughed high and bitter, his eye gleaming with maniacal glee; "and so you finally speak my love, been holding back my Angel?"
"Leave Draco alone. We can be happy, just you and I."
Semeuse's grin twisted into a vicious sneer. "I won't listen to you any more my Angel. You speak poison into my brain! You plant vermin in my house. Vermin who tell lies and send men to take you away. Oh no my Angel, I won't hear another word, I will take you both, far far away."
Lucius returned the Curator's stare and hoped that the charm on Draco's new pet held out.
*******
Morning came all too soon for Hermione, and with it came the familiar wave of nausea that she knew would last all day if she didn't take the potion he had made for her. She sat up and dry retched. The room was still dark and one look out of the still open window revealed the strange orange sky that was considered dark for London. It must be early still, still early enough for the sun to not have come up. She reached to the bedside table to find the bottle she had left there the night before and take a draught of it. Then she settled back and relaxed with the feel of the potion settling her stomach.
She had no doubt that she could go back to sleep. This was not Hogwarts and she could sleep in if she wanted to. Then again, the appointment at St Mungo's was reasonably early. She sighed and wriggled down into the warmth of the blankets. Beside her Severus mumbled something and rolled onto his back. It was such a natural thing to have him there that for a moment she thought nothing of it – and then she felt her face break into a wide grin. He was still there, sleeping beside her.
The memory of their love making last night came rushing back and she blinked and stared down at him. Gently she traced a single finger along his sharp collar bone and he shifted again and sighed and his eyes blinked open.
For a moment he seemed disorientated and then suddenly he yawned and stretched and collapsed into the pillows. "How long have you been awake?" he asked in a voice cracked from sleep.
"Not long, I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's alright, I plan to be asleep again in about five minutes." He yawned again. "How do you feel?"
"Okay…good."
He rolled onto his side and thrilled her no end by pulling her to him and spooning around her back.
"What time is the appointment?" she asked. She should know the answer, but her brain was like a sieve of late and she was forgetting the simplest of things.
"Ten o'clock." He felt her tense and lazily petted the slope of her hip, "Don't worry, it'll be alright."
She turned to lie on her stomach and pushed herself up onto her elbows, "I'm not worried," she lied, "well not about the appointment so much."
He propped his head up on his own elbow and stared at her for a long time. She reached forward and brushed his hair back from his temple. "What are you worried about?" He asked at last, although he had a growing suspicion of what her answer would be.
"What happens next," she answered, forcing herself to voice it at last, "I can imagine going through the pregnancy," she hesitated before admitting, "I tried to get rid of it at first, but I just couldn't do it…"
It didn't shock or offend him, had the positions been reversed he could imagine that he would have done the same thing – he doubted he would have backed out though.
"I can't help thinking about what happens after I have it?" She continued, "I don't know what you want or if you want anything to do with it. At first I thought I would just deal with it, and it would be my child. I know that I can live here, and Harry will look after me; he's said as much, but now I don't know. I wanted so much more than this. I wanted you as part of my life and now I keep thinking that if you choose to stay then you would only do it as part of some obligation on your part. Then there are the things I had planned to do with my future…"
"And now you think you can't do things?"
"I wanted to train to be a teacher or a healer, and I can't see myself doing those things now."
"Many Witches have children and careers, Hermione."
"I know," she faltered, "but they are usually…older…more settled…"
"Married?"
She flushed and fell silent. It was ridiculous, because she didn't need to be married. They were all heading towards a brand new century and she shouldn't be worried about that kind of security. She was resilient and resourceful, so why didn't she feel it now?
"You still plan to live here?" he asked.
"Yes…" she shrugged and wished he would suggest otherwise, "It's close to everything, Diagon Alley, that sort of thing."
"Most Wizards don't feel the need to inhabit the cities," he pointed out, "most of our kind prefer remote areas, closer to nature and away from prying Muggle eyes."
She knew this was true, but in reality her choices were limited. She did not have a vault full of gold at Gringotts. She was still a student, and she had nothing at all. As much as she loved her family she had no inclination to live with them, and at least here she would be with her friends, her own kind who understood her. "I have nowhere else to go," she said plainly, "I know that nature is a central force to us but I have no means to be there. At least here I know what I am doing and I'll be safe."
"You could," he paused, they had discussed this before but it was so long ago now, it seemed an age had passed since their last conversation about this, "you could still come to the Fenn."
She looked at him sharply from the corner of her eye. "The Fenn? Alone?"
"I'd go there too. There is no hard and fast rule that suggests I have to live at the castle and situations change."
