Worth the Wait
Chapter Four
Hermione Granger arrives home via floo to a very strange sight. Sitting on her sofa, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes locked in a staring contest with Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, is Pansy Parkinson.
Now, Pansy has access to Hermione's flat via floo, so it's not unusual for her to pop by unannounced on occasion. It is unusual for her to wait around and hang out with Crooks if Hermione isn't home.
Hermione hadn't been expecting company, so she stayed late at work this evening, by well over an hour. So, she would've thought Pansy would've left when she realized Hermione wasn't home.
Something must've happened.
"Pans?" Hermione asks, dusting soot off of her shoulders as she kicks her shoes off to enter her home proper. "Are you okay? Is Neville okay?"
Yes, shocker of shockers, one of the previously unforeseen side effects of Hermione's friendship with Pansy Parkinson is said witch's absolute infatuation with one Neville Longbottom. Pansy spent nearly a year asking Hermione about him, in what Hermione assumes was supposed to be proper, Pureblood subtlety, but Hermione saw through that in a minute flat. The pair had only recently actually started dating, and though there's been a few bumps in the road, both Pansy and Neville seem deliriously happy.
Pansy sits up, spine straight, as if noticing for the first time that Hermione is home. Hermione sits beside Pansy on her sofa, eyeing her friend warily.
Pansy shakes her head, as if to clear her mind and inhales heavily. It's then that Hermione realizes that this is going to be a talk, not just a friend visiting unannounced.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Neville is fine," Pansy rushes, breathing heavily once more before meeting Hermione's eye. "It's Draco."
Hermione's heart stops in her chest– or at least, that's what it feels like. It's been two years since she's spoken to her former boyfriend. Most days, Hermione is fine. She doesn't think about him every day anymore. But then something will remind her of him and it all comes flooding back.
Hermione resists the urge to shoot up from her spot and floo to Malfoy Manor or Mungo's to see if Draco is okay. Just because they're not together anymore doesn't mean she doesn't still care for him. If he was ill or severely injured, she'd send a card or visit– probably.
"Is he alright? Is he hurt?" Hermione asks, and if her voice wavers slightly, well, that's her business.
Pansy exhales heavily. Her dainty, perfectly manicured, fingers drum against her knee.
Hermione doesn't think she's ever seen Pansy Parkinson properly nervous. It's unsettling. Hermione would like her brash best friend back, please and thank you.
"He's… Well," Pansy pauses. "Look, I'm not actually supposed to tell anyone about this. But A, best friends don't count in that rule, and B, I didn't want you to find out through the Prophet when this inevitably hits the stands."
Hermione braces herself for impact, nodding for Pansy to continue.
"Astoria is pregnant."
Hermione feels light-headed for a moment. She supposes this was to be expected. Pregnancy does often follow closely behind marriage.
For a split second, Hermione imagines a small child, with platinum blonde hair, fair skin and icy eyes. Yes, Draco Malfoy would produce beautiful babies, as would Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy. Hermione can't deny that a child born of those two will be undoubtedly lovely.
"Oh. That's… Good for them," Hermione says, attempting to sound unbothered and probably failing miserably.
Pansy reaches for Hermione's hand, squeezing in reassurance.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Pansy says quietly, threading her fingers through Hermione's.
Hermione sighs. What is she thinking?
"I'm thinking… I'm thinking that that child will probably be beautiful," Hermione starts, averting her eyes from her best friend's. "I'm thinking that I hope he's happy."
Pansy scoots closer to Hermione on the sofa and wraps her arms around her, correctly sensing that her best friend sort of feels like she's going to come apart at the seams any second now.
"It's okay to be upset, Granger," Pansy says, resting her chin on the top of Hermione's head when the witch lays her head against her chest.
Hermione nods. She knows that. She knows that it's healthy to feel her feelings when they come up. But it's been two years. She should be over him by now.
Hermione knows that growth is not linear, and that finding out that her ex's wife is pregnant is a massive trigger, so it's not necessarily surprising that she's bothered. It is, however, frustrating.
Hermione allows herself a few moments to be upset. She feels one single tear flow down her cheek and she doesn't wipe it away.
Pansy Parkinson is surely lucky that Hermione loves her as much as she does. If she didn't, she certainly wouldn't be trudging through Diagon in the snow.
