At Sixes and Sevens

by Inky_Bloom

Summary:

Draco would like nothing more than to stay untethered. But after a returning to London, the societal witches flock to him. His best bet to avoid a stagnant life is to take a job at the last place he wants to be. Things go from bad to worse when during his first day, he meets a precious little boy with platinum curls and his protective mother.

How is it that he managed a child with Granger, when they had never shagged?

Notes:

It has been years since I've done this.
Do we still start off with the disclaimer that I do not own the Harry Potter series? In case it's still needed, I do not in fact, own the Harry Potter books/series/characters. If I did, I would not be working full time with two children and six chickens.
I'd have at least eight chickens. And a hot tub.

Also, I have no beta reader. You are going in raw.

Have fun.

Chapter 1: Apprehension

Draco was satisfied.

Not exactly happy, but as close as one could get in his position. 

After lazily studying abroad and rediscovering himself throughout a tour filled with contraband potions and lost days, he’d finally decided it was time to return home. Yes, the amenity in each country he visited was most intoxicating and freeing, but the time to face wizarding London was past its time. 

His time away had given him the space to live the bachelor lifestyle he desired. He basked under the Spanish sun, tasted espresso off the tongue of a local French woman, and sat in meadows and gazed at majestic mountains in Switzerland. He saw beaches, drank an obscene amount of wine and studied when it suited him. 

It was wonderful.

The opportunities to take a new witch home every evening were endless, and by gods he made sure said opportunities weren’t put to waste. It was easy falling into bed with a blond, brunette or redhead, sometimes a mix of all three, and not worry about learning their names, birthplaces or relatives. He hated small talk and unnecessary attachments. 

He hated most attachments. 

They were messy and required things like depth that he had no interest in. It may have contributed to an aversion to looking within; and that was a box he’d much rather ignore. It was a tangled mess of mistakes and regrets. Things best kept out of the light.

Affairs such as dating and marriage were for sods who feared never feeling the warmth of a woman again without commitment. Draco had learned how to find the perfect type of witch that wanted about as much out of him as he did them. These witches were everywhere, but most wizards struggled with the charm and good looks that came with being a Malfoy.  

  His courses were relatively easy. It helped that he saw potions akin to Arithmancy. If he added that component, this would happen. All he really had to do was memorize ingredient families and subclasses. Add in a dash of Astronomy, and he was set for a mastery. 

He returned to London in search of work. Not that he needed it, but the Ministry of Magic had summoned him home and his options were job or marriage. Since marriage was akin to a stint in Azkaban, he chose employment. 

While he does enjoy a nice, slothful evening, it was not his preferred way to spend time. Idle hands and all that nonsense. After being rejected for half of the positions applied for, and not picked for the other half, he received a letter.

The Hogwarts crest on the back of the envelope looked exactly as it did the day he turned eleven. The creamy parchment was smooth in his hands. Idly he wondered how many wizards received letters from Hogwarts more than once in their lives. 

Confused and intrigued, he grabbed a letter opener from his desk and sliced through the thick parchment.   

 

Dear Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy,

It has come to my attention that you are seeking a position in the workforce. Here at Hogwarts, we have a position available to you. With your mastery in the air, it would only make sense to offer you the role of flying instructor here at Hogwarts. 

I understand that this is a far cry from what you’ve been applying for, but I am also in great need. 

Our current Professor Hodfellow had an unexpected encounter with a rare Peruvian Vipertooth while on holiday. Since this particular breed is the one responsible for deadly bouts of Dragon Pox, our Professor has entered into a quarantine for an undetermined amount of time. 

This has left an opening for an aspiring young person such as yourself.

Please return a reply as soon as possible.

Regards,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress at Hogwarts 

 

He read the letter twice before realizing that this was an opportunity. 

Not just any opportunity, a grand one. 

He wouldn’t have to subject himself to the scrutiny that many potential employers had done.

But children. 

Sure, there had been fleeting moments where he’d picture a shock blond mini version of himself and the place behind his ribs would begin to ache. But then he’d remember all they had to offer.

Ghastly things with forever sticky fingers and an endless supply of boogies. Even in his own youth, Draco had always presented himself cleaner than his fellow classmates. With his hair ever slicked, face washed daily and robes perfectly pressed, there was no denying that the young master Malfoy was immaculate since childhood. For cleanliness is next to godliness, and what are Malfoy’s if they are not gods of the wizarding world?

