Note: I absolutely do not support JK Rowling's transphobic remarks. Trans rights are human rights. I also do not agree with some commentators' opinions that to read or write HP fanworks, one is supporting the author's worldview. I love the universe she created. That is all.
In fact, I believe that in *rewriting* her work, we are in a way sticking it to JK, and adding more complexity and diversity to the very white, heteronormative world she made, a world most of us do not live in.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but please do not blast this or other fanworks for the love we still have of the wizarding world.
Chapter Thirteen
Friday, October 23rd
Loath as she was to admit it, a part of Hermione regretted being so stubborn in her insistence to come back to Hogwarts. Not because she didn't want to finish her schoolwork; the coursework itself was the best part of her day.
No, she would gladly take every class as an independent study if it meant she could avoid the students, the questions and judgment still lingering in their eyes whenever she passed.
For the most part, Hermione ignored the whispers and innuendo. Being close friends with Harry and Ron had prepared her to be the subject of gossip; she'd always been able to endure it with her chin held high.
But her friends weren't here now to act as shields against fellow teenage malice. Without her vanguard, she felt open and vulnerable.
Even as she sat in afternoon Potions, Hermione overheard the hushed voices murmuring.
"I heard Granger and Malfoy tried to run away together last year, but Harry stopped her. Didn't want her to break his best mate's heart." She rolled her eyes at the boy's words and refocused on her potion. As if she would have wanted to run away with Draco. As if Harry could have stopped her if she had wanted to run away with Draco.
"Well, I heard Malfoy slipped her a love potion, and now she's up the duff and has to stay with him. No other explanation for her shacking up with that cretin, mate."
To her gossipy classmates' benefit, those weren't the worst rumors. The worst were the ones with a shade of the truth to them.
"I heard he raped her," a voice whispered amoung the bookshelves one late night in the library while she was studying.
It was those times when Hermione wanted to disapparate away from the warded safety of the magical school, to hide, and withdraw from the wizarding community altogether.
The shadow of Professor Slughorn's frame pulled her back to her work as he stood by her table, examining her cauldron's contents with a tight smile upon his round face. "Ah, perfect potion, Miss Granger. Top marks, top marks. You may bottle it and clean up," he remarked, strolling away to the next student with his arms behind his back.
Hermione should have appreciated the high praise, but it rang hollow to her. The potion was supposed to be an effervescent bright fuschia; her's was lackluster at best and pale pink. It barely fizzled in the stoppered vials.
While she was grateful for the leniency her professors were giving her this year due to her rather unusual circumstances - Professor Flitwick even going so far as to excuse her from class when they practiced more dangerous charms - she missed the days when she was treated like any other student.
"Malfoy," Slughorn hissed the name like a curse, and Hermione turned to her left to see the portly professor looming over Draco's cauldron. "You were tasked with brewing a Wit-Sharpening Potion. What is this rubbish?" She could see the bright pink color from where she sat across the room, the contents within fizzling merrily - a perfect potion.
Draco's lips were compressed into a tight line, his fists balled on the top of his work table, yet he didn't move or say a word when Slughorn cleared the cauldron with a flick of his wrist, harrumphed and walked away.
The same whispering students snickered unkindly at the show.
Hermione sent him a sympathetic smile, having lived through years of Professor Snape's unfair treatment, but Draco was already packing his bag, his back to her.
Once, in a time that felt like another life entirely, she would have scoffed and joined in with the snickering, perhaps commenting about just desserts. Hadn't Draco, after all, been Snape's favored student, smugly gloating after receiving compliment upon compliment from the sour professor? His lowered status in the eyes of Slughorn would have delighted Hermione's vindictive fifth-year heart.
Yet now she felt nothing but empathy for him. That realization irked her less than she thought it would.
Something had shifted between them since the revelation three weeks ago. Their communication had become incrementally better, no longer avoiding the other at all costs, and it somewhat lifted the tension she hadn't realized she was holding in. Last week, Hermione had offered to help him with an advanced star chart assignment, and he declined, which she was expecting, but he was polite about it, which she was not. Draco had even sat in their shared living space a time or two to study, something he hadn't done before.
Perhaps it was because they now knew the undeniable truth which was both a relief and a burden. Perhaps it was because Draco's mother had given him a stern talking to about his new responsibilities, a possibility Hermione wouldn't put past the woman especially when she saw how many letter's Draco was receiving of late, the green Malfoy crest on full display at the breakfast table.
Whatever it was, Hermione was relieved the icy tension between them both had melted a bit, and they could go about their days in, if not friendliness, than at least civility.
Hermione had just turned the corner of the corridor to her tower when a shoulder knocked into her, sending her reeling backwards into the wall, the contents of her knapsack spewing out onto the stone floor.
"Oy, watch where you're going!" snapped Tracey Davis, the beads in her braids clinking together as she twisted her head to glare at Hermione. The girl next to her, Daphne Greengrass, glowered, moving her wand in quick, concise motions and returning the items to Hermione's bag.
"I beg your pardon? You ran into me!" Hermione remarked, indignant, rubbing her shoulder where it slammed into the stone.
"Tracey, leave her be," the shorter girl said, handing Hermione back her knapsack. "She's expecting."
Tracey rolled her eyes, folding her arms in front of her. "She was walking down the middle of the way, not paying attention. Anyone else I'd do the same; why should she get special treatment? Granger walks around thinking she's better than us all, but she's just a mudblood slag who can't keep her knickers on."
Hermione felt her shoulders tense at this, her wand gripped harder in her hand, but before she could curse the Slytherin into oblivion, a voice cut through first.
"Funny you should mention knickers, Davis," Draco drawled from the top of the staircase, rounding the corner just next to Hermione. "Your's certainly couldn't be found when your thighs were wrapped around Sally-Anne Perks' ears under the quidditch pitch. As I recall, you begged me not to tell your girlfriend about that. How is Melonia, by the way?"
Tracey's face darkened in embarrassment. "Fuck you, Malfoy," she spat then took off down the stairs, Daphne fast on her heels.
An awkward silence hovered between them for a few heavy moments until Hermione broke it.
"Thank you for…defending me," she said haltingly, her breath still hitched from the near altercation.
"It's whatever," he responded, trailing off.
She came up beside him as he walked towards their rooms, and, keeping her voice low, she asked, "What did you tell them about us?"
"Who?"
"You know…the others. In your house. Slytherins."
"I've told them it's none of their bloody business. People are going to think what they want, regardless of the truth," Draco stated bluntly as they stepped into the main room.
Hermione nodded, depositing her knapsack on her favorite chair and coming back to stand by the fire. "Just as well. Most people think you've either love-potioned me or we're in some sort of forbidden, Romeo and Juliet-esque relationship," she continued, oblivious to his darkening expression. "Oh, sorry, it's a muggle play by William-"
"I know who Shakespeare is. I've read his plays. Seen them, too," Draco turned to her, his lip raised in a sneer. "You act as if wizards are so ignorant, as if you're above us because you're muggleborn. You didn't even know what a Birth Rite was until recently!"
Hermione was taken aback by his sudden viciousness. "You were eavesdropping on Ginny and me?"
"It's hard to ignore your chattering when I'm in the other room. Why are you bringing people into my chambers? What gives you the right-"
"It's our shared room, Malfoy! I don't have to ask your permission to have my friends enter. If you had any friends, I wouldn't mind them coming round, but you don't, do you?" Hermione said then immediately regretted the words after they left her mouth.
Watching Draco's fair skin become blotchy red with rage within seconds was a site to behold. He advanced toward her, slate eyes narrowed, but she stood her ground, hands on her wide hips and not allowing herself to be intimidated.
"If you had just gotten rid of the baby to begin with, we wouldn't be here! I wouldn't have to watch you waddling around the castle all day or have to lie to just about everyone I know or... or deal with any of this," he seethed through his teeth, breath coming out as short, angry huffs.
"And what - given it to your mother? It wouldn't have changed the fact that you'd be its father and I its mother. Would you have lied to the child its whole life, pretend to be a supportive big brother? Lies never age well."
He stepped away from her, shaking his platinum head. "It was a mistake. I never should have...should have gone down there."
"Why did you do it, Draco?" Her voice was soft as she asked the question that had haunted her ever since that fateful night last April. "Why did you go down to the cellar? You could have left me, but you didn't."
