Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy laid fully clothed on his bed, the light of dusk having long faded and given way to the darkness of night. His eyes followed the obnoxious pattern of the curtains surrounding his bed frame. The dizzying swirls and random dots made his headache, and he decided to burn them first thing tomorrow morning.

Turning to his side, he closed his eyes. His mother had offered him a sleeping drought, but he declined. He'd taken so many these few past months, he feared an addiction.

Draco flipped to his other side, and opened his eyes, just making out his closed school trunk as the slightly darker blot amidst the gloom. Sighing, he turned again, finding it difficult to get a comfortable position. He knew it wasn't the bed that was making him unrestful, but the knowledge that he had to return to Hogwarts. That didn't still his fists as he pummeled them into the mattress until they stung.

The last year at Hogwarts under the control of Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been fruitless, and he had hardly attended classes, choosing instead to get as far from the castle as possible. Days were spent wandering the grounds instead of attending Charms or Transfiguration.

As such, he wasn't able to pass his N.E.W.T's. After his brief trial and exoneration in front of the Wizengamot, the school's board of governors and Headmistress McGonagall had given him a second chance to graduate, and his mother had absolutely insisted upon it. What other chance did he have to obtain a normal career in wizarding society?

He rolled his eyes at that. Normal career. He can barely walk down Diagon Alley without people practically spitting on him. Any possibility he had at normality had flown out the window the second the Dark Lord had returned and claimed Draco's future. Their family name was ruined, and he was now a social pariah, a cautionary tale parents will tell their children about the consequences of choosing the wrong side.

As far as Draco was concerned, he rarely had a choice in anything the last year. The one time he tried to do the right thing, to be good…

He banished the thoughts from his mind, flipping over onto his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut. While his mother was doing an admirable job of removing all evidence of the Dark Lord's presence from their home, there were parts of the Manor that he avoided. Draco had blasted apart the cellar, what remained of the entrance now rubble and splinters, but destroying it could not demolish the images that caught him unaware.

How many nights had he woken to her sobs and found himself immobile on his bed, stuck in a terrible paralysis. He'd lay there in a panic, helpless and weak.

Weak, pathetic, useless...

Draco reached for his down pillow, attempting to smother his thoughts when he heard a faint tapping on his window. Pulling himself from the discomfort of his bed, he walked over and let the owl in.

Malfoy,

Please meet me at Gatton Park, Surrey this coming Tuesday at 2 o'clock pm.

The matter is quite urgent.

With Regards,

HJG

A thrill of anxiety raced through him after he read the parchment. What could she possibly want? Was she going to tell the Ministry what happened? Draco imagined a squad of dark-robed wizards marching up to the gates demanding he come with them.

The note crumpled in his hand as he contemplated how he would respond. If he simply ignored the message, she would send more, he knew, and that would raise questions with his mother as to why there were owls pecking at the windows. But if he did meet her, what would she want to talk about?

Certainly not about that night...no, why would she?

Frowning, Draco hastily jotted his response, and attached it to the patiently waiting owl.

Though Hermione had received his confirmation, she was still surprised to see the back of Draco Malfoy's pale blond hair bent over a book under the shade of a sprawling oak when she arrived at the park.

She recalled the last time she had laid eyes on him, just one month ago at his trial. He had been sitting stiffly in a high back wooden chair in the center of the room, immaculately dressed and face a blank, emotionless mask before the packed Wizengamot court. Even amongst the shouts and curses coming from the crowded seats, Malfoy remained composed, staring straight ahead as the court heard from witnesses on both sides.

The only time he shifted his eyes was when she took the stand, the briefest look of surprise on his face before the invisible mask slid back in place. Her testimony had been brief, and she had stayed long enough to hear the verdict of "Not Guilty," and left before he was presumably whisked away by his mother to the relative safety of their manor.

The Tuesday afternoon was pleasant if overcast and windy, the air thick with the promise of rain, and this spot atop the hill was devoid of people except themselves. This suited her just fine. She wasn't sure how this conversation would go, and having laid awake the night before examining all of the possible reactions he could have to her news, she felt somewhat prepared for the backlash. Not having an audience certainly put her more at ease.

Hermione settled on the bench next to him, and it was a few moments of awkward silence before she cleared her voice to speak.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you to meet me here," she paused, waiting for his jeer, a snide remark, the well-worn Malfoy sneer, but he remained silent, eyes still on the open pages of his book, but no longer moving.

She breathed deeply to calm her rapidly beating heart, looking ahead at the rolling hills and distant gardens, and continued. "It's…it's about that night. In April. That night, when we –"

The book snapped shut, and Malfoy cut her stuttering off before she could finish. "Of course I know what you mean. How can I ever forget?" He looked at her finally, his grey eyes narrowed, lips tight with contained anger, and Hermione was startled to see how haggard Malfoy appeared. He had always been lanky, but he seemed to have dropped a stone from the last time she'd seen him. Now his shirt hung from his shoulders, and his normally styled hair was in sore need of a haircut. Dark smudges rested under his pale grey eyes making them seem larger. If Hermione hadn't known of his immense wealth, she could have mistaken him for an addict.

"Here to blackmail me? Upset that I didn't get sent to Azkaban with my father?" he spat. "I've been waiting all summer for the quaffle to drop and now here it is. Well, go on then, send your friends in the Ministry after me. It's not like I give a rat's arse anymore."

Malfoy stood, book gripped in long, pale fingers, and turned to leave.

"I'm pregnant," Hermione whispered, her words barely louder than the rising wind, but he heard them if his sudden jerking stop was any indication.

