Hermione wondered how long it could take to buy bread. She had long sipped the tea Draco had made her and she had gotten up, when she finally felt a little better. She probably should see a doctor. Or maybe she could make a quick visit to her parents. Sure, they were dentists, but they had basic teaching as doctors.
She smiled remembering their visit last week. Draco had been right to insist on flowers. Her mum, or rather Monica, had been delighted. It felt strange to call her parents Monica and Wendell, but the memory of their real names was gone for good. Her mother, ever the pragmatic, had accepted that there were parts of her memories she would never recover. At least they did remember bits and pieces of Hermione's childhood and she was thankful for that.
It was not very surprising maybe, that they were deeply sceptical of the magical world. Their one brush with Voldemort had deeply unsettled them. Torn between being angry at her for obliviating her and the relief, that they were unable to provide the knowledge the dark wizards wanted, the years after Voldemort's death had mellowed their frustration about Hermione's reckless attempt to save them for the price of their memories. They were still angry that no other wizard or witch had tried to save them, only Snape. Somehow their mistrust against wizards did not extend to Draco, if it was because they had identified him as the person who had been in an understanding with their saviour Snape or because he was not able to do magic any longer, Hermione did not know. Their opinion on the trial was set, and her father had asked her multiple times if she really had been friends with that Harry Potter guy, and her mother had shaken her head at the ginger boy who really had no idea how to behave in a courtroom.
They had only brushed the subject of Draco's family very shortly. Hermione's father had patted Draco on the shoulder and had told him, that they were happy to have gained a daughter and a son-in-law within the time of a few months. Hermione knew that some memories would never be regained, but she was glad, that her parents still had her back. She felt like it was much more than she deserved.
She wondered if she should look for Draco. Maybe the bakery was closed today, and he had gone to search for another rather than return to her flat. She decided on waiting just a little bit longer when a new wave of nausea hit her. She went into the kitchen and took some crackers and nibbled on them. Strangely enough that seemed to calm her upset stomach and the queasiness retreated.
She quickly dressed, with jeans and a shirt and smiled to herself, wondering how long she would stay dressed once Draco had returned. When the doorbell rang, she went to open, thinking that Draco had just forgotten his key.
"I thought you had lost your way," she said when she opened the door, but it was Luna, who stood at the door.
Luna grinned at her. "Hermione, you are a sight, so many limpiepinkies."
Hermione smiled in return. "Luna, I didn't expect you before tomorrow."
"Haven't you seen the prophet?" Luna entered. "I mean, they are tiptoeing around the truth as always, but you'll never believe what happened after the minister registered your marriage."
"He did?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, the day before yesterday." Luna chuckled. "You know I have heard about collateral damage, but I think this is a case of collateral benefit - from a certain perspective."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at Luna. She was sure, it would make sense once Luna could be bothered to explain. In her experience, Luna's ramblings fell into place if you took the trouble to follow her on the meandering paths of her thoughts. It had taken her some time to accept that Luna in her own way was exceptionally smart.
Luna opened her tiny purse, and took out a huge stack of letters, that had only fit in there because she had learned the knack of Hermione's undetectable extension charm.
"The House elves are in rebellion and claim fair wages and working conditions everywhere in the country, and look how many of them want Hermione Granger, ehem, Granger-Malfoy as their legal representation."
Luna dumped the stack of letters in Hermione's arms and stretched her own arm to reach deeper into her purse. "There are more."
Hermione's queasiness was washed away in her excitement when she saw the sheer amount of letters. "I'm still not sure I get you Luna. Why do they rebel now, and what is the connection to Draco's and my marriage?" She would get the missing piece of the puzzle out of Luna's head eventually.
Luna laughed. "The prophet was very vague, but if I understood them correctly, one of Draco's ancestors made a pact with other rich pureblood families. They wanted to ensure that the heirs would never marry half-bloods or Merlin forbid muggleborns. And they connected their pact to the magic that connects the elves to their families."
Hermione's thoughts reeled. "So, any family whose heir stepped out of the line would lose their elves. That's quite an incentive to go for the typically arranged marriage."
"Not just any family, all of them! Isn't this the sweetest revenge ever for poor Dobby? And a punishment for the disdain half of them showed for little Prudy?"
Hermione laughed. "I never knew you could be so vindictive, Luna."