Eyes squeezed shut, a pained expression painted his face pale again. "Because you didn't deserve what Greyback was going to do to you. No one did. Not that it meant a bloody thing in the end," he said, his voice now barely a whisper.
Hermione took a step toward him, her hand instinctively coming up to hold his, but stopped short and clenched into a fist by her side instead. "It did. It meant everything, Draco."
Their eyes held together, amber and grey, as the words they hadn't yet spoken finally came to the surface.
Before those words could come forward, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Who…?" Draco said instead.
"The mid-witch," Hermione exhaled out a shaky breath, recalling at once her appointment, and went to answer, her heart hammering in her chest.
What was that? She wondered. That moment between the two of them, now dashed.
Standing next to Headmistress McGonagall was a solidly built middle-aged witch with mop of salt and pepper curls haloing her head. The brooch upon the lapel of her velvet lavender robe was a white stork.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall said in greeting. "Your floo will have temporary exiting-only privileges for the next hour to accommodate your consultation." And Hermione remembered in a flash that the only floo entrance in the castle was within the headmistresses office. McGonagall gave her a slight smile then turned to leave.
"Thank you," Hermione said. Then to the mid-witch, "Come in, please."
The mid-witch gripped her hand and said in a vociferous voice, "Ernesta Havershack, pleasure to meet you, pleasure to meet you!" as she entered the room. "You must be the expectant mum, Miss Granger." Hermione nodded, half amused and half curious. Her only real dealings with the magical medical profession was Madame Pomfrey and many frantic emergency visits to St. Mungos with her friends.
Ernesta Havershack was efficient, to say the least, making several quick, wordless flicks of her wand at her carpet bag where miniature items began to float out and expand into a gurney-type bed and a small lab table complete with bottled potions.
Draco, who was turned toward his room mid-pirouette, was hooked about the waist by the stout witch. The apoplectic look on his face was one Hermione wished she could capture on camera and frame.
"Not so fast there, Mr. Malfoy, is it? Dad is welcome here, not like back in the day. You can take a seat here," she gestured to the chair that appeared next to the head of the gurney. Considering his mother was the one to recommend the attendant mid-witch, the best in the country in her opinion, Hermione thought it right that he be here as well. That there were flickers of doubt and worry troubling her stomach had nothing to do with it, surely, she reasoned.
When Hermione came back from changing into the medical gown provided by Ernesta, she was guided to lay on the bed while the mid-witch attached odd devices to her arm and drew a sample of her blood.
"Alright now, date of conception was the beginning of April. Is this correct?" Ernesta asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied, feeling herself flush as her eyes flicked to Draco and back. "April ninth to be precise."
The parchment and quill floating next to the mid-witch's head scribbled down her answer while she added drops of blood to several different potions positioned upright on test-tube stands. Both Draco and Hermione watched the process with curiosity as she moved between the bed and her miniature lab in silence.
"So you'll be seven and a half months, smack into your third trimester," Ernesta said, taking one of the unblooded vials and motioning for Hermione to drink. The acidic yellow substance burned its way down her esophagus, causing her to gag.
"Ugh…it tastes like bile!"
"It is bile," Ernesta replied bluntly. "Well, most part of it. From the gallbladder of a grockletooth."
Draco chuckled at this and Hermione elbowed him.
After a few moments, Hermione's nerves couldn't keep quiet. "So is…is everything in order? I've been to a muggle clinic before this and have been following all of the advice they provided as well as-"
"To tell you the truth, dear, muggle obstetrics is a bit archaic. Their methodology is hardly what I would consider worthwhile of a witch's time. The absolute barbary I've witnessed in the muggle birthing room," she tisked, and Hermione pressed her lips together to keep what was sure to be a rude response to herself. "And don't get me started on the inaccuracies of their testing. Speaking of which…" The mid-witch closely examined three of the vials which had now settled in their color. "Your sugars are good, Miss Granger, and you've been getting the proper nutrients. Good, good. And I see your mother was correct in there being no underlying genetic deficiencies in your line, Mr. Malfoy."