Hermione arrives at Madam Malkin's, freezing and wet. She yanks open the door and quickly casts a drying charm and a warming charm upon herself.
Hermione steps toward the counter, smiling at the blonde witch at the register, who is paying no mind to the customer who has just walked in.
Hermione has never felt entirely comfortable shopping for clothing– especially formal wizarding robes. Despite living in the wizarding world for most of her life, Hermione still has a strong preference for Muggle clothing.
"Good morning," Hermione greets the employee.
The witch looks up from the register and her eyes widen when she notices who is standing in front of her.
"Ms. Granger!" the witch shrieks, and Hermione notices her cheeks turning red.
Hermione cringes. Of course, the witch knows who she is. She looks to be a couple of years younger than Hermione, but of course, that doesn't matter. She's Hermione Granger. Hermione just barely stops herself from rolling her eyes.
"Hello, Ms…?" Hermione looks for a nametag, but the witch isn't wearing one.
"Oh! Cordelia, ma'am," the witch– Cordelia– introduces herself.
Hermione nods. Ma'am. Would it kill people to just call her 'Hermione'?
"Cordelia, then," Hermione begins, glancing around the shop, suddenly becoming concerned with the sheer number of choices in front of her. "I find myself in need of robes for a formal event– a birthday party."
Cordelia's smile brightens.
"Of course, Ms. Granger! Please, follow me!"
Cordelia steps out from behind the counter and directs Hermione toward a rack of, admittedly, quite beautiful dress robes.
"Is there a color scheme you're looking for, or a style, perhaps?"
From then on, Hermione spends far too long trying on robes, opting to take Cordelia's advice in more than one area. Hermione settles on a lovely set of slim-fitting, navy, satin robes with silver embroidery at the hem of the floor-length skirt, and at the edges of the long sleeves. It's really a lovely set of robes.
For a moment, Hermione thinks that this shopping trip was far less painful than she expected it to be– but only for a moment.
The bell above the door dings, and inside walks an older witch, with striking– and instantly recognizable– blonde hair.
Hermione wishes she'd taken even just ten minutes fewer to make her decision on her robes.
Hermione thinks about trying to escape out the back door, but the witch sees her first.
"Ah, Ms. Granger, how lovely to see you," Narcissa Malfoy smiles, and Hermione thinks it might be genuine.
Hermione takes a moment to steel herself, even still.
"You as well, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione responds, overly stiffly– especially when she considers how warmly she used to regard this particular witch.
Narcissa eyes Hermione pointedly, and she knows exactly what she's going to say.
"Now, I thought we'd discussed that, Ms. Granger," Narcissa points out, clasping her hands in front of herself. "It's Narcissa, please."
Hermione softens slightly.
"Of course, Narcissa," Hermione smiles sheepishly. "It really is lovely to see you."
Hermione had been surprised, to say the least, when Draco reintroduced her to his mother. Narcissa was warm and welcoming, and far more accepting of her relationship with her son than Hermione had expected. Hermione supposed that at the end of the day, Narcissa was just a mother who wanted her son to be happy.
Over the years that Hermione and Draco spent together, Hermione found that she quite enjoyed talking with Narcissa, as well. The older witch had made a considerable effort to apologize to Hermione for her prior actions. She explained that she deeply regretted allowing her husband to make decisions that did not reflect her own interests. She apologized profusely, just as Draco had, and Hermione found that she wanted to believe that the two Malfoys had meant what they said.
Hermione is well aware that Lucius Malfoy is not in agreement with his wife and son. Hermione is unsure whether he knows about her prior relationship with his son, but she finds, upon self-reflection, that she doesn't really want to find out.
"It's lovely to see you too, dear," Narcissa smiles, and for a moment, Hermione pretends she's three years younger and talking with her boyfriend's mother. "Do you hear much from Draco?"
Something tells Hermione that Narcissa knows the answer to that question. Hermione wonders why Narcissa would ask a question she already knows the answer to, but then she remembers that this is Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione can't be sure, but she guesses that Narcissa has some sort of agenda.
"No, not really," Hermione responds honestly. Or, not at all. Not since your husband married him off to the highest bidder, Hermione adds silently.
