Chapter Eight
The east wing of Malfoy Manor had a dreary quality to it, being the oldest part of the estate. It was the last remnant of the original house built during the high medieval period by the first Malfoy to set foot on English soil.
The ceilings were low with rough-hewn stone floors and walls. Small, arched windows barely allowed any light though, and it invariably smelled of rot and mildew. Ancient, decayed oak doors dotted the walls periodically; entrances to rooms long since forgotten by the inhabitants and house elves alike.
It had given Draco the feeling of disgust when he was a child.
He remembered asking his father once why he allowed this crumbing wing to remain. Other sections of the manor had been added and updated, but the east wing stood, ad infinitum.
"Ah, but don't you feel it, Draco?" Lucius had asked, placing the hand that wasn't holding his son's against the chill stonework of the wall.
"The place our forefathers built upon was one of primordial power. Its magic is old and deep, rooted deeper than the foundations. It is the legacy they left us, the sovereign calling we endeavor to pursue in this world: to use the magic that is in our blood and govern over the base, vulgar people. We have the gift of magic and none shall stand in our way."
Draco had nodded his head then, pretending to understand his father's meaning.
But now as his hands skimmed the rugged surface he felt it. The hum of magic ignited his senses. The power of it drew him back to the manor's crumbling, humble remains, away from the ostentatious artifice of aristocracy the other parts were rife with.
The pretense was gone here. The magic wild and raw. And as he walked alone with his thoughts, Draco was glad of it. There was a comfort here in the ruins that he barely understood, but nonetheless sought out.
Though he had only been in Hogwarts a week, Draco was the first in line at Slughorn's office on Saturday morning to sign out for the weekend. He had fallen face first onto his bed on Friday evening, exhausted by the constant casting of shield charms. As he learned on his first day back to classes when a sneeze hex had forced him to leave Potions before the class began, and later when a tripping jinx had left him with a broken nose and a burning urge to punch someone - without protection this was going to be an excruciatingly long year. The accompanying applause that proceeded each incident did nothing for his broken pride.
As he slowly started back toward the foyer, a small figure stood shadowed in the entrance of the east wing. Draco waited for it to speak.
The house elf twisted his long fingers in his hands as he regarded his master nervously. The elves knew not to bother him in his solitude since the summer.
"Mistress Narcissa requests your presence in the parlor," Quincy squeaked, then quickly apparated away with a faint pop.
It was just past breakfast, and having dined alone in his rooms, Draco realized he hadn't seen his mother since luncheon the day before. A touch of guilt added to his dark mood as he walked briskly past the portraits of stern-faced ancestors lining the halls.
He knew his mother was lonely; the house elves her only company in their vast, empty manor. Social invitations had dried up, and family friends were nowhere to be found after their fall from grace.
Though he hadn't picked up a Daily Prophet in ages, he was sure there was plenty written about the Malfoys in the society pages.
He could almost hear bitter witches' quills scratching away in celebration at their glorious humiliation. Posh Narcissa Malfoy, who had never invited them to her exclusive balls, now as undesirable as a pickled slug.
Draco wished he could be a better son to her, wished he could be better company to anyone, really, but the dark void inside him overwhelmed everything else.
Who would want to be around you? You can barely stand yourself he inwardly seethed.
As he approached the parlor doors, he heard his mother's muffled voice filtering through, and a certain dreadful curiosity filled him.
With whom was she speaking?
"...Miss Granger's parents...expectant...see no need…"
The words flitted in and out of his hearing as he snuck closer to the doorway to get a better listen. He recognized the tart Scottish brogue, had heard it scold him dozens of times in his years at Hogwarts.
Draco's heart sank into his stomach, hands reflexively balling into fists as the realization of why Headmistress McGonagall was there dawned on him.
She knew.
Before his cowardly feet could turn and make a run for it, Draco steeled himself, and entered.
His mother's face, pale and elegant, was a mask of cordiality, but he could see she was upset. Her posture seemed to droop in the settee, her dark blue eyes holding a hint of sadness as she watched him take a seat beside her.
McGonagall's expression remained neutral as she regarded him. "Eh, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry to interrupt you at your home. As I was discussing with your mother, I've just come from the Weasley's residence. Hermione Granger had a concern that needed to be addressed with some urgency. Do you know of what I speak?""
Draco nodded his head, but offered no explanation. He didn't miss the quick, sharp glance his mother gave him out of the corner of his eye.
"And you hadn't thought to mention this to me?" She asked quietly.
Draco's expression didn't betray the guilt lacing through him like a poison. "Granger wanted to wait, to see if she could find any other alternatives to the pregnancy."
The lie rolled smoothly from his lips, and his eyes remained fixed on the rug behind McGonagall's chair.
"If I might be so bold, Mr. Malfoy, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this. Are you telling me Hermione Granger and yourself had a liaison in the midst of a war? I recall you both despising one another at school," the headmistress said. Draco didn't miss the accusation implied in her hard stare.
