"And this room here," Hermione pointed within a threshold, "this is another guest room. It's the biggest so probably be best to put your parents here when they come visit. We have the room, you know. It wouldn't be a bother."
Draco Malfoy observed the room, just as he had all the others. It was his first time in the Granger family home. Hermione was giving a tour. Caprica was safely entertained and coddled by William and Stacey. No harm would befall the infant within their presence.
"Mmm." He said. His fingers gripped his chin as he thought. The wheels of his mind moved and turned in deep contemplation. "It is easy for them to apparate home. There's no reason to inconvenience yourselves."
"It isn't an inconvenience, Drake. They're family."
His lips curled to a soft smile. They pressed against her cheek.
"Whatever you desire, love."
The Granger family house was in Hampstead, just outside London. There were six bedrooms. Plenty of space for the family of three and visitors. The Granger's had not the opportunity to host since the death of Hermione's grandparents. They hadn't the family to share their time and love with. It was only the three Grangers with whom shared the large home.
It had not crossed Draco's mind as being spacious. How could it when he was raised in a mansion with tens of rooms to spare? He failed to consider that most families had one guest room. One. If they were lucky.
It took her explaining the rather typical home of a person for him to realize that estates with spanning lawns were not the constant, but a true rarity in the world. Most of London lived in flats. Flats, while luxurious, were meant to be small as to fit a large population within an area.
Life outside of Wiltshire and the well combed lawns of ancient wizard families with vaults upon vaults to their name was foreign to the Malfoy heir. It was foreign to most of Slytherin house. Their lives high on a hill were all they knew. The wizarding world did not encourage growth, expansion, or adaptation especially in circles of long-standing family lines. Those with magical abilities seemed happy to remain in a constant state of medieval dress and décor without the touches of new society or change.
As a muggleborn, Hermione was accustomed to change. Lots of it. The muggle world changed all the time. Innovation was the market in which all things birthed in the modern world. There were many ways to improve life. It was a respect Hermione held for the other world she knew. Good was not good enough. Just because something worked, did not mean that it couldn't be improved to work better.
Recent years showed that magical blood was slipping. Less and less children were being born with abilities. More squibs appeared within magical lines, the most in centuries. It was now more important than ever to assimilate in muggle life. Soon, it was going to be the only thing left.
"I quite like the additions your father made to your room," Draco said.
The other side of Hermione's bed had been given a matching bedside table and chest of drawers. Both in matte black. It sharply contrasted the lilac and mint green hues of the rest of the room.
Hermione smiled. "At least it is not a secret that we share a bed like at the Manor."
"What I do not like is the distance between our bed and Caprica." His feet trekked down the corridor to the two rooms where they were to stay. "It is too far. She's too little to be so far."
For all the love she held for Draco, his dramatics were the only thing that tired her.
"She's right across the hall."
"What if she cries?" He asked. "We won't hear her in another room."
"I told you my father tried to make the cot fit. It doesn't. We'd have no room to walk."
He did not spare a moment for breath. "That's fine. What do we need to walk for?"
The tension grew in his throat. His eyes darted from their door to the nursery that rested just on the other side. It was aglow with a soft light of a lamp. Stuffed lambs rested atop a chest of drawers of white. Little yellow moons painted down the length of the wall, each phase a paler yellow until the full moon was silver white.
Her parents worked diligently to have it prepared before the end of term so that it was ready for Caprica. It was flawless beyond expression. A true expression of the love to the little being of Hermione's blood and bone.
Her fingers slid through the part of Draco's suit jacket to the warm inside of his body. They moved through to touch the bare flesh buried there.
It helped calm his anxieties. Physical touch. She didn't know why, but she didn't question his need for connection.
"Caprica will be perfectly fine in here. See? It is fit for an infant. Not a sharp edge in sight. And look. Do you see that there?" A small piece of plastic with a circular lens rested on a table alongside the cot. "That is a camera. It will show us what she's doing while she's in here. And if she wakes up, it has a microphone so we can hear."
She showed him the monitor for the camera in her room. The blue plastic had a shrunken screen that showed an empty cot. Pure silence, the only slight shimmer of white noise, echoed through it.
"I suppose that is good enough," he answered, albeit with defeat. "For now."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "The nursery at your parents house is on another wing! What are you going to do then? Or at Hogwarts. They won't permit you to stay within the suite. You know that. And you've got an entire year left there. You can't sneak out every night. Eventually you'll get caught…You're going to have to learn to sleep without her."
The fact was that it was in his best interest to learn to separate from them. She learned how to detract from him. Hogwarts showed that it was impossible for them to remain together all the time. Draco had expectations, as did she.
His lineage mattered little to the school. It was more considered Hermione's child than both of theirs. The responsibility of care and management fell to Hermione's shoulders only. Draco was not forced to adhere to strict rules. He was permitted leave if he wanted. Nothing bound him to caring for his child. It was only his choice – choice – that gave Hermione a break from being a mother.
Had it been Ron's child, it was doubtful there would have been any relief for her. None that the school cared to enforce.
No, it would have been all expected of her to handle. And if she were to fail, it'd be her mind put through the ringer, not the other way round.
Draco's eyes pulled Hermione's to him. They encouraged her forward.
"I cannot sleep without either of you," he explained in a timid tone. "Hermione, I made a vow that I would dedicate myself to my family and making them the best that they can be. My duty is here. With both of you."
"Draco," she sighed. "They won't allow it."
There was no way Professor McGonagall would allow it to happen. It would take her body dead in a shallow grave for Draco to be permitted to reside within Hermione's personal suite.
"We'll see about that," he muttered back.
Time at the Granger household was calm and peaceful. They relaxed. After the stress of final exams and their departure from the castle, the young family needed a chance to fill in some silence. Caprica was happy to spend so much time cuddled against her father's chest.
Supper was taken in their cozy kitchen. All gathered around a table with a large roast centered on a platter, broccoli of brilliant green, a boat of gravy. It all perfumed the air in a beautiful scent of Sunday night supper. It reminded Hermione of her days as a young girl.
"Mum. This is just how Gran used to make it."