His family has always been wealthy, both in good looks and in galleons, and had never encountered anything as trivial as need .

That is, until today. 

After the war, the Malfoy family did their penance for the part they all played in the Wizarding War. Lucius to Azkaban, Narcissa to house arrest and probation, Draco to leave the country in hopes of never returning. 

Unfortunately, the familial reputation was in utter shambles. Not loyal enough for those that devoted their lives to the Dark Lord, and too cowardly for those who followed Potter. It was quite a terrible place to be. Because of this, they all became somewhat pariahs. A family to put in a box and to be stored in an attic with the intention of quietly fading away.

Forgotten, needless, rejected. 

Polished, wealthy, untouchable.

It’s all in how oneself is presented, really.

Draco needed a job. Not for any monetary gain, but for the family reputation and to keep the single lifestyle he preferred. Since his mother was stuck at the Manor, it fell to his shoulders to get back out into society and do some repairs. He needed to make a presence in wizarding London and what better way to do it than to rub elbows with the more common men? Roll up his house-elf pressed shirts and get to work. It would be the perfect way to establish his place back in the world. And after all of his travels, he was invigorated and ready to take on this heavy mantle. 

If only the snobbery of every bloody employer didn’t get in his way. They all must be jealous, he decided. It was only fair; he couldn’t blame those that had to work for a living being envious of his position. Why if roles were reversed, he would absolutely have felt the same. 

The edges of the letter crinkled with the slight tightening in his hands. Why is it that the only available job is somewhere crawling with mangy children? He had a perfectly put together look and he just knew they would ruin it. Gods, he could remember quite well the deep bags under Trelawny’s eyes, the wrinkles on Flitwick’s face, and the complete lack of charm of McGonagall. He simply couldn’t do it.

Decided, he started toward the sunroom to meet his mother for tea. The heels of his dragonhide boots clacked on the smooth marble flooring as he walked. The unoccupied halls echoed his steps back to him.

Click, click, click. 

It was so quiet in the Manor. Granted, it had always been that way, but he never realized how void of sound his childhood home was. It was almost suffocating.

The doors to the sunroom were open; a gentle breeze catching the lace curtains. They swayed in greeting as he entered. His mother was gazing up at the stained glass ceiling, a floral tea cup in her delicate grasp.  

“Mother.” He greeted as he pecked her cheek. 

Narcissa smiled. “I’ve received a letter that I think may interest you.”

She reached over, grabbed the teapot and poured a cup before placing it in front of him. 

“That’s funny because I’ve also received a letter.” He grabbed a sugar cube and dropped it into the steaming cup. 

His mother raised her eyebrows and hummed in interest. “Maybe we have letters penned by the same author.”

He scoffed, “I highly doubt it. Who was your letter from?” 

“Cyrus Greengrass.”

Who knew that a leafy name like Cyrus Greengrass could make his bachelor life suddenly wither? There was only one thing that the Greengrass family was looking for and it definitely wasn’t Draco’s winning personality. A shame, really. He had traits that most men would live and die without ever knowing. Merlin, that’s a depressing mood. 

He could see the letter now without ever reading it. He saw it in the guarded, hopeful look in his mother’s eyes; the extra cautious way she set down her cup. Not to mention the timing. It was as if the clock had struck midnight. 

He’d been back at the Manor for exactly a week now and low and behold, a letter from a family with two eligible daughters. His thirtieth birthday was a few months away, and here he was in his prime and perfectly single. Most wizards saw his return as a chance to strike a deal.

They knew that now with his travels and most of the randiness out of the way, his next step would be to settle down. But the bachelor life complimented Draco. His love for the suave icon he’d become, antagonism for settling down and general distaste for children all led to not being married. 

No, he’d committed himself to never being tied to an old ball and chain and had taken meticulous steps to affirm that lifestyle. 

Painful and disgusting, but thorough steps.

Very thorough.  

Even if one of the Greengrass girls were to slip him a love potion and lock their legs around his arse as he drove deep into them, he had made sure there would be nothing there to tie them together. 

When he was in Amsterdam, he met a muggle at a pub. He didn’t know she was a muggle until her clothes were half off and his cock was out. It was at this point that she stopped him and demanded he wear a condom. Thinking this was some sort of kink of the area, he asked what that was and told her he’d never used one before. 