"Stranger things have happened in times of war," Narcissa said sharply, her spine straightening as she rose to her son's defense.
"I suppose they have. But by some coincidence, she came to be with child around the same time she was held in this manor as a captive-"
"I hope you are not suggesting my son did anything untoward to the young woman," his mother retorted, smoldering fire tempering her words. "By Miss Granger's own admission at his trial, Draco freed her from captivity and assisted in her escape."
There was a pause as the two women glared at each other in tense silence.
Draco stood suddenly, his mouth set in a grim line. "I'll send a house elf to collect my belongings from Hogwarts."
Every bit of him longed to make a dash from the parlor, escape the looks and suspicion, and get as far as he could from anyone who would recognize his face.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Malfoy. However, I would like to see both you and Miss Granger before breakfast tomorrow morning to discuss your arrangements."
She took another long, shrewd look at Draco, then rose as well. "I'll see myself out."
After the headmistress's departure through the floo, the silence yawned between Draco and Narcissa. A house elf from the kitchen briskly refilled the tea pot and departed before his mother spoke again.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Narcissa said as cold as an arctic night. "You are to be a father, after all."
"It's not like I wanted any of this to happen, Mother," Draco seethed through gritted teeth.
"You make quite the star-crossed pairing," she continued, ignoring him. "The Prophet will have an absolute field day when they learn the news."
"The Prophet can sod off! All of them can!" Draco shouted, his breath coming out in heavy pants as his bottled-up rage finally boiling over.
Narcissa sat stock still, her eyes blue plates of surprise as he paced back and forth before her.
"It was a stupid, bloody mistake. I shouldn't have gone down there, I didn't want - fuck! It doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters," he raved, no longer caring if he used vulgar language within her hearing.
It was all a mess. His life, the situation with Granger - bloody everything. And it was all his fault.
Remorse intensified within him. If he had the chance, he would have done a great many things differently. He would have told his mother first; would have stayed in his chambers all those months ago; would have taken Dumbledore's offer when he still had a chance.
"What happened, Draco? In the cellar. We thought she had escaped on her own." Or that was what they had told the Dark Lord when he had arrived in a vengeful wrath.
"Greyback," he said, collapsing into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. He breathed deeply to calm the tremendous thundering of his heart. "Greyback happened. It doesn't matter." He couldn't explain it to her. The imperius curse or what he did to Hermione or how weak he was.
Narcissa's hand gently touched his head, and he started, having not heard her come stand by his side. She gently ran her fingers through his fine hair and Draco's eyelids drooped closed, immediately relaxed by her massage. It brought him back to when he was a child sitting in her lap as she read him stories. Back when everything was right with the world.
"I'll send for the barber later. Your hair is an awful mess, Draco," she said, tucking a shaggy blonde lock behind his ear. He was grateful she didn't ask him to elaborate on the cellar and Greyback.
"When she told me about the baby, I wanted her to give it to you; to pretend it was yours. I suppose she's keeping it now."
"I always wanted more children," Narcissa sighed, coming to sit beside him. "We never told you this, but I had several miscarriages before you were born." Her eyes were far away when he turned to look at her.
"Will you- are you going to tell Father?" He changed the subject. He had, in fact, known this about his mother. Her old, long dead house elf, Runi, whom Narcissa had owed since she was a child, would ramble on and on when she played with Draco.
She paused, examining him for a moment. "He'll know eventually, Draco," she said. "Let me deal with him."
Draco rolled his eyes, "He'll be happy for the social advantage having a child with that muggleborn will bring us."
Narcissa tsked, "Do not think so despairingly of your father. He won't be thrilled with the knowledge, however, you know how he feels. He won't let any harm come to his family."
Draco snorted, but didn't say anything. Oh yes, quite the protector. Letting that monster into our home.
"You'll dine with me tonight, and we will discuss this further. Devy is making veal scaloppini, your favorite," her mother stated, then stood.
"Where are you going?" Draco inquired as Narcissa swiftly walked from the parlor, her elegant Sunday dress sweeping across the room after her.
"I have some inquiries to make."
The Office of the Headmaster had changed drastically since Hermione had last seen it. Gone were the wizarding gadgets emitting noises and puffs of smoke from their spindly little tables.
Books now lined the lower walls of the circular room and above them the portraits of the former heads of Hogwarts hung in neat order. Most of them had abandoned their sleeping act and were rather pointedly staring at the two sitting in front of the claw foot desk.
The events of the last two days swirled together in Hermione's head, and she wondered how everything had changed so suddenly.
Perhaps McGonagall kept Dumbledore's pensieve somewhere in office, Hermione pondered. She would love to be rid of the dizzying array of thoughts dancing madly around her mind.
After her parents had left Saturday evening, Hermione had trudged up the stairs, summoning what remained of her strength, and finally told her best friends the truth.
They had indeed been waiting impatiently, and Ginny jumped back as Hermione swung Ron's door open. The trio's look of shock was plainly written on their faces when they noticed her swollen belly.