Stacey Granger held a small twinkle in her eye as she stared down at the roast she made, not often enough to believe it was her own, and thought of her own mother whose recipe it was. They had buried her three years ago and the wounds of the passing were still not healed. She was an important woman to both the Granger women. Strong and smart as a whip. Stubborn as all hell, too. It was that women who they blamed Hermione's stubbornness on.
She allowed herself a taste of the delectable meat. "She'd be glad that we used it to welcome Draco and Caprica into the family."
"It is delicious," Draco responded. It was his proper manners that were always a saving grace.
Hermione her put hand on his thigh beneath the table and gave it a gentle squeeze of thanks.
"Now Caprica will think of it as her own Gran's roast," she said. Even that thought made her chest flutter. The sudden rattle of withhold cries echoed throughout her chest.
Stacey smiled. "One day it'll be yours, too."
The family thought of the woman they revered and inevitably missed during this special time when new members were added to it. Hermione was a beloved grandchild. A child of a favorite is always adored with patience and care and unending support that could be used in the times ahead.
The future of unwed, magical parents was a tricky topic. None had seen it before. Especially not during their school years. It was difficult to know what difficulties they might face.
A family that could support them as they found their way to standing was the only thing they could depend on. And it was small.
Hermione was an only child, just as Draco. They only had their parents. There was no overflow of cousins and uncles and grandmothers to rush to their aid should anything happen.
"What about you, Draco? Are you close with your grandmother?" Stacey asked.
The mention of a family member reminded Hermione that she had no idea. Since the woman hadn't been mentioned, she assumed that she was no longer alive.
Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, yes. I do."
The fork almost fell from Hermione's hand. "Really?"
He nodded quietly, a little strange for him. Suspicion crept up through her thoughts. She felt the back of her hands go numb with it, then it climbed higher and higher, all the while, something strange twisted her belly.
"I don't recall seeing your grandmother at Christmas," Stacey commented.
Then William finally weighed in from his half-eaten plate. "Does she live abroad?"
"In France. That's where the Malfoy family originated. We moved to England some time ago, but we still keep a connection with the country. My holidays were often spent in the countryside of France." He shifted in his seat.
Hermione noticed his sudden distress by the rising flush in his cheeks. It'd came when the question of his grandmother arose. It was most peculiar.
"France eh?" William sucked his teeth. "Doesn't mean you are a fan of PSG, does it? Because we're Chelsea fans in this house."
Draco's brow flexed. He looked at Hermione with a panic throughout his grey eyes.
It looked like he had just been spoken to in a foreign language.
"Daddy, Draco grew up with Quidditch. Not football," she chided. "Wizards don't know what football is."
William looked rather startled by the news. Startled or pleased. It was difficult to tell. However, he wasted no time in introducing Draco to the home team. The rest of the night was filled with blue jerseys and the explanation of football. They were camped out in front of the telly with the echoes of hundreds of fans coming through the speakers.
By the end of it, Hermione was grateful for bed. If it wasn't Quidditch, it was football. Everything was sports. Her mind was exhausted of both.
Caprica was laid safely in her new cot, sound asleep, too deep in slumber to even stir as Hermione left the room. She readied herself for bed. Draco was in the shower after there was a burping incident that turned into a projectile situation.
His robes were at the end of the bed with their dripping white stains. Though he hadn't thought it funny, Hermione chuckled a bit at the sight of his hair being covered in their daughter's milk. Her fingers ran down the length of the fabric.
"Still laughing at that, are you?" He strolled through the door with only a towel around his hips.
She tucked her smile back where he couldn't see it. "Not at all."
"She could have aimed for my clothes," he ranted as he pulled at drawers in search of clothing. "My shoes, for Salazar's sake. But not my hair. My hair."
It was his one weakness.
His fingers ran through the damp length, fixing it and laying it flat in the mirror. Memory of the hot vomit was still fresh in his mind. Chances were that he'd be protective over it the next time he saw their forever.
Oh Godric. She internally groaned. The wizard would bring it up at Caprica's Hogwarts graduation and, quite possibly, her wedding.
"She probably did it because you like your hair best."
His face contorted in the mirror. "Do not." He smoothed the ends. "I just don't care for retch in it."
He was deliberate with his every motion as he prepared himself for bed. His mind was determined. Each selection was made with purpose. His woven boxers were pulled from between a stack of them, all in different colors. He chose black. Then he picked his shirt: a white cotton T. He pulled flannel pants to complete the look. Grey plaid with white and black lines.
It was the first time she saw him wear something that wasn't a matching silk set.
She wore hers. It was delightful. She could live in the slick smooth silk pyjamas.
He noticed her befuddled gaze as he crawled beneath the blankets. "What?"
"Why aren't you wearing your normal pyjamas?"
"I don't know." He shrugged.
Again, her suspicion was pricked.
"Draco." Her tone turned serious. He noticed. His eyes jumped to her gaze and froze there. "What is going on?"
"Nothing," he retorted.
It was much too fast.
She rose up to sitting. Her legs crossed below the blankets and her arms crossed her chest. "You're behaving strangely."
"I don't only wear silk."
"It's all I've ever seen you wear."
"Well," he sighed, "I do own other clothes that aren't."
He, too, rose up from beneath the cover of their blankets. It was her turn to be the taller of the pair. She glared down at him, unrelenting from the suspicions she had. Her belly had yet to untwist from supper.
Perhaps they had rushed into this too quick.
She hadn't known he had a grandmother, alive, and she didn't know why he was so uncomfortable with the mention of her. Surely his relationship with his grandmother was sound. But, why hadn't she been at the Christmas party if she were living? Everyone else showed. Even the awful Bellatrix arrived to the event.
"I can hear you overthinking." His voice sang. He was close. The warmth of his breath near her nose, cheeks.
She grumbled, "It isn't overthinking if my suspicions are right."
"Suspicions?" He muttered the word, almost unbelieving of it.
Their relationship was built on trust. The thickest walls of foundation laid at the honestly of one another, the deep love and respect in which all other aspects of their love was built on.
Draco prided himself on his relationship with her. The question of her loyalty would never enter his mind as she held all his trust, patience, devotion, and truth. It was understood that they would not – could not – lie to one another. They'd lied to everyone else. Not each other.
Caprica would know no other as her father. Never a sliver of regret nor doubt of her lineage would pass their lips as long as they lived.
Hermione knew that all to be true. In her heart.
It was her mind that refused to shake the surge of apprehension at his secrecy. Something, and there was no telling what, held his tongue. A simple truth as a relation. It was not like she asked for the family jewels!
"You won't talk about your grandmother, you aren't wearing your silk pyjamas. You're acting different."
Draco sighed. A steady stream of hot air from his nostrils, like a dragon might exhale smoke.
"Love, I'd just like to meld into your household without being treated differently." His voice was low and taut with gravity. "My daughter is a Granger. She belongs here. It would be comforting to feel as if I did too, not merely as the father of her, but as a part of the life you live. A family." His fingers itched at the collar of the cotton shirt.
"Honestly, Draco. You meld just fine."
"I feel like an outsider."
"Give it time." She rubbed his hair gently. She ensured she flattened it the way he liked so he wasn't riled about his hair again. "You became one of us when you decided to be my baby daddy."
He wrinkled his nose. "Hey now. I'm more than that now, wouldn't you say?"
Her nose wrinkled to match his. "Oh, are you now?"
Their noses came closer together, touching in a pleasant nuzzle against one another. Small grins overtook their lips. Draco's grey eyes were protected by the low shuttered eyelids that moved closer, closing fully just as his lips collided with hers.
Warmth spread across her mouth onto her face. Sensation of his moist lips as they pressed against hers, beckoning her tongue forward to play, surrounding her mouth as she parted her lips and welcomed an exchange of a full snog.
Birthing their daughter created this wall between them. Intimacy impossible. Something about it left them both happy to stay on their side with only chastise kisses to satisfy their needs.
The rolling, pulling, tightening in her belly started when Draco's hands cascaded lower on her body than the romantic cupping of her face. She awaited in anticipation for his fingers to brush against her chest. It made the agony harder to ignore. Her lips moved with silent murmurs of pleads. "Touch me. Touch me please," they begged in wordless cries. The long pining of his flesh against hers sliding and joining together as they had done before made her wild with desire the moment his hot breath shot from his nose, quickened by his roaming hands and the closing distance between their bodies.
Hermione struggled. Her hands wanted to touch him. His chest was a glorious warmth that she relished under her touch. Silk pyjamas with buttons up the front made the task an easy one. A cotton T-shirt did not. Her hands surged his neck. Their intent to travel lower was impeding by the strict neckline that allowed nothing to dip below.
Finally pushed toward the edge of madness with Draco's fingers toying with her nipples through the thin of her blouse, she ripped his shirt up so the lower of his abdomen was exposed.
He looked down in surprise, lips parted with soft, huffing breaths. "You could've asked. I'll take it off."
"No time," she murmured.
Their lips were locked together again. This time, her hands roamed freely against his flesh. The strong scent of his honey scent filled her nostrils. Land of milk and honey was right. A place of eternal bliss.
She allowed the emotions to overtake the moment, forgetting that there was no end that might happen with a toe-curling climax and that they were in her parents' house. All her body wanted was him.
Draco's lips dipped to the length of her throat. He nipped at the tender flesh there. The shot of momentary pain flooded the place between her thighs with that slippery pleasure juice that had her all convinced another pregnancy wasn't so bad. If she got to have the fun with Draco, it might be worth it.
One moment her blouse was buttoned closed, the other it was open with Draco's face buried within it.
She tilted her head back, allowing the slippery nature of his tongue to pleasure her in a way that was not its intended purpose, when a soft kitten cry blared from the monitor at her side.
Both their bodies froze.
The cries of their infant daughter instantly killed the vibe of romance. Draco pulled down his shirt and climbed from the bed leaving with only a parting kiss on her moist lips.
"Back in a minute."
Hermione slowly buttoned her shirt. An answering cramp spread throughout her body; a ringing clear reminder that birthing a child required recovery – many weeks of it – before trying to stick another one up.
She sighed and reached for a vial on the bedside table. Professor Snape's special brew of postpartum relief was given after Caprica was born. It relieved her pain. Swelling lessened, too, without the compromise of her milk supply.
It'd been an uncomfortable moment when the stoic professor asked after her production and awkwardly asked if she required more. They'd shared a blush a long while after that meeting.
"Oh my little dove," she heard Draco's voice coo through the baby monitor. The grainy video played a scene of his arms reaching toward the wiggling infant and bringing her close to his chest. His body swayed back and forth. "Are you lonely all the way in here?"
His voice was so soft and gentle. Just like his hands. They held their daughter as the most precious creature in the whole world.
Draco's eyes fixed wide open in her presence. He absorbed every movement of the little body. They shared in his smiles, swirling with delight when she smiled and pouted with her puffed bottom lip. There was pain, too, in him when Caprica became upset and impatient. His movements were flustered and rushed in those moments as he struggled to find what was wrong.
This night, it was easy for him to riddle out the cries. A fresh clean nappy was needed.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he said to his wiggling, fussy daughter. "Ooh, big stretch."
Her arms and legs were rigid as she stretched them outward. Hermione saw each tiny finger extend for a moment then curl back together into their preferred position of a fist.
There was a series of unbuttoning, then a louder cry from Caprica as her bum was wiped with a cool wipe, and the frantic trying of Draco to remedy the situation before his daughter turned on him and decided to scream for her mum.
Hermione watched through the screen. Her heart fluttered within her chest. Draco planted a kiss on their daughter's cheek, a sight too precious for words. In seconds, water welled up within her eyes.
It took all her power to not cry.
"What's wrong?" Draco was wrapped with concern when he found Hermione near to tears in the bedroom.
He crawled into the bed right up to her. His hands stretched against the side of her face, easily capturing the short length in his grasp.
"It's just so cute," her lips sputtered.
His nose wrinkled. "Pardon?"
She pointed toward the screen. "It's so cute!" Her voice squeaked.
A bemused smirk crossed his lips. "Off to bed with you, Granger. I think you've gone delirious from exhaustion."
Her hands were clasped across her mouth. "I know I have," she said from behind their protection.
Draco crawled into bed, pulled Hermione to his chest just like he knew she liked to be, and stroked the length of her defeated curls until she was nothing just a dilapidated mess of a witch drooling from the corner of her mouth.