Unless you count madness, Hermione almost muttered, thinking of his twisted aunt. She didn't miss the unspoken message sent between the mid-witch and Draco. "Pure" bloodlines, for all their proclaimed superiority, were riddled with hereditary illness due to centuries of rampant inbreeding. Despite this, however, it was a relief to know her child would be free of at least some burden.
"Alright now, please lift the center part of your gown. Time to check on baby."
Hermione felt blood rush to her face as she revealed her distended belly and realized she wasn't alone; Draco's face was an interesting shade of fire-engine red as he averted his gaze..
Ernesta's chill, dry hands felt all along her abdomen, dictating notes to her scratching quill such as "Right position, good" and "Got quite a kick, that one", and eventually pressing the cold end of a stethoscope to Hermione's skin, making her jump.
"Ah, sorry; should've warned you. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"
They both nodded, and then there it was, amplified by Ernesta's unspoken spell: the rapid little beat of a heart. Draco and Hermione shared a look, one she couldn't quite define, yet held the possibility of hope.
"Oh that's lovely," Hermione sighed, her hand coming to rest at the top of her belly right where she felt the smallest of kicks.
"Now let's see inside!" The mid-witch said in excitement.
"What?!" Exclaimed Hermione, hands moving protectively over herself.
"Huh?" Draco said simultaneously.
Ernesta looked to be on the brink of cackling as she rubbed a putrid yellow substance on Hermione's abdomen, moving the expectant's hands in order to get ointment higher.
"Bloody hell…" muttered Draco, and Hermione shifted her gaze to where he stared, realizing with dawning horror that they were all now looking inside of her.
From her angle, she could see the bottom of their baby, its red, wrinkly crossed feet tucked snuggly into what she deduced was the amniotic sac. One tiny knee moved outward, pushing up into her ribs. How odd it was to feel it move within her while witnessing it at the same time. Hermione felt momentarily faint. She'd seen so much in her years as a witch, yet somehow, in some ways, the miracles of magic still left her breathless.
The mid-witch produced a measuring tape while making approving noises in her throat. "Everything is looking quite normal."
Draco had moved across the bed from Ernesta, further down Hermione's body to inspect this extraordinary sight. The expression on his face indicated that magic still surprised him, too.
"What's that bit there?" He pointed to a spot outside of Hermione's line of sight.
"Ah, yes. That would be his penis," Ernesta stated matter of factly, continuing to study the moving fetus, and Draco's eyebrows shot to the top of his head.
Heart in her throat, Hermione struggled to sit up, trying to see as much as she could of her child, though with the baby's bottom in the way, she couldn't see much. She could just make out the fluorescent yellow liquid of the vile potion as it moved through the umbilical cord and into her son.
She was going to have a son.
Hermione caught Draco's eyes, spying the faintest of smiles on his lips before he looked away.
With the sound of the zipping close of her measuring tape, Ernesta motioned Hermione to stand up, and with Draco's help, she did.
"Any thoughts on what to name him yet?" Ernesta asked, magicking away the bed and lab back into her bottomless bag.
"Obviously a family name," Draco stated, matter of factly.
Hermione scoffed at his presumption. "To be honest, we haven't discussed it yet."
Ernesta nodded sagely. "Tis bad luck to name them before they are born."
Then to Hermione: "You're gestating quite nicely, though the edema in your ankles, the swelling, that is, might be a cause of concern. Stay off your feet as much as possible and reduce your salt intake. I'll make the suggestion to your headmistress as well." From within her bottomless carpetbag, the mid-witch pulled several vials out as well as a pamphlet. "Take this with a glass of water before you sleep to help with constipation. I'll be back next month. Floo-call me with any emergencies. Must be off to another appointment. Lovely to meet you both," and with that she disappeared into the green flame of the floo.
Hermione looked at the vial and pamphlet, blushing.
A/N: Bet you didn't see this update coming! Well I didn't either. It isn't abandoned, but updates will be slow. Trying to get back in the habit of writing, and I hate that I left this unfinished. It's just...life, man. It sucks the life outta ya. I've had some major health issues these last two years and am somewhat recovering. It's hard to get motivated to do anything when you can't get out of bed.
As always, your reviews and comments are the sunshine on a cloudy day. The enthusiasm and kindness of the fan community never ceases to amaze me. I love you all :)