At this point she had turned around, fixed her shirt, called him a pig and left him standing there, aching and frustrated. 

Feeling like a fool, he started a search for this condom kink. He found out fairly quickly it was the muggle equivalent to contraceptive potion. Only it wasn’t a potion and instead something used quite heavily on bananas. Fascinated, he continued his education on muggle sex. He discovered a plethora of ways they protect themselves from accidental pregnancies. 

Muggles were surprisingly creative. 

When he had come across something called a vasectomy and a sperm bank, he couldn’t believe his luck. This was a method that was untapped by the wizarding community therefore couldn’t be sabotaged by an ambitious witch. No one would know what he’d done, and he’d be free to wet his willy as frequently as he wanted. 

It was the perfect plan.

Quite the clever man, he is. 

The reality was, the Greengrass family were only the beginning. More letters will arrive and with each one, the pressure to act on them will begin to weigh. This is the time where all the socialite mothers will owl his mother in an attempt to set him up with their daughters. It didn’t matter that his family had become pariahs, the money still flowed and those mothers were always happy to turn a blind eye to status. He needed an out and he needed it quickly because he’ll be damned if this was his end. Draco never did anything he didn’t want to do. 

He needed to find a way to discourage these letters.

“ -and Daphne has done quite well with her paintings. Not as skilled as Astoria when it comes to dancing, but still very talented.” His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts of fancy-free life and the soon end. Well it will be the end if he doesn’t find himself a way to side step this conversation. 

He picked up his tea, blew gently on the steam rising from his cup, and took a small sip. The back tea held the perfect robust kick. His spine straightened as he made eye contact with his mother. His mouth opened to stop whatever speech Narcissa had prepared when she sighed and spoke before him. 

“I know what you are thinking, Draco. But don’t you see it is past time to finally be serious and settle down? I’m concerned for your future happiness. When your father was your age, we had a three, almost four year old.”

“I’m not my father.” He muttered as he crossed his arms. Fantastic, he was reduced to pouting. 

Narcissa continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m not saying you should pick any young lady, but at least give them a chance. You might be surprised at how much you all have in common.”

“Please mother, not this again. I have no intention of meeting these witches who are only interested in becoming the next Lady Malfoy. I’m quite content alone, thank you.”

“Someday your past actions are going to keep you from moving forward, my son. You have to talk about-”

Draco stood abruptly and smoothed down the front of his shirt. “I must be going. Thank you for the tea.” 

Anger simmered as he walked back down the hall and into the study. He paced in hopes of out walking the memories that suddenly rose, but it wasn’t enough. He paused only for a moment when he grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

His voice was sharp as he spoke into the green flames, “Ministry of Magic.”

 

---

 

“Come on Nott, is there truly nothing you can have me do?”

“I’ve already told you. My area of expertise is invention, yours is potions. The two don’t really cross over.” Theo grabbed his wand and waved it over the time turner that sat on the table. It glowed for a moment then disappeared. Theo ran a hand through his hair before sighing. “That’s not good. Why is it so important to get a job anyway? Just marry someone and ignore her. That’s what my father did until mum died. It worked wonderfully for him.”

“Because, I…” Draco’s patience was running thin. He shook his head and huffed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. The point is I would rather work. Just not… at Hogwarts.”

“Gods, I can’t imagine going back there. All those memories of Potter and his crew strutting about the halls. Now Potter just struts around the Ministry.”

“All alone? I can’t imagine him being alone. It’s always been the Trio. Like they were bloody fused.”

“No, Weasel is with him. He’s gotten quite fit in the Auror programme.”

“Gods no, Theo.” Draco shuddered. “What about Granger?”

The words left him before he had a chance to realise. Stupid man. Theo turned to Draco, a sly smile growing.

“Never mind, I don’t give a shit.” He stood and turned towards the door. 

“She disappeared.” 

His steps faltered. “What?” 

Curiosity burned through him. How could a girl, well woman now he supposed, with that hair and that mouth disappear? Smarty pants Granger seemed to suck the air from any room she stood in. She was always so loud and detectable from Quidditch fields away. It drove Draco completely batty and he hated every moment of it. She was immodest when it came to the wizarding world with no regard to the proper way of things. Always going on about an injustice of one kind or another. How is it that this uneducated, though passably smart, witch saw things that he had spent his whole life staring at and not seeing? It always made Draco feel hot with a feeling he didn’t understand. 