Days at the Granger household were so relaxed. Stacey and William would sneak in some mornings to care for Caprica while her half-dead parents slept. Hermione used the advantage to better her mental capacity. Every day she received an afternoon nap, and after only a week, she was feeling more like her normal self than before she was pregnant.
She felt stronger, too. Her body ached less and less with each rising day.
Eventually she was able to stop wearing the sanitary pads that were like nappies. The sheer volume of blood that passed through her body was horrendously draining. Once it was less than an ocean leaking out of her body, she felt comfortable in a pair of shorts.
No one said there would be so much blood!
There was whispered advice from her mother that low-impact exercise helped recover the 'traumatized muscles'.
"Oh, for pity sake." Hermione turned bright red.
William Granger had taken Draco out for a bit of bonding at a local football match while Hermione, Stacey and Caprica enjoyed the bit of sunny weather. Only a bit of the fresh air had Caprica settled into a deep nap while Stacey and Hermione laid out in their lounge chairs with the hopes of turning a darker shade of cream.
"What? You're a big girl now. Clearly, you're having sex," Stacey said.
Hermione rolled her eyes from behind her sunglasses. "Mum. Please."
"You've got to take care of that pelvic floor. That's what they never tell you. Work those muscles if you don't want to piss yourself whenever you sneeze."
A sexually honest conversation with her mother was not unheard of, but now that Hermione was actively participating, it felt too blunt for comfort.
"Mum, and don't take this the wrong way because I am grateful for the concern, but please don't worry about my pelvic muscles."
"Just a spot of Pilates or yoga will do wonders, dove."
"Mum-!"
"Oh, and walking."
"Think I was a sprog the way you're going on." Hermione groaned. Her head fell back to the lounge chair.
Her mother rose up from her seat. The flowy sun dress caught in the dress and rippled like a flag at the woman swung her legs over the side. The flat length of brown hair fluttered.
"Little dove," her mother hummed. Her hand gently touched against Hermione's shoulder. "This is the first time alone we've had in a long while. Without your dad. God love him, he's just too protective to let us talk freely." When Hermione gave no indication as to what her mother meant, she continued, "I've spent plenty of time with Narcissa and Lucius to know that Draco is a good man. From a good family. The time that he is here only proves it more."
Hermione rose to her elbows, intrigued by the direction the conversation had turned. Her plaits tickled her shoulder blades as the breeze fluttered up behind her back.
"And there have been mentions. Whispers, if you will. Mentions of his intent to make you the next mistress of Malfoy Manor. Which is wonderful. Such a lovely thing for a woman – er, witch. Sorry – to have offered to her." Stacey squinted as she moved her tongue, as if there was contemplation to the words that would come next. "It..is..important to remember that to be honored by the offer and accepting it are two different things. Sometimes we can be grateful to be considered for things but not truly want them."
Hermione lifted the dark shaded glasses from her face. "Are you saying I shouldn't marry Draco?"
"God, no." Her hands instantly shot out. "Dove, there is nothing I adore more than that man being the father of my grandchildren. He is a wonderful father. Anyone can see. And handsome. Aw, love, imagine how fetching your children will be with a wizard like that." Hermione playfully swatted her mother for being so mortifying. Stacey refrained from saying more about her love of the young man, though it was clear that both the Granger parents were smitten with him. She'd never seen her parents so happy. "I only want to be honest about that even though I love Draco, if he is not what you want as a husband, as a life, you still have a choice. Having a child does not mean you must be married. If you wanted different things out of life -."
"I love Draco, Mum." She blurted rather sternly. Something inside her was stirred to the offense. Only when she heard it aloud was she horrified by her tone. Her throat eased before she addressed her mother again. "My entire being. It is like he is the other part of myself that I need to be the person I want to. And if it means having to give up my hopes of traveling and exploring all the ancient libraries of the world just so my daughter can grow up with a father who adores her, I will. I won't think about another book, ever. I'd give it all up for him. As he would for me."
Stacey took her daughter's hand inside her own. At one point, the hand fit inside her palm with ease. Now, they were the same sized with matching short-cut fingernails.
"And your dreams? Finding the library of Alexandria? Alamut Castle? What about Hanlin Academy? You used to go on and on about those libraries. How many books that were lost made you so angry. You'd turn all red just thinking about it."
In truth, she'd not thought of those places in a long time.
As a child, stories of lost knowledge rose that unstoppable Gryffindor spirit to right all the wrongs and find the lost books of those libraries and bring them back so that she might learn more. Alexandria was massive and famous. The elite scholars of China made the Hanlin Academy library – the brightest minds of a large country full of endless wisdom – lost to imperialization and fire.
Books were her one true love. Their loves, adventures, woes, victories filled the empty voids. It made her feel whole in parts where she felt rather lacking.
"Honestly, I haven't felt the need to find them," she revealed, rather surprised at her own self for saying such blasphemy. "Sure, I'd be thrilled to make such discoveries, but it doesn't compare to what I feel now." She swallowed. "Dreams are all fine and good, but I can't chase them with the hopes of happiness when I know, I know, I've got happiness right now."
"What about ten years from now? Will you feel so smitten then by Draco?"
"Ten years? I don't think I'll tire of him until at least twenty." She snorted with a chuckle. "Then when I am, I'll go on holiday to Egypt and roam around a bit until I miss him again."
The sun shined down on them in grateful warmth. Life of England buzzed around them. Birds sang in their delighted tunes. A soft melody of a neighbor's radio drifted on the air as a gentle hum to their ears. Flesh, hot and exposed.
Every once in a while, a car would disrupt the serene of the quiet suburbs. However, it passed. Relaxation restored.
Hermione laid behind her sunglasses – eyes shuttered closed to the probing light – and felt her body absorb all the sun's attention with keen interest. Her soft flesh primed with the heat. Even her toes wiggled in glee at the warmth. Most of the year in a drafty castle left her bones in great need of warming if she would survive another Scottish winter.
If she was frank, the fact that she barely saw much sunlight at all in Hogwarts meant she needed an entire summer to regain all the vitamins she could. Vitamin D felt lovely to gain. A soft warm glow.