Shaking his head, Malfoy turned toward her, his eyes suddenly darker than the approaching storm clouds. "No, that's not possible." His eyes moved from her despondent face down to her abdomen, her over sized t-shirt effectively hiding the small swell. "You would be, what, five and a half months along now? You look thinner than when I saw you last. You can't be…with child," he trailed off, his eyes searching hers, begging her to tell them it's all a mistake.

It was Hermione's turn to shake her head. "It's not uncommon for a woman to lose weight, I have read, at least in the, in the second trimester. I've not seen a doctor yet, but-"

"See!" Malfoy pointed a finger at her triumphantly and started pacing back and forth in front of her. "See, you could be wrong. You don't know with absolute certainty, not one hundred percent. You could just have a stomach ache or…or woman issues. And even if you were," he waved a vague hand in the direction of her midsection, "expectant, you can't be certain it is my child, and-"

"Pardon me?" Hermione cried, raising from the bench, and surprising even herself, gripped the front of Malfoy's button up shirt as he passed. He stopped, face frozen in shock. "How dare you imply that I would lie to you about this! That I would ever contact you, the last person on the face of the earth that I would want to see to make wild paternity accusations! It has to be yours. It can't be... be...his." She was sobbing now, hands falling back to find purchase on the bench and slumping down upon it.

Releasing a lungful of air, Malfoy pulled his hands through his disheveled hair, and willed himself to inhale. A gust of wind rustled through the leaves of the oak tree above them, and after a few moments when Hermione's sobs had quieted to sniffles, he finally sat down next to her.

"Do you want to keep it?" He said, much more brusquely than he had intended, and conjured a handkerchief with his wand.

"I don't- I'm not sure. I thought about it. A lot, actually, but taking a potion this late…" She dabbed at her nose with the tissue, and subconsciously rubbed her abdomen. It was dangerous, she knew, to abort a foetus at almost six months. Muggle clinics rarely perform them and even the books she had found at Flourish and Blotts warned against the practice. Hermione had read on in fascinated horror at the descriptions and illustrations of potions and procedures gone horribly awry.

She paused a moment, gazing up at his tense face, and cautiously continued. "Adoption is something I am considering. I'm returning to Hogwarts in two weeks, and then moving on to a career at the Ministry. I will hardly have the time, and it would be better if it were to have a proper family," Hermione rushed out, worrying the handkerchief between her fingers.

When he didn't respond, Hermione glanced at Malfoy to see he was staring off into the distance, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"No," he finally stated and turned toward her, his silver eyes piercing hers. "I'll not have a child of mine raised by strangers. Or worse, muggles."

Hermione sat straighter in indignation, "I was raised by muggles and I turned out perfectly fine. Besides, it's none of your concern what I will or will not do-"

"None of my concern? This child is most likely mine," he countered, heedless of her icy glare. "Why bother telling me, why bother meeting me if you didn't want me to play some part in-"

"I contacted you because you have the right to know! It would be wrong to have this child and put it up for adoption with it's father none the wiser," she interrupted, her voice rising to meet his,

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Thanks for the courtesy." He exhaled, and Hermione could see the gears clicking in his mind.

"What if," he stated with hesitation, "what if instead of placing it for adoption, we have my mother raise it. She could tell everyone it was my parent's child. No one would have to know what happened, Granger - that it was ours. Mother wouldn't mind, she really wouldn't. We would have to come up with some sort of explanation about the baby, of course. She would see through a saccharine love story straight away…."

Hermione considered his suggestion as he rambled on next to her, his voice racing in excitement as if he had just discovered the missing potion ingredient to a much needed antidote. Could she allow her child to be raised by a family who loathed her kind? Who willfully and intentionally harmed Muggleborns and sowed the seeds of prejudice within the wizarding community?

On the other hand, she reasoned, Narcissa was the child's grandmother whether they liked it or not. If Hermione did give it up, at least it would be with a relative.

Unwillingly, Hermione's mind conjured a vision of a very small baby crying alone in an enormous and cold manor. Then of the genteel Mrs. Malfoy pushing a pram down Diagon Alley, and herself watching them from a distance. The images caused an odd sort of possessive feeling to rise up.

Draco's solution made an odd sort of sense, but something within Hermione blanched at the thought of letting that woman raise her child. It's true that Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldemort about the death of her best friend, Harry, but one kind act did not erase decades of hate and pureblood bigotry.

"...and if it had your hair or eyes, Mother could cast a disillusionment charm or colour it's hair or something and-"

"Listen, Malfoy," Hermione rose from the bench and he, out of ingrained etiquette she was sure, stood as well just as the first fat drops of rain fell upon them. "All of this, you, me," she pointed to her abdomen, "it. I need some time to sort out what I'm going to do."

"Well, you better hurry. It's not likely you'll be able to hide it for much longer," Malfoy said staring pointedly at her stomach. "School term starts back in two weeks and if-"

Hermione looked up at him in surprise, "Wait, you're returning to finish seventh year as well? I thought you already did." She was genuinely curious as to why the heir to the Malfoy fortune would even bother finishing out schooling. What did he need N.E.W.T.s for if he didn't really need a job?

Malfoy shrugged, "What do you bloody care, Granger?" And with that turned to walk opposite her towards a crowd of trees to apparate away leaving Hermione standing in the rain with a lot to think about.

A/N:

Stay tuned for the next chapter when they return to Hogwarts. What's in store for the returning eighth years, and just what will Hermione choose to do?

Thanks for reading and if you could, please leave a comment. I needs my fix!