"So you'd live with me…and the baby?"
"I can see logic in the arrangement."
Hermione frowned. He saw logic in it? Logic? "And what else?" she asked, "aside from logic?"
"What else do you want?" He asked, moving to sit up a little, "It would be convenient, I could look after you, support the child…"
"But what else?" Hermione persisted, "I told you that I didn't want this to be some sort of sacrifice for you. I certainly don't want to be shifted into your house because it is convenient that way!"
"Then what do you want?" he asked exasperated, "A marriage certificate to prove that I'm serious? I can probably give you that too, but I can't give you the whole world, Hermione."
"Well what about love?" She countered, "what about wanting to live with me because you love me and you want to be with me? What about you wanting to have a life with me and our child?"
"Well I thought that was evident!"
"Well it wasn't!"
He was sitting upright now, burying his face in his hands in frustration. "Alright," he lifted his face and spoke as gently as he could at that moment, "will you come and live at the Fenn with me because I want to be with you and I love you?" He meant it, despite the fact that most of him was panicking. It would not be as though they were enjoying some blissful honeymoon period; they would be thrown into parenthood. They would have a family. More horrifying, he would have a family.
He breathed heavily and his eye followed the curve of her spine into the smooth dip that led up towards the rise of her buttocks. Somewhere behind there, beyond the bones of her spine and into her abdomen, was his child. Some poor scrap of a thing whose unlucky accident of birth would mean it was his offspring. Gods how he pitied it.
"Of course I want to come to the Fenn, that's all I ever wanted, but only if you want me there for the right reasons."
"I just told you that I loved you and I wanted to be with you! What more can I say?"
"What about the child?"
"I assumed it would be coming too," he snapped. Then he stopped and drew another deep breath, as getting angry wasn't going to get them anywhere. He softened his tone, it was too early to argue and he was beginning to know her well enough to know that she was as stubborn as he was, and any argument could well go on all day. "Come and live at the Fenn," he said, giving in, his voice quiet and calm. "I don't know what kind of father I will make and if I am a bad one I give you full permission to walk out the door and take me for everything I am worth – not that it's much but you can have it – but I will do my best and that is all I can offer you."
She kissed him then; gently, causing delicate threads of desire to float across her nerve endings. Her lips parted to the probing of his tongue and he deepened the kiss artfully until she was bound in the sweet sticky spider web of passion. Her entire body began to hum with wanton possibilities, but she pulled away from him for a moment to whisper; "that's all I want, and that's all you need to offer." Then she kissed him again, feeling her heart begin to thump with the prospect of what was to come.
But he stopped the kiss and lay down again, drawing her down with him, his mind obviously more on the prospect of sleeping peacefully in her warmth than on any passionate lovemaking they could do. She forced him onto his back so that she could rest her head on his chest.
"That can't be comfortable."
"It is," she insisted.
They settled into the bed, relaxing and both allowing the lure of sleep to wash over them. They had time, a couple of hours before they really had to be up and ready for this journey to St Mungo's, and they had resolved so much, they had reached an understanding and she felt more stable, even if her future was not what she imagined it to be.
As she slept he took measure of her steady heartbeat beneath his palm and then suddenly his eyes snapped open. For the first time in his life he could honestly say he was looking forward to something good.
*******
Draco was fast learning to hate Hogsmeade, and he was fast learning to hate Scotland in general. It was cold, wet and dismal, and most of all every part of it seemed to sweat Harry. He hated Hogwarts. He hated walking down those corridors and remembering the good times that he had spent hexing Harry as a youth. He hated seeing students who kept looking at him as though they expected him to fall apart and most of all he hated Harry.
Except of course he didn't hate Harry, he just wanted to hate Harry. He loved Harry and that was why he'd spent the morning wandering around the village looking for an elusive Pensieve bowl in his entirely pathetic last ditch effort to make Harry love him.
Understand him. To make Harry understand him.
Yeah right.
Harry had really wanted to see this, he had mentioned it so often that they had fought regularly over it and now; when all was hopeless Draco was willing to share it. He had no idea why Harry would want to see it. If anything it would make him ill, and the memory certainly caused Draco's stomach to churn.
And as it turned out, Pensieve bowls were extremely rare. He'd been all over Hogsmeade and had been subjected to several nasty cat calls from people who could no doubt hated his father and could not see beyond physical similarities to the fact that he was not Lucius. He didn't get this kind of treatment when he was with Harry, or at least he had never noticed it when he was with Harry.