"It could only be reversed, if Draco would divorce you, of course, but since he already accepted disinheritance on your behalf, I doubt that some rich families losing house elves would faze him, eh?"
Luna looked past Hermione. "Where is he anyway? Where have you hidden him?"
Hermione's heart lifted, that Luna seemed to be so accepting and silently thanked the non-existent limpiepinkies for getting Luna on her side.
"He apparently got lost on his way to buy bread. I'll tell him to hurry." She waved her wand, produced her otter, and sent him after Draco.
"That might not work," Luna tapped her lips with her own wand. "Does the patronus find him? I mean, there is his scutum."
"Hmm," Hermione mused. She hadn't thought about that. "We'll see." Draco and she had been glued to each other for three weeks, and if she was honest, she was not tired of it. She could always buy a mobile. Draco had one and it had been returned to him like all his other stuff.
The stack of letters Luna had brought meant a lot of work was to be done. She could barely believe her luck. She suspected, that Prudy had had a hand in all the house elves wanting her as their lawyer.
She invited Luna to sit beside her and they studied the letters. She chuckled. Fawley, Nott, Greengrass, Parkinson, they all had rebels in their houses. Only, the Malfoy elves were conspicuously absent. Apparently, the elves still needed some connection to their families, and they mostly just wanted to stay with their families, but with a working contract. She would have to work out something that allowed a fraction of the connection to the families to remain, just like she had done in Kreacher's case.
She discussed possible options with Luna, but was a bit distracted because Draco still had not returned. When she had eaten the last of the crackers, she finally decided that she was irritated enough that she would search for Draco. Luna wanted to help but insisted that Hermione drank before they left the flat. She had an odd look about her, when she said that, as if Hermione herself should have thought about drinking a glass of water. Probably the limpiepinkies needed water in addition to love to exist and be in symbiosis with her.
She was chuckling inwardly at her own musings, when she entered the street, Luna at her heels, and ran directly into Dawlish, the auror who had been Draco's escort at the trial.
Hermione's heartbeat quickened up pace so fast, that she felt she was about to swoon. Despite the muggle environment she drew her wand within seconds and gripped it so hard that her knuckles became white. Suddenly, Draco's dawdling was not funny at all.
"What is it?", she asked, fighting another bout of nausea.
Harry and Ron turned up behind Dawlish.
"Where's Draco? What have you done to him?" Side by side with the nausea was a ball of anger in her guts, that clouded her vision.
Harry raised both his hands, showing her that he did not hold a wand.
"Hermione, please, listen. Nothing has happened to Malfoy." His green eyes were soft and kind like the Harry she thought she had known. Ron behind him was fidgeting. "There is something you have to know though."
Hermione lowered her wand just a tiny fraction. Harry came closer, approaching her as if she were a skittish hippogriff, still holding up his hands. Ron copied him.
"You have not been yourself, Hermione, and auror Smith found out why. Ron and I want to help you. We're going to help you get through this."
Hermione scoffed and raised her wand again. "I am very much myself, thank you, and I ask you again. Where's Draco? And what have you done?"
"Auror Potter and Auror Weasley haven't done anything to him," Dawlish drawled. "He put up a fight, but it was all Smith and me. As long as he adheres to the contact ban that the wizengamot pronounced this morning nothing will happen to him."
"Contact ban?" Hermione felt dread settle on her as if she had been doused with ice water.
"He has been feeding you Amortentia, Hermione, that is why you acted so weirdly. You have to be separated from him." Ron's voice held a hint of triumph and vindictiveness that flared Hermione's anger.
She let out a loud laugh, deliberately putting disdain into it. "Are you out of your mind? He can't brew potions. Why is it so bloody difficult to understand how a scutum works for you morons?"
"Slughorn analysed the remains we found in the cauldron he hid just outside his flat. It was a variant that can be brewed without wandwork, difficult but not impossible."
"Slughorn?" Hermione was seething. "Slughorn? Well, congratulations, Ron. I wouldn't have thought that you would steep so low as to plant false evidence. That is directly against your auror oath."
"Smith found the cauldron and the vials," Dawlish put in.
"That someone else put there. Certainly not Draco." Hermione cut him short. She narrowed her eyes at the amassed stupidity in front of her. How they were blinded by hate and dislike.