The downside of such pursuits left a wicked redness to her flesh that reminded her of the pale complexion she resided in. Despite best efforts with sun cream, often she was left to deal with aftershocks of the close encounter with the sun: sunburn.
At the moment, there was no redness or pain. Just warmth. The soft music of her mother's breath as she sat quietly to herself, absorbing the information just as Hermione absorbed her year's supply of vitamin D.
Stacey gave a soft smile after a long while of thinking. Perhaps it was not her resistance to the deviation of the path that she wanted for her daughter. She did not seem so upset. Not a wrinkle of doubt upon her face.
"So, he's really what you want then?"
Hermione nodded. Life without Draco now she had him was unimaginable.
"Brilliant," Stacey burst. "Narcissa will be thrilled. She does nothing but go on and on about how much she adores you. It is a bit of a testosterone sea over there at the Manor. Needs more womanly company by the way it sounds."
Oh really…
"Just how often do you see Narcissa?"
"We've exchanged letters now since winter holiday. Then started popping out for tea or shopping."
In the short time they'd known one another, Narcissa and Stacey seemed to have bonded as good friends. They knew each other's life story. Narcissa explained the difficulty with her older sister, Bella, and Stacey explained the struggle of being an only child now that her family had aged, mother died, and very few relatives to fill in the time.
Hermione bloomed to hear her mother recount all the fun times she had with another woman. Stacey was not a social woman. She and her daughter were introverts with a preference for the company of one cup of tea and a good book rather than a gathering.
It was not often that her mother lit up about another real person, not a work of fiction.
"She's invited me to a teatime party with her friends next week."
"That will be fun," Hermione answered.
"An owl brought me a dress. Can you believe it? An entire dress all the way from Wiltshire. A gift for tea." Stacey glanced down at her unpainted fingernails. "Do you think me too plain to be mates with an heiress?"
Stacey Granger was an educated woman. The career she chose supported her daughter nicely. Better than many were offered. It was by no stroke of luck that the Grangers were able to afford their desires, but chose a modest, humble life together with travel being the main love of their life.
It would only take knowing an aristocratic family to make a woman question her worthiness.
There was no reason for her mother to feel insecure. She was a self-made woman. That was an accomplishment that even Narcissa Malfoy could not claim.
But the time spent in the company of the witch told of a different person than what her life exuded. Narcissa Malfoy was a kind woman. Accepting. Proper, but unjudging. Supportive. That was a champion of witch in a world of refined and pompous attitudes that looked down their noses in despair at those with less than luxurious lives.
In no way would Narcissa introduce her mother to women that would treat her poorly. Of that, she trusted.
Her daughter sighed. "She probably sent it to make you more comfortable. Not questioning about your attire. Witches have a dated sense of style. It'd be impossible to find anything similar."
"I suppose that's true…"
"Don't fret, Mum. If I can be the mother of her grandchild, you can be her friend. She's not the bloody Queen." She dropped the glasses back down onto her nose. "Besides, we all know Diana was the best damn princess and she wasn't some stuck up snob."
A smile ghosted across her mother's face. "What would I do without you, dove?"
There was proof that the Granger's were nothing without their daughter. Her departing of their home to spend time at Malfoy Manor had them looking for all excuses to visit. They'd pop over for tea, at Narcissa's invitation allegedly. Lucius and Draco made a point to host a friendly game of Quidditch on the estate so that William Granger might get a taste of the sport. The plan worked all too well. The three never stopped discussing it. Lucius even proposed the idea that a special permission be given for the Granger's to accompany them to a World Cup.
It was difficult with Hermione's parents being muggles. Their permissions to the magical world were limited. Muggle parents were able to attend magical events with special permits given out through the Ministry.
Lately, though, the limitations were tightened. It was not a direct result of Draco and Hermione's situation, but there was a fair number of new policies placed to control the involvement of muggle parents in their gifted children.
Hermione despised such news. She hated all the discussion of revoking parental rights if the muggleborn witch or wizard was to find themselves in need of more support. Revoking rights! That was what dictators did, not reasonable governments. It was an outrage.
She did her best to hold her tongue when Lucius discussed it with his family. It was a blessing to have the Malfoys. They were the saving grace that kept her together. Her family together, parents involved, and her knowledge of the wizarding world intact.
Others would not be so lucky.
Malfoy Manor was a brilliant place. Hermione was not given the chance to properly explore it on her previous visits. Summer holiday gave her the chance for adventure within the ancient home. It was done with excitement to find all the unusual rooms within the home: three separate parlors, Narcissa's personal sitting room that was not a parlor, a family room, an oversized conservatory attached to the backside of the house just near the garden, a piste for fencing, a dueling room.
Each was fitted with unique patterned wallpaper hundreds of years old. It was kept in perfect condition. Marble statues lined a room they used as an art gallery. Expensive pieces lost from the renaissance and other priceless muggle artwork kept within the walls.
Her knees practically buckled when she saw the Rembrandt piece The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.
"Where did you get this?" She managed to mumble after ten minutes of pure astonishment.
Narcissa remained graceful with indifference. "Do you know it?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. This is a Rembrandt. It's famous."
The witch observed the painting. Her voice was a song as she answered, "It was a gift."
"A gift?"
How could a priceless piece of artwork just be given as a gift? It deserved to be in a museum. Examined. Maintained by a professional.
"A friend of Lucius' gave it to us in celebration of Draco's acceptance into Hogwarts. A small affair. I did find it rather much."
Hermione's heart pounded out of her chest. "I'll say."
"I never much cared for it," Narcissa said as she walked past. Hermione struggled to depart from the shock of finding a missing, priceless work of art inside a friend's home. "Rather one note in the palette, don't you think?"
It was the peak of surprise left from the Manor. Not to say it was the only one…
Time became a strange mistress with a newborn. It lost all meaning with a baby dictating the schedule.
One night Hermione found herself wide awake after feeding her daughter and placing her back within her cot to sleep. Draco snored loudly. He was exhausted from the day. A full day in Paris shopping for their daughter left him drained of all he had to think about as a father of a daughter. Dresses, bows, shoes, robes, sparkles, glitter, stuffed toys, tiaras. It was more than the wizard was accustomed to.