“She seemed to have just vanished.” Theo said, watching Draco closely. “One day she was on the cover of the Prophet and the next, she was gone. Had quit her job and moved out of London. No one has seen her for a few years.” 

“Oh.” Was all Draco could reply. The information left him off kilter. 

Theo cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I’ll see what I can find job wise, but no promises. Now where did that time turner go?”

He started shuffling around his workspace, clearly dismissing his friend. Draco grabbed his cloak from the hook on the wall and saw himself out with a tight nod. 

Right. 

Well he’s sure to figure something out. He was, after all, a Slytherin. And a damn brilliant one too.  

The walk back to the floo was irritatingly slow. Stuck behind gossiping ministry workers, a flock of paper airplanes and a cleaning caddy that’s spell seemed to have stopped working on one of the wheels. 

By the time he made it to the floo, he was distracted enough that he didn’t see the woman stepping out. They collided with an oomph, and he reached out to steady her before she fell. 

“My apologies,” He said as he dusted soot from his shoulder. “I didn’t-” His voice died in his throat as his eyes landed on none other than Astoria Greengrass.

She beamed up at him with large eyes, “Why hello Draco. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Her dark hair was perfectly smooth; her lips a touch pink. She wore glass blue robes that clung to her petite frame. And goodness, she was beautiful. By the way she looked at him, she knew it too.

“Astoria, how is your family doing?” He had to think quickly. Blast him for not paying attention. This is possibly the one person he’d hope to never run into, and here he is, doing just that. What rotten luck.

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, and it drew his gaze to her mouth. She was a very attractive woman, even if her eyes are that of a predator. Given that both of them had grown up in the same circles, with the same friends, same education and same expectations, he knew that her mind was spinning a web just as quickly as he was seeking out an exit. 

“They are well, thank you.” She slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow; one he didn’t even remember having, and steered him away from the floo. “Do I get the pleasure of seeing you again soon? Your mother has invited me to tea next week. I do hope you will be there to join us.” 

Where in the hells was she leading him? 

He needed to slip away and fast. The invisible snare he’d stepped in was already winding tighter. Think damn it. His mind shouted. 

They took a corner and Draco found himself staring at a small cafe. Astoria gently guided him over to a small bistro set before waving over a floating menu. Her small, but surprisingly firm hands all but pushed him into one of the iron chairs before settling onto her own.

“The scones are delicious.” She crossed her legs at the knees and the clip of her garter winked in the light. He looked at it; eyes followed the line up her smooth thigh.

No, he needed to stop. It would only encourage her.

He shook his head in an attempt to physically dislodge his eyes. This woman knew what she was doing. He knew it, she knew it, the damn floating menu knew it. 

He cleared his throat and stood. “I really cannot stay, Astoria. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh dear,” She leaned forward, elbows on the table and ever so subtly pushed out her chest. “That’s a shame. I was really hoping we could reconnect while I have some time.”

“Apologies. It’ll have to be another time.” It was a hollow promise, but it was enough to do.

She nodded, a playful smile gracing her lips. “I’ll hold you to it Draco.”

He turned on his heel and tried not to run back to the floo. It had been a while since he’d been in London and he’d forgotten how crafty the witches of upper society were. If he was to ever achieve his goals, he’ll have to sharpen up. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult; after all he was born into this world to rule it.

Chapter 2: Decisions

Summary:

Decisions are made, people are met, and a smutty wizarding magazine is, uh, viewed. Check updated tags.

Notes:

I'd just like to say thank you all so far for your support. Your kudos and comments have resurrected the long-buried writer within me.
It means so much to me after doing this for the first time in over 15 years. No, I'm not ancient, just a millennial. Maybe it's the same these days.
I'd also like to warn that I am a slower writer. Sorry.
Do take comfort in knowing that I have the entirety of this story planned out in my head. I just don't have as much time as I'd like to actually sit and get it all down.

That being said, I promise to do what I can, when I can.
Enjoy.

Blast it all, he couldn’t shake these witches. 

Of course he understood why he was such a target, and in any other circumstance he may even enjoy the attention. But the ladies and their mothers crowded around him wherever he went. 