He arrived at the shop that the last store had referred him to. 'Antwon's Antique Assortment.'
Oh fuck, I am really scraping the bottom of the barrel.
It was a remote part of the village and the cheerily named Antwon's was in fact a rather dusty and depressing place, a little like all those stores his father had dragged him into when buying and selling various pieces that no one wanted to mention.
He pushed the door open and was greeted by a nose full of dust that made him want to sneeze. Behind the counter stood a very small Wizard obviously propped up on boxes who just had to be Antwon. The little man had a look on his face that Draco knew to be familiar enough. Lucius had to be a regular customer here. He just had to be, because Antwon was rubbing his hands together in anticipation of making some very good money. It was a fairly good indication of the kind of wares Antwon sold.
"Young Master Malfoy," the smile on the Wizard's face was genuine, as though he could almost smell the money. "What a pleasure to see you here. How may I help you?"
Draco sniffled at the dust and cleared his throat. "I'm looking for a pensieve bowl."
Antwon's smile grew broader by the second. "Antique bowls are very hard to come by, very few who own them are willing to give them up. If I come across one, it's usually a job lot sent in from deceased estates."
"Do you have one?"
"Oh yes, a lovely one, but alas, it is no antique."
"Does it work?"
"But of course! But if you are anything like your dear father, you would much prefer the antiques, they are so much more beautiful. I could look for one for you, if you have the time I could get on in a matter of weeks."
"I don't have time to wait," Draco said dismissively, "I don't care if it's an antique or not as long as it works. How much for the one you've got?"
Antwon seemed a little taken aback but was soon mentally calculating just how much he could demand from the young Malfoy. "1000 galleons," he ventured with a smile.
"What? You said yourself it was no antique!"
"But Master Malfoy, as you may have realized, they are very hard to come by."
"Yes, but I'm not paying 1000 galleons for a piece of modern crap!"
"I see Master is as shrewd as his father, I will take 150 galleons from the price."
Fifteen minutes and five hundred galleons later, Draco left Antwons with his new Pensieve bowl tucked into his bag.
"Death Eater scum!"
Draco stopped and turned to see who had spoken. A burly looking Wizard with possibly more brawn than brains was coming towards Draco without hesitation. Before Draco could even speak the man had pulled back his fist and plunged it into Draco's jaw, causing his lip to split wetly against his teeth and Draco fell back against the wall of the shop front and sank to the ground.
He sat there for a moment, dazed, yet incredulous that the fool was still standing there, congratulating himself at such a good punch. Draco frowned, feeling blood running down his chin, and pulled out his wand.
Harry would possibly not approve of this.
He transfigured the oaf into a squirrel.
He stood up painfully and dabbed out his lip and his fingers came away bloody.
"Thanks Dad" he muttered, knowing that it probably wasn't his father's fault that the man had been stupid, but then again who knew what Lucius had done to him. This was going to be part of his heritage, as much as his looks and his wealth. Centuries of playing the bad guys had ensured that he was here, being punched by a moron in Hogsmeade.
He knew that he should turn him back, but really, the squirrel was cuter. He stood up straight, dusted himself off and walked away.
*******
St Mungo's had no maternity wards. Witches, Hermione was about to learn, gave birth at home usually, with a midwife in attendance, or a multitude of sisters or a mother or someone who would help the child into the world. It was considered the natural way of things and they had practiced it for centuries. Not for the magical world was this way of Muggles with their monitors and drugs and clinical indifference. A magical birth was different. And so, St Mungo's had a small examination room, a waiting room and a receptionist who sat at a desk and called the prospective mothers through when it was their turn. This visit had certain goals, they would find out for certain that Hermione was indeed pregnant, that they were healthy and all was well, an approximate date of conception and the name of the closest midwife. Beyond that Hermione would be cared for at home.
By the time they had reached the hospital Severus had endured a ride on the tube during peak hour with countless Muggles crushed up against him and had amused Hermione no end by performing a scrougifying charm to get rid of what he described as 'Muggle stench' off him. The midwifery office was on the same level as the victims of accidental charms, something Hermione found a little offensive and she couldn't help but complain about it. She found her complaints fell on deaf ears however, as Severus was looking around for the cafeteria level because he suddenly needed a coffee. If Hermione didn't know him better she would think that he had finally become nervous.
"Severus?"
He turned from his position staring at the information board above the lift, "Huh?"
"Are you coming?"
"I'm sorry…what?"
"The appointment, it's down here," she indicated the corridor.
"Oh…yes, I just," he looked back to the notice board helplessly, "I wanted a coffee."
Hermione looked at her watch and then back to him, "well if you really want one you could go and get one and I'll meet you at the office."
She didn't really expect him to take her up on the offer, she was still thinking of him as the ever efficient Professor Snape, but he nodded, said "right then," and promptly got into the lift and disappeared, leaving her in the corridor staring in disbelief at the closed lift doors.
Well, she did tell him that he could go.
She turned and followed the signs to the Midwifery office, appalled at just how out of the way it was. When she finally rounded the corner and found the neat little waiting room she was surprised. She wasn't sure what she had expected. Something more pleasant perhaps, more…childlike…with pictures of bears on the wall or something charming like that. Instead she found dull off white walls and wooden chairs lining the walls. A pile of out of date Witch Weeklies and a few copies of the Daily Prophet, also out of date, but less so than the magazines.
The receptionist seemed entirely absorbed in possibly the only current magazine in the hospital, a copy of Cosmopolitan – something Hermione had never read but she had seen the cover glaring out of various news agencies during her life time and it appeared to consist of sex quizzes and sealed sections that confirmed whether or not ones genitals were normal.
The receptionist appeared to be doing the sex quiz.
Hermione discreetly cleared her throat and the girl looked up – and Hermione startled, a frown instantly coming to her face. She knew this girl although she couldn't quite place her name. She'd been in Hufflepuff, Hermione was certain of it, one of the many that had occasion to fawn all over Harry at some point. The girl was decidedly pudding faced and as she flicked through her copy of Cosmopolitan, she looked a little bored. Hermione could only hope that who ever she was didn't remember her. And why should she? Hermione had kept to herself, she'd had few friends…except that the few she did have consisted of Harry and Ron and they had (all three of them) been rather prolific during their schooling life.
Hermione crossed her fingers and stepped up to the desk.
"Hermione!" The Hufflepuff girl smiled with genuine pleasure but Hermione could see that the pleasure was born purely from the opportunity to find out some decent gossip. Before she could berate herself for jumping to conclusions the girl continued; "so what are you doing here? Are you pregnant?"
Hermione blushed, "well…yes…actually, I have an appointment." She silently willed Severus to stay upstairs in the cafeteria.
What was the damn girl's name?
"Really?" Miss Hufflepuff inspected her appointment list and looked surprised, "So you do! Wow, I thought you were still at school!"
"I am," Hermione muttered.
Daisy! Daisy bleeding Jiggers! Dopey cow whose father ran one of the most successful Apothecary supplies stores in the Wizard world.
"Wow!" Daisy Jiggers was looking at her in unadorned shock, "who's the father?" she asked plainly, "Ron?"
"Ron? Ah, well, no…it's not…it's not Ron."
"Well it can't be Harry," Daisy giggled, "not if what the papers are saying is true…is it true?"
"Pardon?"
"What the papers say about Harry?"
"What do the papers say about Harry?" Hermione found the irritation she was feeling had found its way into her voice.
"That he's…" Daisy looked around and hissed in an indiscreet whisper, "gay. "
Hermione rolled her eyes and decided that Harry wouldn't care. "Yes, he's gay, do you have a problem with that?"
"No, of course not!" Daisy smiled, "But I guess it explains a lot, I mean he was always a little…you know…"
"No, I don't know."
"A little odd, like he didn't know what to do with a girl."
Oh good grief, like pudding faced Daisy Jiggers would ever know. "Well, there you go."
"But I guess he knows what to do with a guy…is it true about Draco Malfoy?"
"I really don't know," Hermione replied losing all patience, "now can I book in with my appointment?"
"Oh yeah, sure, not a problem," Daisy smiled again, "just take a seat. Will the father be joining you?"
I really hope not. "I…er…I…"
And then Severus rounded the corner, not really looking at where he was going and stopped, "I got you tea, apparently it's better for you than coffee…"
"Professor Snape!"
Hermione winced at the look on Daisy's face and Severus almost dropped the tea.
Daisy was still staring at Severus as she pushed a form across her desk. She was looking as white as a sheet, as though some particularly malevolent ghost had just popped up to haunt her and Hermione began to wonder exactly what she was like at Potions – and if she was Hufflepuffs answer to Neville in the class room.
"You have to fill out this form." The girls' voice was decidedly shaky, "you need to put down where you live and plan to have the baby, your name and occupation, father's name and occupation. That sort of thing." She smiled uneasily and looked at the Professor. She could only speculate on his role in all of this and she quickly decided that he had been sent as an escort, some sort of punishment for Hermione for getting herself knocked up whilst still at school.
Hermione decided to ignore the look on Daisy Jiggers face and took the form and clipboard. She borrowed a quill and they shuffled off to sit down and wait. Hermione took her tea and Severus took the form from her hands and began to look it. Then much to Hermione's amazement he began filling it out for her.
She sipped her tea.
"It's still full of caffeine you know."
"Huh?"
He indicated the tea with the quill, "it's still full of caffeine, and it's almost as bad for you as coffee."
"Then why did you buy it?"
He shrugged, "It seemed a good idea at the time, probably the same reason I now have a pocket full of Fizzing Wizzbees and chocolate."
"Chocolate?"
He shuffled his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag full of sweets.
"I think you're nervous."
"Me?" He looked at her with mock indignance, "You must be kidding."
"You're nervous?"
"Yep."
"And you told me not to be nervous."
"I lied." He scanned down the form, checking off each part he had filled in, "What's your mother's maiden name?"
Hermione frowned and looked at the form, "Reardon." She looked at what he'd already written. He'd put himself down as the father and for some reason she was surprised, although when she thought about it, it was only natural, he was the father after all.
Of course they had to give the form to Daisy Jiggers and she was no doubt going to read it. It was a big step for him. Then again, perhaps he had decided that they were going to have to get used to this. If they were going to be together they would have to stand up in the face of whatever people thought at some point.
"Love you," she whispered and he glared at her.
Then he slid down in his chair in a way that reminded her of a bored student in Trelawney's Divination class and began shoveling Fizzing Wizzbees into his mouth.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
They both fell silent as a worried looking Wizard and his partner (seemingly named Alice) walked past them with bemused glances and entered the midwives office.
"I'll take the form over then," Hermione suggested hopefully and when he responded by pushing more sweets into his mouth she shook her head and took the form to Daisy.
And of course Daisy scanned it and her mouth fell open when she reached the 'father's name' part and she looked from Hermione to Severus and just couldn't believe it. "Are you sure?" she asked stupidly, "I mean, how is it possible?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and lost all patience. "Well how do you think it is possible, we went to bed and fucked like monkeys and now I'm pregnant. Why don't you use your common fucking sense?"
Daisy looked about to say something more but couldn't think of the appropriate words. The truth was that her own recollections of school were haunted by memories of the greasy haired Potions Master who had given her a dismal grade in Potions and thus ensured that she had never been accepted to the Midwifery program that St Mungo's ran. As a result she found herself stuck at the reception desk, something she considered a grave injustice (the fact that she was a dismal potions maker was neither here nor there). The idea of anyone going to bed with Severus Snape was horrifying to her, one look at him and she reasoned that anyone would run. But it was obvious that Hermione Granger had slept with him – not only slept but had produced the child now growing inside of her! The idea was completely unthinkable. Through her haze of disbelief she saw Hermione give her one last look and return to her seat.
"Fucked like monkeys?" Severus asked silkily.
"You know what I meant," Hermione replied irritably.
"Have you ever seen a monkey fuck?"
"I saw a documentary on television once."
"And there I was thinking television was pointless, If I'd known they showed displays of monkey fucking then I would have invested in one."
"You are very unlike yourself today, Severus."
"Well, it is very uncommon for me to be sitting in a midwives waiting room having my sexual technique compared to that of an ape."
"I really wish she wasn't the person sitting behind the desk. I was hoping it would be someone older."
Severus glanced at the reception desk. "Who is she?"
"Daisy Jiggers, don't you remember her?"
"Students all blur into one, only the troublemakers and know-it-alls stand out."
"She was in Hufflepuff, she had a kind of thing for Harry…it didn't last long."
"What happened?"
"Well, Harry wasn't interested and besides, I seem to recall she was completely mental – and thick as two bricks."
"Well, Potter attracts them."
"I wouldn't say Draco is completely mental…or thick."
"He has his moments."
Hermione nodded, it was true.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, sharing the bag of sweets and waiting to be called. They both managed to ignore Daisy who was gaping at them. Hermione wondered if it would always be like this, people always looking at them in disbelief.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Snape?"
Hermione jumped as the Midwife smiled at them.
"Professor," Severus said, it was an automatic reaction.
The elderly midwife looked confused, "Pardon?"
"Professor Snape."
"I see…" she smiled and nodded, "would you like to come in?"
Hermione stood and for a moment she was convinced that Severus would flee. He didn't. He followed her into the office, leaving Daisy Jiggers alone in shock…and wondering just who she could tell first.
******
Continued…