Narcissa was all too overjoyed to see her son so overwhelmed. Why, not long ago, it was his mother overwhelmed in a Quidditch shop or a toy shop or a Pitch, surrounded by the smell of leather and all other masculine pursuits. The bit of revenge was a delighted one. She felt a bemused smile all day as Draco eyed the infinite amounts of clothing witches were expected to own.
"A ballgown for a nipper? Is that a joke?" He asked. "She's a babe. Not a doll."
"She's an heiress. She has to be best dressed," Narcissa replied. Her fingers fluttered against the tulle.
All day. It was a bickering match between Draco's fatherly overprotection but want to lavish his child with everything, and his mother's insistence that Caprica be given all she wanted for it was what she did for Draco as a young boy.
Hermione was more focused on Paris. It was a beautiful city. She admired the smell of the air as they passed bakeries. Her stomach growled with hunger the entire day. By the end of it, she was stuffed full of tasty treats that she couldn't resist from street vendors.
A full dose of sunlight and the Seine River left Hermione exhausted, too. Only. She'd taken a short nap when they returned so now, she was left to roam a sleeping house alone.
Her slippers tapped against the floor gentler than a kitten, but with the wide-open air of the Manor, it still managed to echo throughout the corridors. She winced with each bouncing sound, louder and louder.
"Quietus," she muttered. Her wand pointed at her feet and muted the footsteps below her.
It was freeing to know that not a single occupant would be bothered by her. She was able to roam through the halls. There was a long stretch near the conservatory filled ceiling to floor with watercolor paintings that she adored. They were all filled with beautiful shades of each hue, transforming together as petals, flowers, trees, items.
Watercolor was a brilliant medium. The lightness of the colors as they bled, melded into each, so soft and dainty.
One specifically Hermione stared at often. It was a sunset and a rainbow. The colors of the rainbow were apart of the sky over a darkening landscape. The vibrancy of the rainbow was dulled down to darker, richer forms of each hue, blending with shaded clouds, a dwindling sun.
On the way back to her suite, a light caught her notice at the end of a corridor. It was lit. The sconce flames danced delightedly against the grey damask wallpaper. It casted prolonged, lively shadows against the walls.
It was curious seeing as the rest of the home laid black, still, asleep.
She followed the light deeper into the Manor. It went past the shared suite of Lucius and Narcissa. That was the only landmark of the house that she recognized. She'd never ventured toward this part of the house.
Curiosity was Hermione's downfall. As it was for everything. She had to know.
She banished the light of her wand away. "Nox."
The warmth of the sconce pushed against her face. It was as if she breeched a bubble. Air of the corridors was cool while this was filled with warmth, thick heaviness in the chest. All at once, it reminded her of Gryffindor Tower. The smokey hot air was just like that of the common room. Her chest moved with the dense, moist air, filling herself with a struggle to breath, but relief at the same time. A feeling she used to know.
Oak double doors with long stretched handles stood as a barrier. Their tops far over her head. Her neck ached to crane that far to see the intricate detailing of the trim board above the doorway.
Hermione gripped the handle. It was smooth against her palm. Welcoming.
All at once, she felt the surge of scent rush to greet her nose as soon as the door was wretched open. She knew what it was.
Her eyes expanded beyond their usual form to view it in entirety.
The Malfoy family library. It filled a giant expanse. Each wall filled top to bottom with books. Leather bound, ancient, golden script lettering on their spines. The air was thick and heavy with their perfume. The decaying pages of old books reminded her of the Hogwarts library, only not so stagnant. It smelled like freshness and knowledge. Soot of a fireplace was in the air. It only added to the atmosphere. Pure perfection.
She stepped forward; jaw slacked.
The ceiling was a solid glass dome. It spanned over 19 meters wide. Tiffany style glass created the Malfoy family seal at the edges. The silver-grey dragon. Their bodies moved, bewitched by a spell. The twitching of their tails, a gentle puff of smoke from their snout.
Hermione marveled at the exquisite detail placed into every feature of the Manor. It was done with care. No expense spared. Just like the gallery with priceless, world famous works of art, kept inside like they were nothing but trinkets. A ceiling of pure architectural design and beauty, not even mentioned as a center piece of the home.
It was beyond her as to why Draco had not mentioned it before. The library was her favorite place to be.
She wandered throughout the room with no direction in mind, only allowing her interest to pull her one way or another, adoring the sight of so many prized books, some of which were banned from Hogwarts library, when a flick of light caught her eye. It was a candle. A single candle.
She turned in question to only realize that it was attached to a person of pure black.
Hermione jumped back with a gasp. Only to see a familiar face attached to it.
"Miss Granger," Lucius said. His voice was calm, but higher than typical. "Are you in need of assistance?"
"No. Sorry, sir," she rambled. The strong eye of the Malfoy patriarch left her rather uncomfortable. Her robes were not flattering, or luxurious. There was salvia from Caprica along the shoulder. The slimey shine looked like bogeys in the flickering light. Her face reddened as she ran her hands through a chunk of curls, flustered. "I couldn't sleep."
The candle flame flickered in his hand. The light and shadow battled across his pale face.
"Our woes are equally matched I'm afraid."
Lucius gestured toward a collection of chairs at the back of the library. A roaring fireplace set just off to their side. Flames crackled. The logs were eaten with greed. The noise, a white noise, amongst the silence of the room.
Hermione hugged herself once she sank into the leather chair while Lucius took a place nearest the flame. A goblet sat nearest his chair. It was filled with burgundy liquid.
The wizard brought the glass to his lips. The red spread across his pale lips.
"Are you comfortable, Miss Granger?" He asked. His eyes fluttered across her face. "The elves can bring an elixir or a drink, perhaps, if you are in need of something stronger."
His proper kindness was a welcome feeling in the presence of an intimidating man.
"Thank you, sir, but I am fine."
It was strange. All the time she spent with the Malfoy family and not one moment were the two left alone together.
Before Caprica's birth, she might have been terrified of it.
Much like Narcissa, Hermione allowed her trust in the pair overrule their reputations. Lucius was a generous man. He catered to his family, her included. It was by his hard work that gave her all the freedoms outside of Hogwarts with Caprica. It was said that McGonagall had pushed for a sentence of an entire summer trapped within the walls of the school until it came time to graduate. Lucius was adamant about her right to enjoy a holiday just like her peers.