It was beyond suffocating. 

They would press against him, breathe too close, and chitter in his ear about the most mind numbing topics. The encounters always left Draco irritable and tired. 

He sat in an armchair by the dying fire in his room. A crystal glass cut with an amber liquid swirled around as he absently tapped the rim with the ring on his forefinger. The windows were open to the night sky, but the moon intentionally shone on the parchment that lay on his desk. The Hogwarts letter seemed to be growing bigger and heavier with each passing day. It was there when he woke, and the last thing he saw before sleep. He’d yet to write a reply out of fear the words his quill would ink. 

The inevitable was steadily drawing closer, and it took the form of the Hogwarts Express.

But was he lying on the tracks or will he board the train? He wasn’t enthused by either option. 

Hogwarts was still the only option for a job. He’d move out to Scotland, keep his freedom, and forever be miserably surrounded by children. Young minds that will be shaped into tomorrow’s future. Smaller beings with too much emotion and too little focus. 

Hormonal, moody, unwashed moppets.

However during the summer, the students would be away and he’d get some peace and quiet. And he wouldn’t be chained to another pureblood witch with nothing to give but a too white smile and a head stuffed with opinions on the latest fashion. 

There was also the possibility that he may find himself another job and just use Hogwarts in the interim. After all, he was only offered the position of substitute and therefore unlikely to continue after Professor Holdfellow returned. The ministry had been gracious in giving him time to find something on his own, but that window was rapidly closing. Soon they would assign him work and Salazar only knows what kind of work that may be. If he fell short of expectations, they’d most likely find work for him on some remote, prison-like island. Somewhere they could keep a close eye on him; forever watching to see how Draco may mess up, or find a way to revive the Dark Lord. 

He snorted at the thought; suddenly bitter. The idea that the Ministry believed him to still be loyal to the Dark Lord’s ideals were beyond laughable. But no matter how many times he tried to appeal to his Handler and the courts, they still looked at him as if he was an active criminal.

He deserved to be seen in that light though.

He had been a coward. A biased, spineless snake that did horrid actions and deserved this treatment.

Lifting his glass, he swallowed the rest of his firewhisky. 

Best to leave those thoughts in the past. There was nothing that he could do now to change it, even if said past held him from a future he ached for. The best he could do is move forward and indulge when he can because it is only a matter of time when his borrowed graces will run out. 

He stood and walked over to the desk. Exchanging his glass for the letter, he swallowed. The words swam before bleary eyes, but it mattered not because he had them memorized by now. And there in the night, by the moon and a fire, Draco let the one thought he’d buried rise to the surface. I don’t want to be surrounded by what I will not have.

One more day. He’d give himself one more day before writing a reply. 

The letter dropped to the floor as he walked over to his bed and laid down, still fully dressed. 

---

 

 

The sun shone too brightly the next morning.

Draco sat up in his rumpled clothes and rubbed a hand over his face. Too much Odgen’s and not enough sleep. He was to meet with his Handler today to discuss any potential positions and what was required from him for the Ministry to be content. 

Draco bloody hated this meeting. 

No, not hated, loathed.  

When the damned Ministry decided he must take a position it was bad enough, but to have someone assigned to manage him; a Malfoy no less, that was downright insulting. His meetings were always long, boring as hell and Handler Tobbs was a man that washed himself only once a week. His stomach roiled with stale liquor at the thought of the smell. Please, dear Merlin, let it be wash day. In an effort to cover the odor he was sure to be exposed to, Draco showered thoroughly, brushed his teeth and dabbed himself with more cologne than usual. 

When the clock hit five minutes before his meeting, he finally tore himself away from primping to floo to the Ministry. He childishly dragged his feet to the lift and ever so slowly pressed the brass level two button. The gated door slammed shut and he was off. The speed at which the lift flew up the shaft seemed unnecessary quick, and put him even further into a sour mood.

The doors opened and he stepped out onto the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, ready and looking for a fight. He all but stomped his way down the corridor marked Handler Hall and stopped at a plain wood door with a nameplate that simply said Tobbs . The knob turned with a creak as he let himself in. 

Tobbs sat behind a well worn desk; piles of papers haphazardly stacked on the sides and floor. Behind him were a couple of photos of his ex-wife and daughter. Draco knew that the man had been divorced and had little contact with his daughter during the years he’d been Draco’s Handler. The man’s forever sad eyes snapped up at the sound of his door.