"Draco's flat was searched multiple times and this cauldron was somehow overlooked? Nobody believed he brewed the Phoenix Potion the muggle way, but when it is some variant of Amortentia nobody ever heard of, he suddenly can do it? And how would he even have fed the potion to me? Even imbeciles like you must admit, that this practically yells framing." She was tempted to hex them into oblivion.
"Harry," Luna's voice was timid, and she sounded shaken by their loud quarrel. "You must be mistaken. Amortentia cannot be involved. Limpiepinkies are only attracted when it is true love."
"Limpiepinkies, Luna?" Ron's face became red. "What kind of nonsense is that! Malfoy drugged Hermione. Probably with the help of that elf. He used our Hermione to wriggle out of a just sentence."
Hermione laid her hand on Luna's arm. "No need to get all agitated."
She inhaled slowly and stretched out her hand. "Just give it to me, Dawlish".
"What?"
She rolled her eyes. "The antidote. I'll swallow it, you will confirm I swallowed it and then we can put this nonsense behind us. Because I am quite certain, that I'll still love Draco after downing the antidote."
Harry and Ron looked at her with pity in their eyes, which got Hermione all riled up. A false smile was planted on Dawlish's face.
His deep voice rumbled. "There is no antidote for this version of Amortentia, which is why the contact ban was pronounced. It is to be effective forthwith until you are no longer affected by the potion. The auror department will ensure that Mr Malfoy will not come within 50 feet of you."
She had difficulty processing that. The ball of anger in her grew, but the nausea also raised its head again. She blinked several times, desperately wishing that she would wake from this nightmare. Ron approached her, laying a hand on her shoulder.
She turned away, violently slapping his arm away. Tears sprang to her eyes and she was unable to hold them at bay.
"How long?" she screamed.
"Two and a half years, 900 days to be exact."
Harry took a step, closing in on her, his eyes locking with hers over the rims of his glasses. He still had that absurd look of pity in his face.
She pushed him hard, yelling inarticulately, spewing insults. She was sure she was making quite a spectacle and a part of her brain tried to tell her, that she only made it worse, that their suspicions would be confirmed by her completely losing control.
She never remembered the next minutes clearly. Somehow Luna must have brought her back to her flat. She could hear her voice, calmly telling her to concentrate on breathing, pressing a moist cloth doused in something that smelled like peppermint to her brows, dapping at her cheeks to wipe away the tears, cleaning her mouth, that tasted as if she had thrown up. Through the veil of her tears, Hermione saw Harry and Ron applying anti apparition wards on her flat. Harry's glasses were broken, and Ron sported a black eye. Dawlish's suit was torn and stained.
Luna did some spells over her head, probably something to chase off some of the tiny creatures who feasted on all her negative emotions.
"Harry, Ron, Mr Dawlish." Hermione barely recognized her own voice.
They looked up, when she stood.
"You will leave my flat."
Ron and Harry looked at her with that maddening pity in their eyes. Dawlish set his face in a mien of professional distance.
"This very moment," she hissed, gripping her wand tightly.
And they did. Ron turned when he had reached the flat's door, but Hermione refused to look at him, crossing her arms.
When they had left, her tears began to flow again.
Luna pulled her into a tight embrace. "Hermione, please, calm down. All this commotion cannot be good for the baby."
"The baby?" Her tears stopped. "The baby?"
She wanted to tell Luna that she could not be pregnant. That Luna and her uncanny knack for intuition must be wrong. She had cast a contraceptive every time.
And then the sudden insight hit her. She moaned and put her face in her hands. "The scutum."
She could not help herself and barked a short laughter. "The bloody scutum. All the contraceptives were for nothing."
And then she threw up, directly at Luna's feet and began to cry again, just as the first of many howlers arrived.
Notes:
This chapter might get you emotional as well...
Or maybe I should say. This chapter probably will get you emotional.
Chapter 68: The Muggle Detective
Summary:
Ron meets a muggle detective.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ron savoured the fact, that people did not know him in the small café where he was to meet E. Jensen. It was such a relief not to be recognised. He wondered if he should do this more often. He only knew E. Jensen from her letters, which were short and to the point, written with some muggle device. The only handwritten part had been her signature, bold and sweeping. In theory, Ron knew that muggles had faster ways to communicate now, but Ms. Jensen had been his only muggle contact for quite a while. He had found her via his father's cousin, the attorney.