Draco had refused to acknowledge its possibility. It was only by Narcissa that Hermione learned of it.
The wizard wore his flowy locks in a swirled in a knot at the top of his head. It was messy. A rarity for a Malfoy to be caught unceremonious in their appearance. The black robes were not the typical sort he preferred. Rather, they were relaxed. Comfortable robes. The fuzzy black slippers matched hers, only pristine and not splattered with breast milk.
She tucked her feet below her chair.
"Do you suffer from insomnia, Mister Malfoy?"
"You'll find that at my age, you suffer from most everything." He brushed his fingers across his eyes, rubbing them gently before returning them to the chair. "Although, my profession contributes to my sleep difficulties."
"I'd imagine so. A job of politics is not an easy path."
His head nodded slightly. "I should have taken a note from my father and chose a different career."
A sharp clarity came through her mind. Mention of the Malfoy parents was rare. If ever. Narcissa spoke of her own parents frequently. Lucius made no such conversations. Draco, too, avoided the topic of the people who came before them.
Her mind triggered open and curious now that the topic was breeched. She wanted to know. It was a skip in the vinyl record that replayed over and over, the question of Lucius' parents, over and over, pushing her close to madness.
"Your father was a politician?" She asked gently.
Their resistance meant she had to tread carefully.
Lucius held the goblet in his hand. The red liquid swirled around within the glass as he watched the motions of the glass like a hypnotizing pool.
"Quite the opposite, you'll find," Lucius explained, "he was a scholar."
Hermione leaned forward. "Really?" Her eyes casually roamed around the room. She knew she saw it somewhere. "Is that him? Over that desk?"
Encased in a golden frame was a blonde man, whiskers along his jaw, black suit, the sigil of Malfoy House embroidered on his collar. He was middle aged within the portrait. There was a chance that Lucius was only Draco's age when it was made.
The background was in a warm, cherry-wood colored office. Books, parchment, ink wells all in plain sight.
"Abraxas Malfoy, my father. A distinguished wizard. You'd be hard pressed to find witch or wizard who does not know his name, Miss Granger. You'd also find that he was much like my young son. Too smart for their own good, it seems. Dedicated. The focus of a dragon. A heart the size of one, too."
She smiled as she admired the man in the painting. He did not look unkind. His eyes held a familiar hue that calmed her tensions.
"His passing was very hard on our family," Lucius admitted as he, too, fell into revere at his father's onlooking gaze. He raised his glass forward. The wizard – whom suddenly had a goblet in his own hand – raised his to match his son's gesture. A slender, crooked smile on his face.
Hermione watched father and son drink through their own places in the world, torn apart by mortality, bound to walk parallel to one another, but never joined. Until death. The respect and love in Lucius' gaze said it all. The look on his father's face, too, spoke a language she knew by heart. A code that only a parent could understand.
One day, it would be Lucius on that wall, in that portrait, within a frame in a dark house, alone, with a lonely Draco to stare up at the picture of a wizard he loved first in life.
What of her? Would her portrait be viewed by Caprica someday in a forgotten corridor, undusted and lonely? Would there be little children around that she might see through windowpanes as they played in a garden or listen to their happy voices as they sang summer songs on a warm breeze?
Or would there be echoes? Echoes upon echoes, as there were in the library. The subtle clink of the glass against the table, the cackling of the flames, the whines of leather furniture as they shifted.
"Your mother, sir." Her throat was taut. "Draco does not like to talk about her. Actually, he refused to acknowledge her existence… She is alive, isn't she?"
A change came through the air. She felt it prick as her words split through the quiet.
The rest of the goblet was drained of its wine. Goblet set back quietly in place. "Yes. She is living."
"I take it that there is bad blood between them."
"You might say that." Lucius exhaled through his nose.
Hermione shifted once more. "Did Draco do something wrong? Was she unkind to him?"
"Not at all, Miss Granger."
"I don't understand, sir." She sighed in defeat.
"Have you asked Draco?"
She nodded. "He becomes defensive, upset. When I suggested that we visit so she might meet Caprica, he exploded. Told me that she was not kin to us." A mere memory of that night left a hollow emptiness in her soul. It was a dagger through her heart to hear him say such a thing. "I'm beginning to suspect that I'll never discover the truth from him."
The soft breaking of breath through Lucius mouth was odd.
A rising tide climbed up through Hermione's extremities starting at the tips of her fingers and the tips of her toes and walked slowly, rising each of her hairs on end, until she was all over alive with sensation.
"It is only by his father that he learned such reactions," the man replied, the fallen tone of his voice a beacon throughout. Hermione never knew Lucius to sound so. "I have forgotten to teach my son an important lesson in accepting hard truths. Ones that we cannot avoid."
Lucius leaned forward. Both of lengthy hands laced together in a hold between his knees.
"My mother was a politician, Miss Granger. A very successful one. She held an office when not many witches could."
Her shoulders fell. It was not the bombshell she'd expected.
Her face crinkled with confusion which must have encouraged Lucius to explain further.
"There once was a time, long ago before you were born, where certain witches and wizards believed in very different things. It was a time of great fear within our world. Magic was dwindling. People wanted something to blame." Lucius took a short pause. "Miss Granger, my son has difficulty with the actions my mother took as a politician as her time. There were things that she did that were disgraceful. Although my father raised me with the open-minded nature of a scholar, my mother shared other, narrower beliefs that left many wounds still to be healed."
She believed that there was a moment for response, but as she thought through all the words she knew, none felt right, so she remained silent.
"Draco lives much in the essence that I raised him. One would be hard pressed to find disgrace in his past," he explained. "Even Caprica's entrance to this world has been done with his dignity intact. You'd never hear him regret it."
Flutters of butterfly's wings spread throughout her body. Her belly swirled with excitement, flipping and twisting. A subtle rise in emotion went up through her throat and stopped at the back of her mouth.
She could cry. Tears, right down her cheeks, was possible. She felt them gain in number, shocked at the amount of tears her body was able to produce. After crying over a heavenly pastry and leaking all over her bed sheets, Hermione was mentally cried out. She was a lot of things mentally. Unstable, for one.