“Only fifteen after,” He said as he glanced at the clock on the wall. “You must have received a job offer.”

Draco ground his teeth in irritation. “Very funny Tobbs.” 

“Ah, so I must be right,” He replied, shifting through some of the papers on his desk. “You’ve yet to take it as an opportunity to correct me.”

“Yes,” Draco rolled his eyes as he replied, “I received one offer, but I’m trying to see if there is anything else before I accept.”

“Don’t be a fool Malfoy.” Bitterness coated Tobbs’s words. He looked up from his papers and glared at Draco. “Do you have any idea how difficult it has been to try and place you? No one, and I do mean no one, wants to employ someone who has zero experience, paints himself as some bratty aristocrat and is constantly insulting the interviewees.”

“It was one time and it really was a hideous brooch-”

Tobbs continued, talking over him, “People talk. And when they do all they hear is you aren’t worth the time or trouble. You are lucky to have even one offer extended to you.”

“Yes,” The word was drawn out in a slow, superior tone. “But seeing that I am who I am, I could do better than a substitute teacher.”

“Hogwarts reached out to you?” Tobbs’s ire ebbed and curiosity laced his tone. “That’s quite a prestigious institution. I’ll admit, I did reach out to the headmistress to see if there was anything you could do there. Granted, I was hoping you’d end up as janitorial or kitchen staff.” 

Gods damn this horrid man. At least he’d washed recently. The smell wasn’t terrible today. 

“Well unfortunately for you, others can appreciate my flying skills.”

“What’s wrong with old Professor Hodfellow?”

“Dragon pox. Something to do with a chance encounter during his holiday.”

“That’s a shame. He was one of my daughter’s favorite professors.”

“And how is your daughter?” Draco asked, knowing full well that Hobbs hadn’t seen the girl in some months.

The room fell silent for a beat as Hobbs took a shallow breath. “You should accept the offer. The DMLE is losing patience with you and your probation requires you to take a position. If you fail to take one, they may consider returning you to Azkaban.”

Draco shot out of his seat, “They can’t do that. I’m a free man.”

“They can because you are a man on probation. And you have yet to meet the terms laid out for your freedom.”

“But-” He couldn’t think of anything to say. Bloody mind went blank. “But,” he tried again, “I’ve already been through trial.”

“Yes.” was all the reply he got.

“I hate you.” he sneered as he wrenched open the door.

“The feeling is quite mutual. Have a wonderful day Mr. Malfoy.”

 

---

 Since life seemed to have it out for Draco, with each passing moment he didn’t accept the Headmistress's offer, he decided to owl a response.

 

Dear Headmistress McGonagall, 

 

I would gladly take the position of Flying Instructor in the interim while your Professor Hodfellow recovers. I’ll take the train into Hogsmeade in two days’ time. 

 

Best wishes, 

Draco Lucius Malfoy

 

Short and sweet; to the point. 

She’d appreciate that, right? Regardless, he now had a position in hand. Not one that’ll last him very long, but it was a start. Maybe McGonagall will be willing to write him a letter of recommendation after. That’d get his foot in the door for other prospects. He might only have to suffer Hogwarts for a couple of months. 

The thought made things better. Maybe life just needed to work out some kinks, and he’ll be back on top. And he’d still be free. He wondered how long he could string this model along. Feeling slightly more positive, he decided to visit the library for a good book. 

The massive dark walnut shelves reached the charmed mosaic on the ceiling. One entire side of the library held floor to ceiling windows that let in bright afternoon light. He tilted his head toward the light, closing his eyes for a moment in the warmth. The room was quiet; but not suffocating like the rest of the Manor. He assumed it all had to do with the amount of parchment and rich wood. It must dampen the void of life. Like snow in winter; calming and peaceful. 

Making his way to his favorite section, he paused in front of the newspaper repository. It had been started with a great great grandfather on his father’s side. He was the first to find use in keeping old newspapers for reference. The Manor’s magic was adjusted with him, to allow a copy of the local papers to appear in the Malfoy family library. The family had learned years ago that keeping an archive of the goings ons in London was useful.

Years of folded newspapers peeked at him from their shallow shelves. The paper colors ranged from a faded terracotta to a creamy yellow. His fingers wandered over the years. They were sectioned off in twenty year increments for easy access. 