Ron looked at the list, that he had snitched from Harry's desk, when Harry had discussed his tasks with Teddy Lupin. Teddy had accused Harry of keeping him out of danger, rather heatedly, and Ron had taken the chance to copy the list, when their argument dragged on.
It made him shudder. So many names from wizarding society, old names like Greengrass and Fawley, but others as well, the Sloanes, the Dohertys, the MacFingalls. And some names that must be muggle names. This list was the real danger, Ron was sure. Something was afoot.
A name that was notably missing from this list was the name Malfoy. It was the last piece to the puzzle that had been whirling in Ron's head ever since Harry had asked him to help him 'unofficially'. Ron had been happy to help, but now, in hindsight, Harry's offer left a stale taste in his mouth. Ron thought that Harry could have just told him, that he was to act as a decoy. He wondered if Ginny knew how devious Harry had become.
When a woman with blond hair that reached just to her chin entered the café, Ron dismissed her at first. Her big blue eyes gave her a naïve look, but she purposefully strode to his table.
"Since you're the only ginger around here, you must be Mr Weasley."
Ron stood and shook hands. "I usually am the only redhead, unless one of my brothers happens to be close by."
She took the seat opposite of him. "You do look different than I expected."
"What did you expect?" Ron wanted to know, but she did not deign to answer that.
Her smile opened her mouth enough to show white teeth, but it did not reach her eyes.
"So, Mr Weasley, you want a report on my progress?"
"I am not sure." Ron answered truthfully, waving to the service to order tea.
"You are not sure?" Ron was surprised that her big eyes could narrow to such a degree. "What is this supposed to mean?"
She probably thought he wanted to wriggle out of paying. Ron fidgeted with the spoon. "Look, Ms. Jensen, this is not about me trying to avoid due payment."
She relaxed and the naïve look crept back into her face. Ron suspected that these big blue eyes were an asset in her job. Many people would underestimate her.
"It is just….." Maybe he could be honest with this stranger, more honest than he could be with Harry or Ginny or any of the others who knew everything about his disastrous love life.
He fiddled with a spoon. "When I contacted you back in November from the States, I was in a rather bad place. I missed England and my friends and family here more than I would admit to myself, and I had realised that my marriage was an absolute disaster."
"Disastrous marriages are my business," Ms. Jensen said. "And yet you asked me to look into another marriage than your own."
"She was my teenage sweetheart." Ron admitted.
"Ms. Miller?"
Ron nodded. "And every time one of my own marriages ended up in shambles, I kept thinking that everything would be o.k. if she had just stayed with me. If that blasted bastard had not stolen her."
"How many?"
"Marriages? Three."
"Did your spouses know? That you 've not been over her."
"My first wife told me, that she would talk to me again the moment I were over her." Ron had to laugh. He still remembered Padma, standing in the rain, forgetting to charm an umbrella, and telling him, that she would not be second best to Hermione fucking Granger. "We never talked again, which sort of says it all."
Ms Jensen studied him. "So, you thought you needed to get your teenage sweetheart back to get your life in order, and that is when you contacted me to look into her marriage."
Her eyes studied him. "I've already guessed that she is not your cousin, Mr Weasley, if that is any comfort. I get this kind of contracts occasionally, parents who are worried about their children's spouses, brothers fretting for sisters, and cases like yours as well. I've known right along that Ms. Miller is not a relative of yours."
"I am not even that unhappy," Ron told her. "By now, my feeling that I must be miserable because I was snubbed by her has become sort of a habit."
"A bad habit," he added.
She smiled and this time, her smile reached her eyes. "So, you came to the conclusion that you should get over her, like really get over her."
Ron sighed. "My broken engagement to her has defined me for so long, that I might be over her already without even realising. It didn't help that his family and mine have been in a feud for generations."
"I can see how that adds to the mess."
The waiter brought the tea and the scones, and Ms. Jensen began to tug in heartily. Ron was not far behind. The scones were lovely and tasty.
Ms. Jensen asked him what he did for a living, and he told her that he was into sports.
"Are you a footballer?" she asked. Ron was unsure what to answer. According to Dean football was a popular muggle sport, but if he affirmed football, she might want to learn more.
"Why do you think I do football?" Ron deflected.