Narcissa nods, as if Hermione had just confirmed some sort of suspicion.
"Shame," Narcissa sighs dramatically. "Well, I'm sure you know that his wife will be delivering their child any day now. We've kept the pregnancy fairly quiet, but news does travel."
Hermione nods, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she tries to avoid remembering how she'd broken down on her sofa in Pansy's arms after the witch informed her of Astoria's pregnancy all those months ago.
"Yes, I'd heard that. You must be pleased to be becoming a grandmother," Hermione smiles, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.
Narcissa nods, but looks at Hermione as if she's trying to convey some sort of message through sheer force of will. Too bad Hermione doesn't speak fluent eye movement.
"Oh, yes, of course," Narcissa agrees, wistfully. "Lucius will be pleased, anyway."
Hermione furrows her brows slightly. Narcissa does seem happy about her prospective grandchild, but there's something else there, too. Something Hermione doesn't have enough information yet to label.
Then Narcissa does something which surprises Hermione again– she reaches out, and places her hands on Hermione's upper arms, holding onto her just this side of too tightly.
"I know I don't have to remind you of this, Ms. Granger, but please, do try to keep hold of that open mind of yours," Narcissa pleads earnestly.
Hermione's brow creases again.
"I don't understand–," Hermione starts, trying to piece together whatever clues Narcissa is trying to give her.
Narcissa actually shushes Hermione quietly. Hermione's eyebrows raise in alarm. She'd just been shushed by Narcissa Malfoy.
"Remember what I've said, Hermione."
Hermione's mind is reeling. Narcissa called her Hermione. Narcissa is a paragon of propriety, even on her worst days.
Hermione finds that, despite not having any firm reason to– and, in fact, several reasons to the contrary– she actually trusts Narcissa. So, she agrees, nodding her head slowly.
Narcissa disappears out of the store and down Diagon before Hermione can even register all of what just happened. She's so flustered when she leaves Madam Malkin's that she almost forgets to pay for her robes.
It's three days later when Hermione finds out what Narcissa meant by, 'keep an open mind.'
Hermione arrives home after a particularly grueling day at the Ministry via floo, and she takes a minute to dust off the soot before stepping out of the hearth.
She notices that Crookshanks is sitting beside the front door to her flat, which is unusual for him, but she doesn't think much of it. She will later realize that this was a gross oversight.
She has only enough time to slip out of her heels before a knock on her door reverberates through her flat.
Very few people ever knock on Hermione's door. It is limited mostly to her landlord, and her elderly neighbor who occasionally asks Hermione for help with his groceries, and Hermione finds it highly unlikely that either of those people are knocking on her door at seven in the evening.
Hermione looks to Crooks, and the big orange beast eyes her in return.
"Did you invite someone?" she asks, still terribly confused.
Crookshanks gives her a look which seems to mean, Of course not, I'm a cat.
Hermione lives in an old apartment building in Muggle London, hence her propensity for traveling by floo. She's never had to worry much about someone showing up to her apartment to hurt her. She didn't even think of not having a peephole on her front door as a negative when she leased the apartment. She thinks of it as a definite con now.
Her post-War reflexes are a little rusty, but she still grapples for her wand and holds it firmly in her right hand.
The knock sounds again.
Hermione bites her lip, but decides that she's probably being silly. Perhaps it is just Mr. Roman, in need of help with his groceries or asking to borrow some sugar.
Hermione unlocks the deadbolt and slips the chain lock from its track and twists the doorknob.
No, certainly not Mr. Roman.
"Draco?"
Hi, so, apparently I'm incapable of sticking to a schedule. BUT I figured that since this is complete now, I can just upload whenever I want. :P I'm sure none of y'all will mind if I ulpload more often than I said I would, lol. :P
And, lol, sorry in advance for the next chapter. :P That's all the warning you get. :P
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Oh! And before I forget, I got a review from someone saying that this story "certainly wasn't [worth the wait]" and to that I say, "Dude. It's not finished yet." Lol. In other news, THANK YOU to those of you who reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. on the last chapter. I got SO MANY new follows and favorites for this story and it just makes me so much more excited to share this with you.
Thank you all so much for your support. It truly means more to me than you can imagine.
Please review, if you're so inclined. They make me smile. (: