Chapter Fourteen:
"Scorpius," Draco said between sips of breakfast tea, reading the parchment in his hand.
Hermione nearly spat out her toast all over the eighth year table. She ended up coughing, garnering several concerned looks from other students.
"Absolutely not."
Draco swiveled his eyes away from his mother's letter long enough to shoot a petulant glare at Hermione. "That was the best one yet," he started.
"Better than Cetus? Surely not," Hermione muttered, willing her eyes to remain firmly in place and not roll into the back of her head permanently.
Draco had been on a naming kick after the mid-witch left involving a cascade of eccentric name choices that Hermione found both endearing and exasperating. Perhaps it was finally seeing the child, but he'd been much more concerned with them both, asking after her health almost daily and pestering her for more information about her pregnancy. It would be rather sweet if he weren't so irritating.
Either way, Hermione felt disquieted in ways she couldn't explain to have the concentrated attention of Draco Malfoy on her.
"-Cetus, Eltanin, Scorpius, all excellent choices and yet you want to name our child, a Malfoy, something bland like Charles or Larry or-"
"Charles is not a bland name; it's my father's-"
"-something dreadfully muggle." Draco continued, icy eyes drilling into her across the table. "Celestial names are a Black family tradition going back-"
Hermione threw her hands up in the air, unable to contain her frustration at the same argument given over and over these last two weeks. "Of course - tradition! How can I forget about tradition," she huffed, stabbing at her eggs with a viciousness they didn't deserve.
"Yes, tradition," Draco said. "Something which many of us still care about deeply." He held an almost comically stern expression, lips tight with tension, gray eyes looking intently into hers.
I wonder if he'll have Draco's eyes, Hermione thought, mind deviating absentmindedly. They were lovely eyes, after all, sometimes ice blue, sometimes slate gray depending on the light. After a moment, he looked away from her, perhaps sensing her thoughts, and tidied up his letters into a neat stack.
Hermione shook her head of her unusual thoughts and sighed, rubbing her temples with her knuckles. "I do care, Draco, but can we talk about something else, please? This is all giving me a terrible headache."
A look of concern settled on his face, dark blonde brows furrowing in a vee. "Do you need a tonic? I could go to Pomfrey or-"
"Oh no, it's ok," she replied, a tender feeling warming her insides at his considerate offer.
Pregnancy hormones, she bemoaned.
Lately, her hormones had been wreaking havoc on her. Earlier that morning she had snapped at Ernie for attempting to talk her into yet another portion of pancakes "for the baby", and yesterday had left advanced transfiguration early because she couldn't stop tearing up over the beautiful black kitten Pavarti had created. Feeling any sort of tenderness toward Draco must be another byproduct of her overtaxed body, she reasoned.
After a moment of concentrating on their breakfast, sensing his crestfallen mood, Hermione offered an olive branch. "What about Orion?"
"Oh, absolutely not," and before she could inquire as to why, he continued. "My mother had a great-uncle, Orion Black. Went mad after imbibing his own home-brewed absinthe and was sent to Azkaban after robbing an owlery."
Hermione groaned.
Despite Draco's misgivings about Hermione's understanding or regard for wizarding tradition, she had promised herself to learn more about the culture and she did. A trip to Hogsmeade's books store, Tomes and Scrolls, had uncovered a fascinating book - Magical Birthing Rituals of Great Britain by Abigail Crimus-Smyth. The first chapter covered the basics – from preparing for pregnancy and labor to giving birth safely in magical households – but what caught Hermione's eye were the rites and rituals mentioned in later chapters.
After some more research and consideration, she decided to call together a wreath making ceremony.
This was, of course, the most banal of the ceremonies described. The magical folk of old were quite primal in their most meaningful rituals. Dare Vita was exercised outside and naked under the full moon with one's coven of witches and required the purification of the pregnant witch in the blood of an animal sacrifice. Though modernized to just her coven dancing and chanting naked in the moonlight, Hermione still felt uncomfortable asking this of her friends.
With thoughts of the only witch-mothers she knew, she promptly sent letters to both Molly and Mrs. Malfoy for ideas.
Both responded that night, describing their own ceremonies and offering up their homes to the gathering. Mrs. Malfoy was insistent upon her hosting, her letter going into great detail about the food and decor she thought best for the occasion.
Hermione's mind immediately flashed to the Malfoy's parlor, to bright red blood, cold floors and sharp teeth, and nixed that offer.
The Burrow was comfortable and welcoming, one she certainly wouldn't mind visiting, however, she was certain her child's future grandmother would object in the snide and snobbish way the Malfoy's were prone to, though she doubted any Malfoy had ever been there. After all the help the Weasley's had been, she did not want to subject them to criticism and embarrassment. Hermione also sensed making Mrs. Malfoy happy with small concessions would temper issues with the haughty woman in the future, and nixed the Burrow as well. The thoughts of being in the pureblood's life for the next several decades was one Hermione tried not to linger on.
The ceremony must take place on neutral ground, Hermione decided. This was when a brainwave struck, and she hurried to the owlery as fast as her swollen feet would allow to send out her request.
Harry responded by the next morning exuberantly supporting her notion of hosting the ceremony at Grimmauld Place and promising a spotless home, and she sighed in relief at having one less hurdle to jump over.
True to his word, the day of the ceremony, Harry's place was immaculately clean, a stark difference from the last time Hermione was in his inherited home. Through some miracle - or in this case, magic - the portrait of Walburga Black had been removed and replaced with an oil painting of a field of wildflowers calmly swaying in the breeze, as had all the portraits of the various Black relatives with other, more eye-pleasing paintings and photos. Hermione smiled at the photo of herself, Harry, and Ron on the fireplace mantel.
The gloomy atmosphere was improved by the clean open windows, a good dusting, and replacement of the thread-bare carpeting and peeling wallpaper. While some furniture had been cleaned and repaired, leaving the space with its original classical Victorian style, all traces of serpents and troll feet were gone. Hermione suspected at least one Weasley woman's assistance was required to create the newly welcoming space.
"See, I told you I could clean up when necessary," Harry teased, appearing in the doorway with a tray of tea and biscuits. Hermione smiled and shook her head.
"Thank you, Harry," she said, taking a biscuit from the tray. "This means a lot to me." He simply nodded, placing the tray amoung the food on the buffet.
"I'll be upstairs if you need anything, no boys being allowed and all," Harry said and was off up the stairs, closing the door behind him.
He wasn't entirely wrong. Men were never officially barred from the ceremony. It seemed to be an unspoken role that if one hasn't or isn't soon to be experiencing the miracle of birth themselves, they could only be spectators. Ginny, while helping with the cooking and gathering of flora, was not allowed to participate in the construction of the wreath.
Dusk approached from the west, darkening the peach-orange sky into deeper shades of scarlet and indigo. Open windows allowed the crisp autumn breeze to blow open the curtains, and Hermione, breathing in the sweet late autumn air, was pulled back from her thoughts as Molly came to her side.
"Best get started, luv. The magic's more powerful before the moon rises."
In the middle of the sitting room was a table with a meter wide circular cedar frame in the center. Hermione sat between the maternal warmth of Molly and the icy elegance of Mrs. Malfoy, their auras both similar and yet at odds with one another. Ginny sat at a small table against the wall arranging the greenery by size, color, and purpose.
The chair across her was empty.
"Let us start," said Mrs. Malfoy and the three witches all raised their wands and started weaving.
It was a scene of domestic magic, three powerful witches gathered around a circular table, their wands weaving in unison as they intertwined branches of cedar and delicate white heather, creating a base for their enchantments. Hermione felt the energy binding the branches, twisting them in and out as their own magic twined and twisted with each other.
"Hermione, how are you feeling being so close to the end? I cannot imagine how walking around Hogwarts is helping your ankles at your stage."
While they worked, Mrs. Malfoy was being alarmingly nice to Hermione. It was both confusing and frightening to her. Their contact had been minimal since the incident in her rooms at Hogwarts, though pieces of furniture and baby items did keep unexpectedly popping up. Hermione didn't miss the stream of mail Draco received every day, who it was from, or who it was about.
"It's been manageable," Hermione said casually, trying not to get caught up in the woman's intense, steely gaze. She kept her answers short and succinct, wanting to avoid the usual litany of suggestions every mother seemed to want to give her when they noticed her condition.
"When I was as far along, I could barely manage the manor's stairs," Mrs. Malfoy said, a bit of ice melting in her eyes as she reminisced while she weaving chamomile and lavender amoung the cedar branches.
Hermione gave her a small smile, understanding the peace offering for what it was. "I've found cushioning charms on my shoes to be dreadfully useful. Though my hips do start to hurt toward the end of the day."
Ginny raised her wand as if to help wrangle some of the flowers which at the moment seemed to be twisting themselves enough to pop off their heads, but Molly stopped her with a flick of her own wand.
"Unless you're a mother or about to become one, you can't help with this wreath making. It's bad luck! We need all the good luck charms we can get for our Hermione here!" She shot a fond smile at Hermione and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
Hermione understood the intent, she really did, but it stung a bit nonetheless. Molly wasn't wrong - her life had been anything but lucky for, well, some time she supposed. She was doing her best with the consequences, for better or worse.
"When will your mother be joining us?" The matronly witch continued.
"Mum won't be here for a bit. Dental emergency. She promised she would come," she murmured, ignoring the strange look both witches gave her. Maureen agreed to be at the ritual, after much cajoling from her husband, Hermione was sure. Her and her mother's communication with one another had opened a bit since the Burrow. Her owl reply was short, but confirmed her presence at the ceremony. Stilted as it was, it was something.
"Does she not understand the importance of this ritual?" Though her voice was soft, Mrs Malfoy's disdain was apparent. "Of course a muggle would brush off a thousand year tradition for teeth, of all things. What does the protective magic of a mother's love matter to her, afterall?"
Before Hermione could unleash the verbal trouncing that sat just behind her teeth, Molly jumped in. "She said she would be here and she will. Maureen wouldn't miss an important rite for her only daughter's first child."
Mrs. Malfoy harrumphed, an unexpectedly inelegant noise from the woman, and started weaving in dried hollyhock of dark red.
"Hollyhock? Oh no, no," Molly tutted, flicking her wand to cast the offensive flower to the floor.
The scarlet bloom was back amongst the branches with a snap of Mrs Malfoy's wrist. "And why is ambition such a terrible trait? Perhaps your family could do with a bit more of it, Mrs. Weasley."
The particular shade of crimson creeping up Molly's cheeks matched the color of her freckles, and Hermione sent a silent plea to whoever was listening to keep this ceremony as peaceful as possible.
Mrs. Malfoy continued, unaware of the white knuckled grip Molly had on her wand. "Will you be pursuing a career like your mother, Hermione?"
Hermione almost bit her tongue, having to hold back yet another scolding retort and said tartly, "Yes, I am planning to have a career in the ministry. They are always in need of talented young minds. And ambition, after all, is not such a bad trait." She swore she saw a twinkle of approval in the woman's eyes, and continued on. "And besides, what active, intelligent person could tolerate staying at home all day? I would go absolutely mad."
She knew she stepped it the moment those words left her mouth.
A heavy silence followed.
"Well I couldn't possibly understand the need for a career as I am neither active nor intelligent," Mrs Malfoy commented in the same dry, scathing tone as her son.
Now I know where he gets it from, Hermione thinks.
Her eyes cut over to Molly, a housewife just as much as Mrs Malfoy, and she cringed in embarrassment.
Magicking a bouquet to the empty seat, Molly changes the subject, lips pursed in obvious irritation, "Let's save some flowers for your mother to add at the end when the circle is nearly complete, Hermione."
Smiling in gratitude, Hermione nodded and tried to move on from her faux pas.
"Um, what should I add next?" Hermione was unfamiliar with the mythos and meanings of the plants Molly and Mrs Malfoy had brought. A plant's use outside of a potion was a mystery to her, never having the same interest or curiosity as some of her friends.
"Well, we've already added the white heather for luck and protection," Molly said, happy to move on as well. "You could add English daisies with me to represent innocence and a mother's love."
"Or you could replace that cheap and common plant for something else more powerful such as hibiscus." Mrs. Malfoy disparaged.
Molly puffed up in pride. "I prefer local English flowers, common or not. The child will be born in autumn so hearty, English fall plants such as winter heather, verbena and primrose are useful as they are powerful protectors. I used them for my autumn babies, Bill and Charlie."