"You have money, you are fit, and you have a self-confident way to move, which says that you are well known, famous perhaps in sport circles? I'd say you're a keeper. You are in your late thirties I'd say, early forties perhaps, considering that your teenage sweetheart has an almost adult daughter. And only keepers play that long. Weasley cannot be your real name though. I wasn't able to find you on the internet. You have no social media, a sensible decision for someone famous."
She laughed at his face. Obviously not being found on this internet would be odd or even suspicious perhaps. He nodded feeling sheepish.
"And I have no idea about football, so your probably famous face does nothing to me."
She winked at him. "I do like gingers though."
"This is actually a relief. I am quite fed up with being recognised." He laughed along with her, his heart suddenly lifting.
She wanted to know about his sport and Ron told her some funny stories about teammates that would work in any context and by the time they had finished the tea, Ron had almost forgotten why he had wanted to meet her.
He told her about Richard, something he did not do often. How he thought that he had missed too much of his son's childhood, and that Harry was probably more of a father to Richard than he himself had been. He confessed, that he had thought he wanted many children once, when he had been with his teenage sweetheart, but had realised, that this was not true.
"I have so many siblings, you know, I always thought this was normal, but I've been living on my own for years, I mean in between my marriages, and I like the quiet. I love my brothers, and my sister, but family meetings are almost too much for me. I usually go play outside with the children, and that is nice, but I don't want them around every day."
She came from a big family as well. Her mother was Greek, and her father was a Dane and Ron almost choked when she told him that one of her brothers was called Peer. Ron bit his lip. He would not ask how Peer had been conceived.
"And then there are Nicki and me. We have Greek names. My sister is called Berenice and I am Eurydice. Can you believe that?"
"Eurydice". Ron was tempted to ask her if she was a witch. She couldn't be though. His father's cousin would have known.
"I usually go by Ricki. That is how my sister called me, when I was little. You can call me Ricki, if you want."
"I'm Ronald, Ron for my friends." He smiled, hoping she would call him Ron.
She was so easy to talk to. He told her so. "I guess you just drink tea and they all look at you and spill out all their secrets."
He laughed. "Just like I did. Your eyes do it. They look so trusting and naïve, and I bet you play them all."
Her laughter was uplifting. "I'm not after your secrets, Ron, not unless you pay me. Would you like to pay me for learning things about yourself you don't even know yourself? It seems to me that you have done that pretty much on your own."
"Well, I had about 18 years to work it out. Took me long enough." He shrugged, somehow feeling unburdened. It had helped to talk to Ricky.
"I've never been the fastest thinker," he admitted.
"So, do you even want a report, Ron." She finally asked.
"Just give me the gist of it. I am a bit curious," He wasn't really. He had a feeling that he knew too much already. But she might want to do something for her money, and he had no intention to rob her of her due.
"Well, Duncan Miller can be rather disagreeable if he is put out. I really got on his nerves, I think. He shoved his wife's picture at me at any opportunity, mentioned his numerous children and finally, he told me in no uncertain terms, that he was happily married, thank you very much, and that his wife and he did not go through hell and back again for him to risk his marriage in a fling with a woman he wasn't even attracted to."
She laughed at Ron's face. "I am lucky, he did not cancel the catering for my friend's marriage or Marianne would have killed me."
"That was blunt," Ron commented. "I am sorry, I didn't want you to throw yourself at him."
"Well, you know, testing the marriage usually includes something like that. I had no idea you were of the squirming sort. I was playing the very annoying stupid blonde who doesn't take no for an answer." She smiled as if she were amused by his qualms.
She poured herself more tea. "You know, I never let it go too far, just enough to collect some evidence. Private detective is not the most honourable job, and I far prefer to sleuth in other ways. But I have to earn my living. London is expensive."
Ron felt a bit queasy. He really hadn't thought through what 'testing the marriage' would mean.
"You know, the Millers almost make me believe that a good marriage is not beyond sense and reason," she mused. "And you know, I think Ms. Miller is lucky. He is the first man I ever met who does not only know about Jane Austen but has read her books, actually read her books. I hope this does not offend you."
Ron grimaced. "In a way, I have known for ages that they probably fit well. I was just not ready to admit it. I bet he organises his day as much as she does." He thought about the homework planner Hermione had given them in third year (or was it fourth year) as a present. He knew that Draco Malfoy would not need such a thing. He was frightening well organised.
"Well, this is not how my talk with a client usually goes, but I am glad, that you took the opportunity to gain insight!" She raised her eyebrows and Ron found himself smiling. "My meetings with my clients rarely are so amiable."
Her blue eyes looked like the sea on a sunny day.
Ron felt a tiny butterfly in his breast. "I enjoyed this as well, and I would very much like to meet for tea whenever you have time."
Ricky smiled. "Why not?"
"Actually, I do have another proposal for you. Some real sleuthing… Do you do that as well? I mean, would you look into a real scandal?" He hoped that this did not sound creepy to her.
"Well, scandals and divorce sometimes go hand in hand. Do you want me to check your latest ex?"
Ron shook his head. "No need. She's going for a nasty divorce, but nothing my lawyer can't handle."
He grimaced. "And nothing I don't deserve. I never loved her. Vegas is the worst idea. I can tell you that. And I think you've put me off from this kind of investigation for all eternity."
He straightened out the list he had brought.
"You see, my best friend is an. " he stopped himself just in time. " a policeman, and he recently found out that his department is… how to say this, compromised? And he is after a murder case that probably was covered by people very high up."
"And he needs help from outside. He… " Ron hesitated. "He doesn't know that I got hold of this list, but I want to help him, really help him."
"These are phone numbers…." Ricky's face became serious. She pointed at one of the muggle names Ron did not know.
"Is this who I think it is?"
"I guess so?" Ron answered.
"Wow," Ricky said. "This is serious. She shook her head. "The main counsellor of the prime minister, Jesus fucking Christ."
"I don't really want you to look into that list, but I want you to look for connections, suspicious deaths of children, possibly under eleven. A real health care scandal…." He was proud that he had found out how to call this in muggle terms.
She took the list. "You know, I hate the current government so much. I'll do anything to help you to throw dirt on them."
"Why do you hate them?"
"Because of fucking Brexit. I've lived in this country since I was born, but my parents never applied for citizenship. So, I must do that now, and I hate, hate, hate it, that they do this to us. It's fucking expensive and I have to hand in my old passport, and I can't leave the country for six months and then I can't visit my parents in Greece. They've already fled the country."
Ron tried to piece together what she said. He dimly remembered something Harry had told him. "So you don't have a mu…." He caught himself. "You don't have a passport, I mean an English passport." Passport was the right word, wasn't it? That was what she had said.
"Yes, don't tell me you are a Brexiteer. We had such a nice chat. I would be sad to cancel you."
Her tone told Ron that that was something she looked down upon in disdain.
"No, I am not." He was reasonably sure, that he wasn't.
He suddenly had an idea. "I might be able to help you with that passport, in addition to paying you for your sleuthing."
"Oh, I am bloody desperate. I would not mind skirting the usual process." She winked. "And I'll get money as well. Talk about a nice combination of duty and fun."
When Ron finally left the café, he had a spring in his step. He felt confident, that Ricky would be able to find more muggleborns who had died of rare illnesses. He would probably have to breach the statute of secrecy at some time.
He pictured himself introducing Ricky to his siblings with her real name. 'This is Eurydike' he would say. And they would not believe that she was a muggle with that name. He smiled.
He stepped into a bookshop and inquired after books by Jane Austen. He would not let himself be outdone by Malfoy in muggle literature, that was for sure.
Notes:
The ideas to this chapter come mostly from a chat with Marydri. E. Jensen was always part of the story, as she was mentioned really early on (if not by name), but some of her background was developed in that chat.
The Brexit allusions are all mine and they derive from some of the devastating experiences of some of my friends who live in England.
And E. Jensen has her own ideas why Ron Weasley did not show up on her searches... And she is very, very curious... But that is for another story...
Chapter 69: The perks of getting along with the in-laws (April 12, 2002)
Summary:
Draco tries to come to terms with the contact ban.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When he woke, it took Draco a moment to process that he had not woken up at Hermione's side. He had slept in a tiny booth at a Youth Hostel, and he should have known that the bed was far too narrow for two, but sleep had bedazzled him for a time. He had not wanted to return to his flat, which he had not been to since that day in September when he got arrested. There was no way to say what the aurors would make of his return there. They might try to plant other evidence. He felt safer in the Youth Hostel, inconspicuously hidden in the midst of muggle tourists excited to see London.
