Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to review the previous chapters and for all your comments (both positive and negative)! I'm very much interested in your thoughts as I continue into this, because I've gotten so many different comments and viewpoints. Some, I think might not like what is coming. Warning – character death. And yes, Dramione are living in a bubble. Soon to break.
LCailan
CHAPTER THIRTY
Paddington, London, England
Autumn had unleashed her cold and windy wrath upon London, and Blaise clung to his long black overcoat and hat as he hurried along the busy walk, away from the bus station. He supposed that apparating would have been quicker, but lately he had taken to blending in with all the other Londoners. What the Ministry would call being a coward, or 'catering to the Mudbloods'. But Blaise believed in his heart that catering to the Muggles and Muggle-borns was starting to become more and more preferable than the damning alternative.
Another gust of wind nearly made away with his hat, and he reached up to keep it from flying off his head, just as a little girl ran down the walk, chasing after her own hat, a white and red thing with a long, flowing ribbon. He watched it tumble and float with the wind and reached down to snag it from the ground just as the girl reached him.
"May I please have my hat, sir?"
She was well spoken and of polite breeding, and in spite of his bad mood, Blaise offered a smile, crouching down to take a better look at her. The child was storybook beautiful, with cherubic, pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes framed by endless blonde curls.
"You may," he replied and placed atop the angelic crown of hair just as her mother reached them, offering a thankful smile and breathless greeting.
"Thank you. Mighty windy out here, yeah?"
"Indeed," replied Blaise standing and offering the woman a smile in return. He watched as the young mother and her angelic child hurried away, and disappeared into the crowd. The scene was picturesque for a moment, as the wind died down, for the sun shone brilliantly in the morning sky, and the street was busy with people heading to work or on their daily errands.
Taking only another glance, Blaise turned and continued on his way, a strange ache in his heart. The little, unnamed girl had reminded him of Daisy, and each time he though of his own daughter, Blaise felt a mix of joy and despair. Sometimes, the joy was so intense, he couldn't breathe, and his whole world was filled with infallible light. And other times, when he was away from his family, the two loves in his life, the despair weighed on him, mocking him and willing him not to break down and cry.
Thus had been his life for months, even before his baby had been born.
Since Voldemort's takeover of the Ministry and everything thereafter, Blaise had found himself living a life that he had no longer recognized, and, after awhile, a life he no longer wanted. Nothing had made sense and nothing seemed justified. At the beginning he had given Voldemort his support, for the man's vision had been something Blaise could understand. Something he had been able to embrace. He had believed strongly that a unified front was necessary, and that a group of like-minded individuals could do great things. Unfortunately greed and bias had twisted the minds of the ones in charge, and had destroyed what could have been a brilliant future. Now, too many were hopeless, too many strewn out with no future and no way to survive. Too many were looked at as abominations and used, abused and tossed to the wayside like rubbish. Though Blaise knew that in any society, some flourished and some struggled, in this world, Voldemort's world, he suspected that there was no sympathy and consideration for any of those who did not agree with him or the twisted vision that he had.
Yes, Blaise believed himself better than many, but he also believed that any man or woman deserved a chance. Bloody hell, it was the least that could be offered them!
Frowning, he lowered his head into his coat as he hurried across the busy street towards an alleyway that led to a row of abandoned, run-down brick buildings.
Though the world had quickly begun to make no sense, Blaise had realized that one thing was clear; he was in love with Lavender Brown. That realization had been easier to make than trying to understand why.
It wasn't like he had always found her attractive! In school, all he could remember was that she had been one of the annoyingly effervescent blonde Gryffindors, interested only in boys and fashion and whatever was on the cover of the sodding Witch Weekly magazine. She had been prone to a rather annoying laugh and unfortunately blessed with round, rosy cheeks and a mess of golden hair which had reminded him of the fairy story Goldilocks. He had wanted nothing to do with her, or her silly gaggle of girlfriends. Though, looking back on it now, Blaise realized that for someone he had believed he loathed, he had spent too much time thinking about her.
Then, that night had happened. The night of his promotion at the Ministry and too many shots of vodie at the pub, and she had been there, just as he remembered her. Perhaps, she had been thinner, and her eyes had reflected a woman who had been through too much and had lost all innocence. The lines on her face had shown her past, the pain and struggles she had endured. She no longer laughed, and the voice which had whispered in his ear had been sultry, knowing. She had come onto Malfoy, had made eyes with Flint. She would have, and probably had been with so many before him.
And, he had found her breathtaking.
Blaise had never, until that moment, known a woman as determined and brazen as Lavender. Life had taken everything from her, and she had not rolled over and let it happen, instead, using what she had left to her advantage, and in an attempt at survival. It was that which had drawn him to her, and though he had believed it would be one night, he had been oh, so very wrong.
He had fallen in love with her.
She was difficult, stubborn, often petulant and impossibly whiny. But, beneath that, Blaise knew a woman who was brilliant – who took the hits life dealt out and used them in any way she could. He knew her to be tenacious and wily, sweet, and caring.
And she had given him a child; it was a gift that he would never be able to thank her enough for. Daisy was his only joy.
Between two of the buildings stood a cement wall and Blaise paused before it, removing his wand, tapping it four times and muttering something under his breath. The bricks melted away revealing a stairwell and he slipped through the small entryway and hurried upwards.
He recalled, a night so many months before, when Lavender had whispered to him that he had saved her. Blaise believed she had meant what she said; he knew though, that it was the other way around. In a world that was swirling towards the unknown, and taking with it those who were too weak to survive, she had saved him.
At the top of the stairs, there was a door. Here, Blaise paused before pushing it open.
Kensington, London, England
The soft howling of the wind awoke her, and Hermione stirred, opening her eyes. Beyond the windows of Draco's suite the morning sky was a brilliant blue and the leaves that remained on the trees shivered. The autumn had touched them with beautiful oranges and reds. Within the bed, she felt warm and safe, and the flashes of the previous night in Draco's arms warmed her. She was wanted; he cared about her.
He cares about me!
Hermione couldn't explain the profound thrill that filled her at the thought and she smiled to herself. As she shifted in the bed – his bed – she felt his solid, warm body against hers, and realized that this time, after their coupling, he had stayed. All the other times, Hermione had remembered him getting up, moving away from the bed, as if ashamed of what he had done. It had left her cold and shaken.
But now, she turned her head on the soft, cotton pillow and took a moment to gaze on him.
Draco lay in repose, breathing deeply, one hand across his face, and the other next to her, his fingers brushing just the side of her hip. She shifted, and propped herself up on her elbow, taking those few moments of silence to admire the man who slept next to her.
He was strong, and brave. He was a man who was rough beneath the veneer of polished refinement that he allowed the world to see. He felt pain and uncertainty just like she did. And underneath the cold, hateful persona was a man who could be tender, and sweet. A man who made her feel a thousand things, and knew how to touch her a thousand different ways. Hermione didn't know how to feel, and what to think. All she knew was that with Draco, she felt safe.
She reached up, gentle fingers brushing the silky strands of his white-blond hair away from the smoothness of his forehead. She felt him shift and sigh before settling once more. Her fingers trailed curiously along his perfectly straight nose, admiring the dips and planes of a profile that shouldn't have been so perfect. His lips were soft, silky too, as her fingers glided along his mouth down to his chin. She realized that maybe her bigotry had blinded her to the fact that the man next to her was beautiful; perhaps cold and uncertain, hesitant and frightened sometimes, but still beautiful, both inside and out.
Just as Hermione lifted her fingers from their contemplative caresses, he reached up, clasping her wrist firmly and bringing those fingers to his lips.
"Having fun, Granger?"
His greeting was a husky, sleepy utterance, and it sent shocks of sweet desire through Hermione.
"I…I was just thinking."
He turned his head, those gray eyes taking her in, and she realized that she could easily lose herself in their murky depths and be blissfully oblivious to the rest of the dreary world.
"About what?"
His fingers reached down, running through her loose, cinnamon-caramel waves.
"Breakfast," she lied, uncertain if she was ready to share her tumultuous thoughts with him quite yet. And, his fingers were causing a delightful distraction from her thoughts.
"What do you feel like?"