She added gladiolas and wintermint, against Mrs. Malfoy's warning that eucalyptus would do better, to help with breathing issues.
"Lavender for protection, happiness, and peace. Chamomile for a peaceful sleep."
"Honeysuckle to help with feeding and it smells lovely!"
"Myrrh represents power, strength, and vitality."
As they weaved their magic into the wreath, the candles lit up around the room, casting it in a soft evening glow. A knock came from the front door down the hall, some muffled chatter, and her mother walked in.
It must have started to rain. Her mother was drenched, her salt and pepper curls flattened to her face as she stood in the doorway.
"Mum," Hermione stood before she could speak. "Did you forget your umbrella? Here, let me dry you off in the kitchen," her nervous voice chattered and she led her to the other room.
The silence between them was a yawning chasm as Hermione cast a quick drying charm and ran it over Maureen's soaked form.
"Yes, I did…I did forget it. Foolish of me, really," her mother said finally, her voice soft and eyes downcast, so unlike herself. "Hermione, I've-I've missed you and-"
"It's alright, Mum, I know this has been a difficult for everyone-"
"No, it's not alright! I haven't been the mother you need at all. I've been a-a terrible mother, and I'm so very sorry." Tears welled in her eyes, the first time Hermione had seen her mother cry in years. "You don't have to carry it all alone. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."
Tears spilled down Hermione's cheeks as she stepped forward and embraced her. Maureen pulled her in tightly, holding her as if to make up for lost time.
"Thank you for being here," Hermione whispered into her mother's now dry curls.
"Always."
Maureen took her seat across from her as the women's hands continued to deftly intertwine flora, weaving a potent symbol of protection and good fortune. The fragrance of each carefully chosen flower infused the air, and as the last.
Molly explained the ritual and its importance to Maureen. Wreath making or "weaving fates", was used by witches in olden days to ensure that their child would be blessed with health and happiness throughout its life, as well as protection from any dark forces that crossed its path.
The witches laid their wands down as the last of the flowers were woven in.
Maureen stared around the table, her hands awkwardly placed in her lap. Hermione felt a tinge of sympathy for her as she was clearly out of her depth.
"Now we recite the incantation," Mrs. Malfoy said.
"But I-" Maureen starts.
"Remember that parchment I sent and asked you to bring?" She nods and takes it out of her purse.
Molly adds, "It will help. A mother's love is always magical, regardless of, well, um, magic."
Together the group chanted their love and protection, every word uttered seemed to be accompanied by a faint trail of sparkling stardust upon the centered wreath. Her mother's eyes widened as in that fleeting moment, the boundary between the mundane and the extraordinary blurred and she finally, finally saw the beauty of magic.
"Benedicite puer, benedicta mater, benedicite patrem. Omnis conserva. Absit malum in domum. Clypeus lucem ac tenebras. A solis ortu usque ad occasum."
The magical aura around them shrunk into a shimmer of light and was then gone as the chant ended, sending chills down Hermione's spine at the closing of the circle. She felt a sudden jolt in her belly, and her hand instinctively reached down to feel the baby kicking.
She looks down at the wreath, marveling at the intricate weaving of the cedar branches and the delicate placement of the flowers.
A work of love.
A/N 1:
This update took a long long long time. I am terribly sorry. To be blunt, I tried to take my own life shortly after the last update, and was hospitalized for a while. Thankfully, I live in a place with great mental health care. It's been a very long and difficult path to normality with a lot of trial and error (especially with medications). Writing again is helping in that struggle. Please be patient with me.
A/N 2:
This is the scene that made this whole fic possible, and I'm beyond happy I was finally able to post it. I was googling tea mixtures for myself and ancient medicinal uses for flowers and roots when I started thinking about the traditions of the wizarding world, all the things we weren't shown in the books and movies. What do witch mothers make their children for protection? How does family and other women in the community play a part? What kind of ceremonies would the wizarding community hold for welcoming a new life? I truly enjoy coming up with these new traditions and making Maureen a part of it all, whether she likes it or not.
Also, please forgive the bad latin.
More than halfway through now!