A great emptiness stretched where his heart had been. He wondered if it would have been better if he had gone to Azkaban. The abyss of his misery might have been deeper, but on the other hand he would not have fallen from the summit of utter happiness. Pummelling the pillow and picturing hitting Ron Weasley's freckled face did not help either. He was filled with a mixture of anger, sorrow and a simple deep-set yearning for Hermione that threatened to tear him to pieces, or at least it felt like that.
The aurors had told him, that he would not be under surveillance, that they would ensure the contact ban from Hermione's side, that is they had explained that, after he had given up raging at them. Dawlish had explained the conditions to him in a roundabout and condescending way, that had driven Draco nuts and almost made him hit Dawlish. Anti-apparition wards on Hermione's flat – as if he could apparate to her flat! – and an auror at her side in a suitable distance. All to ensure, that Draco would not get anywhere near her. It was all a terrible waste of money and time he had told them. He had not given amortentia to anybody, especially not Hermione, he had told them. Draco had almost blacked out with hatred when he saw that Potter and the Weasel had arrived and stood by as he was lectured. Two and a half years. 900 days, to be precise.
Well, 899 days as of today. Maybe he could just close his eyes and will the time to pass. But sitting around would only make it more unbearable. Draco decided to do what he had postponed during the honeymoon. Money was a pressing issue and Malcolm had promised to take him in again.
He took the tube and made several detours. At least in that regard, the aurors kept their word. Draco was not being followed. Aurors would probably descend on him like hawks if he were to approach Hermione. He was tempted to try anyway, just to see her from afar, but he did not want to risk his freedom either, or a chance to see her after the commotion had died down. There should be a way to attack this stupid contact ban by disputing it.
Malcolm's welcome was warm and heartfelt and a balm to Draco's soul. Draco told him that he was free to work as he wanted and decided not to elaborate on his predicament. He was a free man after all, not on probation either. If they did not manage to get the ban lifted, there wouldn't be much need for free time either, a very depressing thought. They spoke about a contract and Malcolm gave him a job and graciously allowed for plenty of free time for Draco to participate in further education and get a driving licence. It was far more generous than Draco had any reason to expect.
Malcolm patted him on the shoulder. "Your solicitor seemed a competent woman, I had the feeling, that she might get this sorted out for you."
Draco gave a short laugh. "She was magnificent."
Malcolm smiled. "You might want to move a bit closer to work. Friend of mine has a small flat two streets from here. It's not much, but you'll save time if you don't have to commute."
"You're friendlier than my own father," Draco blurted out.
Malcolm winked. "I just want you to experiment on recipes. The chocolate-lemon-cake sells like hotcakes."
After he had agreed to start work on the next Monday, he went into the city and bought two Irish Claddagh rings, in an act of defiance that further depleted his meagre funds. The jeweller looked strangely at Draco when he commissioned an engraving on both rings.
"You don't know the exact ring size of your wife but want me to do an engraving? What if the ring's too big?"
"Never mind about that," Draco said. Hermione could always shrink the ring magically. They promised to do it immediately and Draco aimlessly wandered through the streets, entering bookshops. Two Jane Austen paperbacks – 'Persuasion' and 'Sense and Sensibility' – from a rummage table were in his bag, when he picked up the rings three hours later.
He had wanted to slip the ring on his finger immediately but had stopped himself when he had seen the jeweller making a funny face. Draco took of his family ring and contemplated pawning it just to spite his father, but then he let it slip into his pocket and replaced it with his new wedding band. He had survived Voldemort, he would survive this. He had not gone through hell and a trial to lose her now.
It was almost teatime when he reached Mayweed Grove and his parents-in-law, in the hope that the aurors would not be too interested in them. Monica pulled him into the house as if she feared that he would be seen.
"Draco," she said. "We were so worried, where have you been? Hermione only told us bits and pieces. She's been here earlier with one of those aurors. She is beside herself. I barely understood what she was saying."
"I am sorry, I should have called, but I still haven't processed it all. I'm not even sure, if I can visit you."
"As long as you and Hermione are not here at the same time, that should be possible, if I understood Hermione correctly. She was talking in riddles, with that auror lurking around."