She thought of porridge with butter and a touch of honey, just the way he always took it. She thought of pastries loaded with sweet cream cheese, and she thought of-
His mouth was against her lips, completely obliterating her train of thought with tender, sweet insistence. Sighing, she melted and felt Draco's body brush against hers, causing a shiver down her spine and desire bubbling up from within the core of her.
Hermione moaned, a keening sound, and pressed herself against him with more insistence. She felt him chuckling against her wanton mouth.
"Hmm…perhaps it's not so much what I want, is it?"
His fingers ran down the vast expanse of her silken flesh.
"Does my little cleaning girl need something?" he purred, and Hermione opened her eyes in time to see his sultry smile.
"Oh, yes."
She closed her eyes again, the words a throaty, needy whisper. It was just what he did to her, she realized. For those moments that she spent in his arms, basking in his warmth and the gentleness of his touch, no matter how brief, always served to be her shelter. When he touched her, it didn't matter who she was, or the fact that he was her enemy.
It didn't matter that in another lifetime, or any other situation, they would have never known one another. When he touched her, she simply wanted. And, why not, she asked herself? Life was no longer abundant with joy, and she would take compassion, caring, and oblivion where she could find it. And she had found it with Draco Malfoy.
"Please."
He knew what she needed, and soon enough she forgot everything but him.
Antonin Dolohov stood in the alleyway of the abandoned building only minutes after Zabini had slipped beyond the magic barrier.
"Tricky, tricky," he whispered.
Flanked on either side by two masked and hooded officials, he smirked. To his right stood Rabastan Lestrange, and to his left, Fenrir Greyback.
"Going in, boss?"
His statement was more of a growl; Fenrir hardly ever spoke like a man any longer, opting instead to embrace the animalistic side of himself. His words reflected a long seeded hunger.
Dolohov's lip curled.
"The baby is paramount, but if you can incapacitate Zabini, do it. Anyone tries to protect them is to be destroyed."
He lifted and tapped his wand against the solid brick, muttering the incantation Parkinson had given him only an hour ago.
"Go," he said as the bricks faded, revealing the way in.
South London, England
It was deathly quiet in the flat.
Pansy could hear every beat of her hammering heart as she stared at herself in the mirror that hung on the plain, beige wall of her bathroom. In fact, everything in the flat was plain and simple; she was not a woman who took to fancies.
Behind her, there was no sound, though she knew the little girl who had occupied the four room establishment was only in the closet where she had been keeping her for all that time. She hardly ever left, or ever made a sound. It was odd for someone so young, that the girl had never whimpered, hardly ever cried or asked for a thing. She took her meals in silence, obeyed completely, and behaved like a child far older than her years.
Pansy wondered how old the little girl was, and then decided it didn't matter. Once again, she glared at herself in the mirror.
The woman reflected there was pale and terrified looking. A sheen of sweat had broken out over the bridge of her pug-like nose and across her wide forehead, and her eyes were too-bright against the grayish color of her skin.
She licked her lips and then heaved a sigh, the sound ragged in the silent air.
What am I doing here? Why am I not with Dolohov?
What petrified Pansy more than her own cowardice was the fact that she didn't know what she was doing home, in her flat, terrified of what was happening in Paddington, when she should have been there all along. Her eyes were round as the stared at her reflection hatefully.
Am I a coward or am I a woman of power, just like Bellatrix Lestrange?
Hot tears of shame filled her eyes, and Pansy Parkinson dropped her head, a pounding assaulting her temples, like the sound of an ancient, eternal drum.
Coward.
She could have stayed, but she hadn't.
Coward.
But if Zabini knew she was somehow involved…?
It's counterproductive. To get Draco, I have to make sure that Blaise no longer holds any power within the Ministry, don't I? If he knew it was me who snitched –surely he'd run to Draco and then-
Still, the whisper in her heart called her a coward. And she hated it. Behind her a strange, padding sound could be heard and when Pansy turned, the little girl stood watching her. She said nothing, her face a pale, blank slate framed by that unsightly red-brown hair that fell far below her thin shoulders.
Pansy fought against the hot tears, willing herself be calm, authoritative. It was downright creepy the way the tiny bint watched her, green eyes wide.
Eyes like Potter's. Strange, how some things, no one ever forgets.