Absentmindedly, he thumbed from the most recent year, back in time. 

2008, 2007, 2006.

His fingers froze. 

The Daily Prophet, July 30th, 2005 . She was there on the cover, eyes blazing. Bulbs flashed mercilessly as she pushed her way into the Auror’s office. Just as she turned to close the door marked Potter , she made eye contact with the camera lens. 

A shiver made its way down Draco’s spine. Merlin, that woman was frightful. Even a mere photo of her had him wanting to avert his gaze. 

He pulled the paper from the shelf. Scanning the headlines quickly, he saw nothing of real note. There was a weather report, an article about the new Dumbledore Hall at Hogwarts, and a failed attempted kidnapping. Nothing too exciting, but interesting to say the least. 

Tucking the paper under his arm, he made his way over to the books. 

Fishing out his favored copy of Snitch, Bludger, Quaffle by C. H. Beaufoy, he made his way back to his room to relax. 

Tossing the paper and the book on his duvet, he kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his collar. Gods, it’s another night for whisky it seems. 

Walking to the bar cart inconveniently placed on the other side of the bed, he grabbed the bottle. No use dirtying a glass when he knew full well he was going to polish off the lot. 

Tossing his head back, he took in a mouthful and swallowed. An oaky burn warmed his chest and throat. Yes, this was the life. 

Getting even more comfortable, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the ground and took another swig from the bottle. His belt followed, then trousers. By the time he was done, he questioned how many drinks he’d had. 

What was the proof of this whisky? What brand was it? The label was all wiggly and he needed glasses to read it. 

He let out a loud laugh. He didn’t need glasses. Silly man was drunk. Tossing his cooked noodle limbs and body onto the covers, he sighed. Maybe tonight was not a reading night after all. 

He closed his eyes and the vision of Astoria’s garter clip appeared. He groaned. It had been too long since he’d wanked. 

Well, no time like the present to fix that. Opening his eyes, he reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a copy of Wild Witches. 

Flipping over the cover, he was greeted with moving photos of these wild witches. The smooth pages displayed a scantily clad brunette crawling across silky sheets. Her mouth was slightly parted as her breasts gently swayed. She grabbed a wand from within the sheets, and vanished what little clothing there was before rising to her knees and slowly reaching her hand down her body. 

Draco groaned again as he reached into his shorts. Grabbing his semi hard cock, he gave it a good stroke. Yes, there was nothing quite as needed as a good wank. 

He turned the page, and there was a different brunette. She was already completely naked and in the process of rubbing scented oil all over her large breasts. Spiced amber rose from the page and immersed him further. Holy hell did he want to fuck those tits. Stroking faster, he imagined what it would feel like. Her pushing together those massive, slick tits as he dove in. 

She continued to rub herself with oil and laid back with her head hanging off the bed; mouth open. He groaned as his pace increased. Gods, he wasn’t going to last long at this rate. She licked her red painted lips, and that’s all it took for pleasure to shoot down his spine. 

He was going to shoot his load any moment now. 

Adjusting his legs just a touch, something crinkled. The orgasm raced through his body, just as he looked over his knee and spotted the paper he’d discarded. The picture on the front pulled his attention. Like a specter haunting him, he looked directly into the eyes of none other than Hermione fucking Granger. It was almost in slow motion; the realization of what he was looking at as he tipped over the edge. 

He came hard. Wave after wave coated his stomach as he cursed. 

No, fuck. No. 

Gods dammit, why did she have to ruin a perfectly good orgasm? His cock twitched one last time as he thought of why that blasted paper was on his bed to begin with. He cleaned himself off with a wave of his wand and felt unsettled. 

He was meant to get off to random witches that he could only fantasies about. Not Granger.

Tossing the magazine roughly into his side drawer, he rolled over to try and sleep. 

Chapter 3: Reluctance

Summary:

All he wants to do is read his damn book.
A stranger, however, has other ideas.

The Hogwarts Express was smaller than he remembered. 

Steam billowed from the train stacks and lifted to the glass covered ceiling. Draco glanced around the relatively empty platform. Made sense, considering that the school year had already started. He sighed in relief, taking comfort that he wouldn’t be bound to a metal tube full of children for hours on end.  