Her body was her own. Stretched and marked with the trauma of pregnancy, little lines cut through her sides and belly, breasts too. She felt her strength the same.
No one said that her mind would change. Sure, the bodily changes were reported extensively. She prepared for that. That was easy. But, herself? Who she was fundamentally changed once Caprica was born. Hermione Granger, the one she was a year prior, was forever absent. Abandoned for better things. For parenthood.
She hadn't understood Draco's commitment. The confidence in his love for a child he'd never met – hadn't even created! – confuddled the rational thoughts within her mind. He was so in love. He became a father in those moments. The rise to the occasion when she needed him, his unshakable loyalty, the protective edge in his behavior when it came to her. All of that was something he did without question.
The school year was different for her. She spent all her time proving it hadn't changed her. Being pregnant did not stop her from roaming the halls at night on patrol, even though her feet were swollen and her back ached. It did not stop the responsibilities of assigning detentions when she just wanted to sleep in a warm bed and forget all about the students jinxing each other. School work was placed above everything. She could not slip and fall when they all expected her to.
A child was a blessing. It deserved change. It deserved to have a parent that focused on them, not the outside world.
Hermione was resolute in the idea of becoming someone else for a baby. It was only a baby. It had no power over her, a responsible, dedicated student with a love for reading and rule following. She believed it weakness to lax self-discipline because of a child.
Now, the egg was on her face as she was a new person with a love of family and joy and appreciation of the world around them.
In the light of Lucius' eyes, she wondered if he could tell she was no longer the same witch he first met. Did Narcissa know too? Did they see it in her movements? Her eyes? Was there a new way she talked?
She sniffed back her emotions to an isolated place. "He has a gold heart. No matter how deadly he sees himself."
It was nice news for a parent to hear. Their child, so noble. Lucius swallowed back a smile. He tried to hide it, but the twitch of his lips showed his satisfaction with the statement.
"His grandmother is his shame." The wizard nodded woefully. His eyes swam in the depths of his thoughts, perhaps lost in his own shame. "I suspect," he said again after a long pause. "He kept this from you because you are the mother of his child, and in respect, his own child. It is to protect you from the truth of indignity."
She tightened her arms around her body. "What does it have to do with us? We've never met your mother."
"Her legacy carries on within your life. It has plagued your entire life."
Her life? How was that possible?
"I don't understand, sir."
"She is the one whom instituted the laws that prevent you from abandoning your magical education with your memories, Miss Granger." His fingers flexed within his own grasp. An audible crack came from his knuckles. "She was a purist."
A purist was a dated term. Hermione only read it a few times within magical texts. It regarded someone who viewed those of all wizard descent at an elevated station above those with mixed backgrounds. Some purists were extremists who believed that muggles and muggleborn witches and wizards should be slaves to those of pure lineage.
There was not much written on the topic. It was taboo to mention.
It was not that for Hermione as she knew it might not be proper to address it, but purist ideals still remained within their own government. Muggleborn children were subjected to many more rules, and restrictions. Muggle parents were given little rights. Nothing superseded those with magical blood.
Corliss Malfoy was a purist official who first put her bigotry into law with her initiative to 'protect' the wizarding world from muggle interest. She suggested that to Obliviate a person of their knowledge would keep their government from being overthrown by muggle government. If one muggleborn did not conform to their ideals, they were given no choice but to be erased of their identity. Who they were. All the answers to their questions of themselves, gone.
Her actions were the spearhead of a faction of the wizarding world to splinter away from acceptance. There were a number of attacks against those of muggle descent and their relatives. Witches and wizards who supported those of impure blood were also victimized.
It was a long few years as violence became an everyday occurrence. Fear of thy neighbor became true. The wizarding world was split, separated and terrified of the other. Dark days. A near collapse of the entire country.
Corliss was resigned of her post at the pressure of the Minister of Magic. She was exiled to France to ease the masses still frightened of her.
As young adults, Lucius and his sister, Lucille, disowned their mother. Their own father, a remarkable leader within the world, was forced to pick up the pieces what his wife left of the community. He invested much in the restoration of the bonds of community. It was the start of Lucius' own career in the public eye as an activist of unity.
It was why the Malfoy family was so widespread, so powerful, so influential.
"Draco despise his grandmother for her role in spreading hate. He bears the weight of the shame she brought on us all those years ago, and it burns him to know that he is in relation to them. You, his child, are his duty. He must provide and protect you for all threats external and internal. She has been deemed a risk he's not willing to take," Lucius said. "Please, understand, Miss Granger. It was not his choice to be associated with his grandmother and her ilk. We've never supported any cause that would rob you of your rights. I hope you can see that his secrecy was done out a loyalty to you, not secrecy."
Hermione slinked back to bed that night where Draco slept peacefully on his side, snoring into the pillow, hair in disarray. His bare chest was covered by the fluffy duvet. The pale expanse of his long arm glowed in the hazy light of the moon through the open curtains. The full bright orb of light in the sky set his body aglow, silver flesh, silver hair.
Their daughter slept in the cradle next to their bed cast in the same silver glow.
The two continuations of the Malfoy name.
Malfoy.
It meant bad faith. An ominous warning.
A lie.
Because all Hermione Granger did was stare down at the wizard who loved her dear with the faith that their future would be filled with goodness.
He was goodness.
She sank into the lush depths of the bed with an audible sigh of contentment through her lips. Soft sheets greeted her back in a welcoming hug. The warmth of the bed was still present from before. The outline of her body near Draco's still set. Her place. At Draco's side. Open and fitting for just her.
Her arm laced against his waist as she brought herself close to his back. The heat radiated. Her cheek burned as it rested against his flesh.
"I forgive you Draco," her lips murmured into the still of the night.
Through a sleepy sigh, a sound stirred up through the silence. "I love you too," answered back.
A/N: Thanks for all the love and patience with this fic! I'm so glad that everyone loves it. As far as questions to Caprica's lineage, it will be explained later on. I promise! I've been struggling to find time to write. COVID has kicked my motivation out the window, so bear with me as I try to find a good routine. This will not be abandoned. It just takes more time for me to progress through so much story in a short part.