"Get back in your closet, girl."
The words were strange and strangled. The little girl only blinked, but did not move. Pansy wanted to hex her, to lift her wand and punish her the way she had punished Hermione Granger. She wanted to, but she couldn't.
Coward.
"I told you to get-"
The front door to her flat opened and then slammed shut with a cantankerous bang.
"Oi, Pans, I thought I'd-"
Marcus stopped short when he saw Pansy glaring down at the pretty little girl that framed her bathroom door.
"Oh, are we having a jolly party?" he said leering first at Pansy and then back at the little girl.
With a sneer, he crouched down next to the child.
"I hear you're goin' to Azkaban, you are. Mighty fun there," he said with a mocking laugh.
The little girl shivered slightly, but nothing on her pale face changed, not a twitch, not a tear. She stared straight ahead, her jaw trembling. Once more, Pansy wondered in awe at how a child so young had such discipline.
Just a child!
The thought irritated Pansy for she wasn't supposed to give a damn was she? The bint was a means to her end, and she would get what she wanted!
Marcus reached over to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across the child's forehead with his dirty, fat fingers. The look on his face was positively disgusting and suddenly, Pansy reacted, swallowing back bile.
"Don't touch her," she hissed, moving quickly, pushing Marcus out of the way with one move.
He, being the clumsier one, stumbled backwards, his black eyes widening.
"What the-"
She lifted her wand point blank at his face, her own jaw clenching.
"Get away from the girl."
The words were hard and there was no mistaking the finality in them, which made Marcus raise an eyebrow.
"Something's dodgy with you today," he commented and she poked him hard with the end of her wand, causing him to stumble backwards again.
Standing between him and the child, Pansy yanked on the child's shoulder.
"Get. In. Your. Closet."
Each word was icy and pronounced, and with a whimper the tiny girl moved backwards into the room and Pansy shut the door behind her, hard. Then, heart pounding, she turned on Marcus.
"You disgust me!"
Her eyes were glittering slits, and her wand remained aloft.
"I only just touched her!"
"You're filthy! What do you think this is? She's a little girl, for bloody Merlin's sake! You sick fuck!"
"Relax, Pans! It's not like she's anything! I wasn't planning on doing anything at all!"
He offered a braying laugh, and Pansy wanted to vomit.
"Get out of my fucking flat!"
"Oh, come on! You're overreacting!"
"GET OUT!"
Marcus snorted, his tone turning sarcastic.
"Playing high and mighty are you? Think you're better than me with all your virtues and morals? Last I recall, you're the one who forced an innocent child to live in a closet and be ignored for months so that you can fulfill some sick fantasy you have of winning over Malfoy? What's with him, anyway? Does he have a golden prick or something that every cow I see on the street wants him?"
Pansy reacted, disgusted with Marcus, but mostly with herself.
"Expelliarmus!"
Marcus' wand flew out of his hand and clattered against the worn, wooden floor behind him.
"You dumb bitch!"
"Get out of my flat!"
She advanced on him, and although smaller and less formidable than most women, Pansy was a force to be reckoned with, and, eyes widening with sudden fear, Marcus stumbled backwards as she blew things out of the way. A chair nearly took off his head, and turning, he dashed for the door, hoping only for his survival against the wrathful woman.
"Relashio!"
He saw the jet of light as it bounced off the simple, white walls and then he fumbled for the door, and opened it, dashing into the hallway and down the steps.
"And don't you come back, you disgusting swine!"
The silence that reigned after he was gone made Pansy's head hurt. Wand still raised, her body weakened and she slumped against the railing, clinging to it lest she fall.
Coward.
The word echoed once more, bringing with it a flood of pain that Pansy usually kept locked within her heart. She was alone, and she was a coward. She turned around, shutting her door behind her and facing an empty flat with only the company of a child that she didn't want and who feared her.
All for a man who didn't want her.
If only he did, everything would be different!
Pansy loathed her life, and she loathed the world she lived in. She loathed the things she was doing.
But, what choice do I have?
Nothing answered her.
Hermione had made him some kind porridge, but Draco had hardly felt hungry. Watching her seemed to distract him from everything else, and she was quite a lovely view in his kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his long, starched shirts. A blue one, he realized. She had said she liked it.