"Hermione?" Harry questioned, his dark brows knit in confusion.
"Oh, Merlin!" Exclaimed Ginny, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock.
Ron's mouth was a tight line on his pale face, and he said nothing.
"I think you all better have a seat," she said, and she finally told them.
Tears spilled from her eyes as the words flowed from her lips. The torture she had endured at the hands of Bellatrix and being chained in the cellar. Greyback's Imperius and what he had forced her and Malfoy to do. She withheld nothing except what the werewolf had done to her himself.
The truth had gotten easier to unload. She laid bare her ordeal with relative ease having had to do so twice just that day, but she felt the sting of every memory she tried so hard to repress keenly in her friend's reactions.
Harry's green eyes were startling against his sheet white face. His eyebrows furrowed in that particular way they did when he was feeling an overwhelming emotion. Having spent so many years at his side, Hermione could guess which ones.
Ginny had her eyes closed, her fist holding her head up on her knee, and her other hand clutching Harry's. She finally looked up at Hermione when she was finished.
"Hermione-" Ron mumbled, shaking his head. She reached for him then, but as soon as her fingers brushed his arm, he stood and left, slamming the door behind himself.
Dismay filled her with his reaction, and Ginny made to go after him, but Harry held her back.
"Let him go, Gin. I'll talk to him later. It's just so much to take in. We- oh God, Hermione. We had no idea. We should never have left you, never...," and Harry cried, leaning into the doorframe as tears escaped from under his glasses.
Hermione stifled a sob. "No, I should have told you lot straight away and-"
"Oh hush," Ginny pulled her into an embrace. "I knew something was up with you. I bloody knew it…" she murmured into Hermione's thick hair.
Harry came to them and rested his head on hers. Hermione's heart soared at finally being able to tell them the truth. Ron's reaction hurt, but now they all knew.
It could be ok again, surely?
After a fitful slumber due to nerves or relief or Ginny's light snores, Hermione had woken early the next morning to make her final confession to her headmistress.
Even with Arthur and Molly's support, it had been difficult to reveal her circumstances to her teacher and mentor of seven years. Of course McGonagall had been understanding and reassured her she could remain at Hogwarts. She had to make some arrangements, but they would discuss them later.
True to her word, the headmistress had summoned her to her office before breakfast on Monday morning.
It didn't surprise her to see Malfoy sitting stiffly in the chair already, arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes adamant in their avoidance of hers.
"Miss Granger?" McGonagall inquired again, and Hermione's thoughts returned to the present, not realising she had drifted.
"Pardon?" Hermione asked, mildly embarrassed.
Headmistress McGonagall gave her a sympathetic look. "The baby is due by mid-December, correct?"
"Oh, yes, Professor."
"As I told you yesterday, you both still have a place at Hogwarts. Your professors and I held an emergency meeting last night, and they have agreed to leniency regarding your attendance to their classes."
At that, Malfoy's head shot up.
"That mercy does not extend to you, Mr. Malfoy, as you are not the one physically affected." He looked crestfallen and slumped further into the hard chair.
She continued. "The house elves have been at work all night restoring your new quarters in the west wing on the second floor. It will be prepared before midday today."
"Restoring it, Professor?" Hermione asked. "Was it damaged during the battle?"
"No, no, it just needed sprucing up. Peeves had quite a bit of fun in the turret, and the elements did the rest. The school hasn't had an expectant mother in some time, and it's been neglected."
"Wait, there have been others before? In Hogwarts, A History-"
"You're a practical girl, Miss Granger. Do you truly believe this is the first pregnancy at Hogwarts?" The portrait of a gaunt faced witch in an enormous bycocket hat shook her head and let out a hardy chuckle, accompanied by some other former heads of Hogwarts who exchanged knowing looks.
There were at least two portraits who did not join in the jesting. While Hermione avoided looking at Dumbledore directly above Professor McGonagall, her eyes briefly met the portrait of Snape then looked away. Still, she could feel his black eyes burning holes into her face.
"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, please pack your belongings after breakfast. The house elves will move them when everything is ready this afternoon. Now, let me show you where you will be situated going forth." Professor McGonagall started to rise, but stopped when Malfoy released a loud "Pft!"
"I beg your pardon?" Demanded Malfoy, his dark blonde eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "We will be sharing these quarters?"
"Of course. In these circumstances, it would be prudent to have Miss Granger closer to her classes to save her the burden of walking. And after all, it would be best if both parents were close by to help after the child's birth, wouldn't you agree?"
Draco muttered something that sounded like "my mother" under his breath, but McGonagall made no indication that she heard him.
"Now, if you will follow me…"
For the first time since entering the office, Draco and Hermione's eyes met, sharing a look of trepidation, and followed her out of her office.
A/N:
FINALS ARE OVER!
I took a bit of a creative winter and lost touch with the Dramione fandom for a sec, but FEAR NOT, I am going to finish this fic if it kills me!
Any recs for long or short, realistic Dramione fics?