"Thank Merlin," Draco was relieved. He would be thankful for small mercies.
Draco gave them the ring, he had purchased. "Can you give this to Hermione the next time she is here?"
He flushed. "We talked about rings, but somehow we didn't manage to purchase them during our honeymoon, but this is what we agreed on."
"Hermione bought a mobile," Wendell said. He gave a shred of paper to Draco. Draco grabbed it and typed the number into the contacts on his own mobile. He filed her under Elizabeth Bennet, just in case an auror would want to look at his phone. He sighed in relief and closed his fist around the paper to remind himself that they could communicate. He praised all the expertise in muggle technology he had earned after the Battle of Hogwarts. They still would have to work out how. Aurors might be too stupid to suspect Muggle technology, but Draco would not count on it that they would not realise if he actually spoke with Hermione over the phone.
"There is also the landline at her flat. We could call her now. You would have to stay silent just in case."
Draco could have hugged his mother-in-law. He felt his eyes prickling.
Monica did as promised, and when she held the receiver in her hand, she pressed the button for the speakers, so that they could all listen in.
When Hermione picked up the line, her voice cut deep into Draco's heart. He balled his hands to fists and pressed them to his lips. He barely heard Monica ask if Hermione could talk openly. Apparently, she could not, or was not certain.
"Did you give my number to cousin John?" she asked.
"Yes, fancy that, he is actually here." Monica affirmed.
"That is a relief. Tell him, not to call me though," Hermione cautioned. "He'd better text me and I'll call when I'm able." Her voice sounded so strained.
"Luna and I have been fighting off howlers all day. Believe it or not, I forgot to tell you this morning, I was so beside myself… My marriage resulted in a house elf rebellion."
"House elf rebellion?" Monica was clearly at a loss.
Draco tried to wrap his brain around Hermione's explanation. Wendell looked at him as if he wanted to say that Draco should have known about this house elf pact. Draco raised his hands in a gesture of utter befuddlement. He had an inkling what his ancestor Sammael had wanted to do but his father had never told him about it.
"Someone, probably Prudy, directed all the elves to me as their legal representation. I am drowning in requests. At least I won't be starving."
Draco hoped that Prudy would not be in trouble over this.
"You're our daughter. You won't starve on our watch anyway," Monica told her.
"I'll try to contest the ban, but it will be difficult. It seems everyone and their mother have a vested interest in getting Draco and me separated. There are the people who think I should not be with him, because they think he is a criminal, then there are the people who think he should not be with me, because I'm supposedly a disgrace, and now you have all the families who are on the verge of losing their elves. And then there are Harry and Ron who think I was drugged and that I am hysterical."
Monica grumbled about 'crooked wizarding law' and 'corrupt police'. "Couldn't you just live outside of their world?"
"No, as a witch I'm subject to wizarding law, and they can enforce it, or they snap my wand."
Draco shook his head vehemently.
"And I still want to make a difference. They will not defeat me so easily." Draco did not know how she did it, his fierce fighter of a witch. But she would not give in and neither would he.
"Were you able to get an appointment with Doctor Jameson after you left?" Wendell asked. So, Hermione was still ill. Draco worried.
"Yes, she squeezed me in for your sake. She sends her regards."
"And?" Monica asked. For a long minute there was silence on the other side of the line.
"Luna had it right. I am…." Hermione made some funny sounds that sounded almost as if she was laughing and sobbing at the same time. "Doctor Jameson made an ultrasound and there is already a heartbeat, a tiny fluttering heartbeat."
Draco felt as if he had been hit by a huge brick. His mouth opened. "But…"
Wendell gestured at him to stay silent, and Draco had difficulty to keep his head from swimming. How was that possible. Contraceptive charms did not fail. He barely heard Hermione explain how his scutum must be responsible.
A baby, Hermione was pregnant. They were going to have a baby. His mind reeled. He didn't know if he was happy or desperate. He just knew that he wanted to be with Hermione. His wife. His pregnant wife.
Hermione began to bawl in earnest. And the sound tore, tore at his heart. He could hear Luna Lovegood in the background in Hermione's flat trying to console Hermione, telling her, that she would help. Monica told her over the phone that they would be there for the baby. That she could count on the grandparents.
Before long, he cried as well, and the sound of their sobs blended, while Monica pressed his hand.