The food looked delicious; the porridge thick, buttery with a touch of sweetness. Their lie in that morning had rendered Draco blissfully oblivious to all else, and he knew now, that it was dangerous to feel that way.
Beyond the windows of the kitchen he could see a gray morning sky and the wind had picked up overnight. It was probably cold outside, and here in the warm kitchen, and Granger, with her glorious, unmanageable coif and desirable body was a distraction from what he should have been thinking about.
He thought about the Ministry, Lily Potter, the alienages, and most importantly, the forbidden, strange relationship that he had with the woman who was now bringing two plates to the wide kitchen table. None of it made sense to Draco; nothing had made sense since the night Hermione Granger had been brought to the alienage. If anyone found out, he'd be in trouble, and she would…
It was an impossible situation, and thinking about it was always the same – a heaviness that he couldn't get out from under, and one that terrified him so badly he didn't want to think about it. Instead, he focused on the woman who had just sat down on his lap, smiling at him. She made it easier to ignore everything else around him.
Draco kissed Hermione.
At least, he had this moment. And the next, and that whole morning, didn't he? He could indulge in another kiss, a caress, a long embrace, couldn't he? Everything else in life was so dark, so heavy, he had a desire to cling to the one thing in his life that could give him hope. And that desire was irresistible.
Reaching down, he picked up his spoon and fed her a bite of the porridge, watching with fascination as she swallowed and licked her lips. He swallowed at the same time, and then Hermione took the spoon from him, and fed him a bite.
It was one of the most sensual moments Draco could remember having. He reached up, running his fingers through her hair.
"Thank you," he whispered, leaning up to kiss her once more, closing his eyes.
His heart overflowed.
His heart overflowed.
As Blaise held his little girl tightly in the cradle of his arms, he smiled down at her, and she offered him an angelic smile in return, free of all prejudice, pain and knowledge. It was the smile of a little girl who was warm, content and happy in the arms of her father and those who took care of her.
As always, Blaise felt a rush of gratitude to the two exotic looking twins who had taken the time to love Lavender and Daisy when he could not have. And, at the same time, he felt resentment towards a world that did not allow a mother to see her own baby, and for each second that slipped by allowing Daisy to believe that another woman was her mother.
He was doing whatever he could to take care of his daughter, and bring his family back together, but sometimes it seemed like it would never happen. It seemed as if this would be the only life Daisy would ever know, and Lavender-
Well, he didn't want to think about that. He couldn't, because he needed to have a clear head.
"She's been fussy all day," said one of the twins, tenderly adjusting Daisy's blanket as Blaise leaned down to kiss his daughter again.
He stroked her downy hair.
"She's perfect," he decided, and handed her over to the women for a moment.
"I have your money, I put it on the front table," he said indicating the front room. The women nodded and then Blaise offered his baby girl another smile.
"Come to daddy!"
He reached for her, holding her close once more. The sudden explosion behind him sent the women stumbling backwards, and Blaise was suddenly more grateful than ever he had been that he was holding his daughter. Everything that followed happened in nightmarish, slow motion.
"Deprimo!"
It was Fenrir; Blaise would have known that voice anywhere.
Two others followed the first, and they were all in masks, wearing heavy, black hooded cloaks. The second one spoke.
"Get the baby."
The sound was muffled and gravely behind the mask, and Blaise only hesitated a second before dashing forward, cradling Daisy, who had started to wail.
"Move!" he ordered the two women behind him, whose eyes had widened in terror.
Dean moved first, dashing forward into the front room, towards the hooded figures. The three Death Eaters blocked the doorway, and for a second it was as if time had stopped completely, and then the next, there were jets of red light racing across the small space.
With a struggled cry, one of the women hurled a revulsion jinx towards the men in cloaks, but one of them deflected it easily, with a strange laugh.
Heart hammering, Blaise knew he only had a second or two to contemplate his next move, knowing the wrong step would cost him his daughter's life and there was no way in hell he would allow it.
Swiftly, he passed Daisy off to the nearest woman.
"Go," he hissed his eyes bright. "Go and don't turn around. Just go!"
The men came forward, after the dark-haired witch, who now held the baby. Blaise took action.
"STUPEFY!"
The man in front fell forward, and the other two stumbled over him. It gave Blaise enough time to get his child out the door, past the two men still standing.
"GO!" he screamed at the two women who had stopped in the hallway, and with a push they began to clatter down the staircase, the baby clutched tightly in the arms of one of them.
Behind Blaise, the room was filled with brilliant color, and he saw that Dean had failed to stun either man, instead suffering from a blow that had seemingly taken off his left arm. There was too much blood.
Bloody hell.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The scream echoed off the walls, and Blaise worked quickly.
"Protego!"
The curse bounded off his magical shield, filling the staircase with vivid green color. With a growl, the hooded man leapt from the landing and down the first set of stairs, showing incredible deftness.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The curse sounded again and Blaise cried out as one of the women fell dead.
"GO! GO!"
His scream was one of determination.
He knew it would be painful, knew it was a loss that no one could truly come to terms with, especially when it happened so suddenly, but now was not the time to grieve.
Without another thought, he launched himself down the stairs, ignoring the man behind him, for he heard Dean struggling with him. Instead, he was focused on the hooded man ahead, who was quickly catching up with-
Was it Padma? Or Parvati? He didn't know, hadn't had time to realize.
"Impedimenta!"
The curse missed, and the Death Eater had nearly reached Daisy now. He turned, red bolts of light issuing from his wand, and one of them hit Blaise, stunning him – as if stopping his heart – and causing him to cry out in pain. It burned, whatever it was burned like hell, but it didn't stop him from moving.
"STUPEFY!"
This time, he hit his mark, and the masked man fell, tumbled and stopped dead still right at the doorway that led to the empty alley.
Then, there was only ragged breathing and the sound of Daisy's terrified screaming.
"P-Parvati…"
It was Padma who spoke first, her voice tainted by her grief, as she tried to come to terms with the death of her sister whilst trying to calm a screaming baby. Tears poured down her face.
A groan from behind them sounded and a pasty looking Dean stumbled into the alley, his arm rendered useless at his side, the blood seeping from it at a terribly quick rate. Blaise leaned down to kiss Daisy and turned to look at Dean.
"We've got to get you help," he managed, as he winced, the left side of his own body still numb and aching from whatever curse it had taken.
"WERA headquarters, mate."
Dean's eyes were slightly unfocused as he leaned against the brick wall, sliding down to the filthy ground, his head rolling to the side. Blaise fell to the ground, pulling off the remnants of his overcoat.
"Scourgify," he whispered, trying to clean up the blood as best as he could.
Behind him, Padma had somehow gotten Daisy to stop crying, and the baby was hiccupping softly.
He fastened part of his coat tightly around the blood flow, hoping to stave it until he could get Dean proper help. The fallen man winced and moaned, his dark face nearly gray with blood loss. He looked up at Padma.
"Can you do side-along? Get him the help he needs?"
His tone was strained. Padma nodded, clutching the baby. She was in shock; Blaise knew she would not be able to speak.
He stood, his hands covered in blood.
"Go, then. You all get to safety, and take care of her," he said staring down at his daughter, and then kissing her tenderly. "I've got to stay here. Clean up this mess, make sure they don't remember anything. If I'm with you, there's no safety. I'll be a wanted man, and it's not your burden, it's mine."
Padma nodded, tears slipping down her reddish-brown skin, and reached down to take hold of Dean's hand. In a flash, they were gone, leaving Blaise alone in the alleyway. Turning, he hurried to the first fallen Death Eater.
"Obliviate."
Once the job was done, and the three that had come after him and Daisy would no longer remember what they had come for, Blaise hurried out of the alley and stood, facing the brick building where he had hidden his daughter for so many months.
"Evanesco."
He erased it all, as if it had never existed. Then, lowering his head, and cradling his hurt arm closely, Blaise hurried away. When the others awoke, the Ministry would be after him. He could erase their memory of what had happened inside the building, but he could not erase their intent.
And their intent was to eliminate those resistant to their cause.
I'm in trouble.
His next destination was clear, and Blaise moved north, towards Kensington.