Not wanting to waste any time, he stepped in the closest carriage and made his way towards the front of the train and into the staffing carriage. Memories started trickling in of him avoiding this part, while always curious as to what was in there.

The door to the carriage slid open, revealing a corridor down the middle with private compartments on either side of the aisle. Glancing through the stained glass doors, he made his way to an empty seat and settled in. It was a compact room, but spacious enough for two, or a cosy three. The car smelled of leftover sweets, and Draco couldn’t help the slight smile that threatened. It reminded him of all those early years, where he’d buy every treat from the trolly. 

His first little slice of freedom. Mother had always given him sweets, while his father always limited them. Something to do with his blood becoming watered down with the amount of sugar he’d consume if gone on unrestricted. 

Pulling his book from his briefcase, he settled in. The train lurched forward with a groan, and they were off. It had been about three chapters of his book before the door to his compartment slid open. He ground his teeth, irritated. 

“Pardon me sir, but might I join you?”

Draco noticed immediately that this man before him, was no poor man. He had an air of wealth that was easily recognised. The compartment filled with the scent of the man’s cologne as he stepped in. Was that Giorgio Armani? 

He wore a simple, black suit with a casual white button up underneath. His shoes were spotless, and wore a wristwatch that Draco had to guess cost a pretty galleon. He had long, curly brown hair on top, while the sides were closely cropped. The stranger’s deep blue eyes that made Draco feel like he was sinking into the ocean; crushing and endless. It was at complete odds with the way the man held his relaxed posture.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying it. Slightly less vexed at the interruption, he gestured to the seat across from him.

“Please, do.”

The man sat and held out his hand. “I’m Callum, but you can call me Cal for short.”

Draco leaned forward and grabbed his hand. Cal’s grip was unreasonably tight. He squeezed hard enough Draco felt the bones in his hand shift.  

Just as quickly, Draco was annoyed again. 

Why was it that some gentlemen found alternate ways of competing? No matter, he had been born and bred for this life. This stranger had no idea what he’d just done.    

“Draco.” He said with a sharp shake. “Where are you from Cal? Your accent is unusual for these parts.”

He may have been a touch too rude bringing up the man’s origin, but Draco didn’t care. All he wanted was to read his damn book in peace and quiet before he was subjected to non stop pestering until Christmas break. 

Cal smiled. His teeth were white and even. “Couldn’t even make it an hour, eh?” He leaned back in his seat, clearly unbothered by the barb, and raked his hand through his hair. “I’m from the US. Specifically, Washington DC.” 

“Ah. That explains it.” Draco turned back to his book, ready to ignore his now unwanted seatmate, when said seatmate spoke again.

“Do you like it?” He looked up from his book to see Cal pointing at the cover. 

Draco looked at the title and nodded begrudgingly. “Yes. It’s passable I suppose.”

This was a lie. Draco was currently on his third read in twelve months.

Cal smiled that bright smile, “Oh good to know. Beaufoy is a brilliant writer.” 

“I’d agree, if his romantic themes were workshopped some more before publication.”

Cal scoffed, “However do you mean?”

“Well,” Draco placed his finger at his page and closed it slightly. “They are too…” he waved his hand in express, “mundane.”

“They are meant to be.” Cal chuckled as he shook his head. “ If they were too exceptional, then it would distract from the story.”

“That’s where we will disagree.”

“Ah,” Cal rubbed his chin in thought, “You must be like my girl.” He smirked, “She likes to read her porn too.”

Draco choked, “That is not-”

“Oh, of course it’s not.” 

This insufferable man. Only an American would be so brazen as to speak of such things upon the first meeting. What was it those muggles say? This man was playing completely different football. He wondered if all Americans were so bold.

 Were the women so open to such topics? 

Actually, now that he thought of it, maybe he should work in America next. 

He took a steadying breath, “What I mean to say is that Beaufoy could just eliminate the romantic storyline altogether if they are to be so boring.”

“Ouch. A bit of a harsh critic, aren’t you?”

“Well when one reads for fun, you learn what you like.”

“Just like my girl,” Cal placed a hand over his heart. “She’s also a critic.”

Draco stifled the urge to roll his eyes and hummed in response. He was now bored of this conversation and ready to return to his book, but knew that Cal was not yet done. 

“I’m on my way to see her.” He continued,  “Haven’t been together for quite some time now. Have you got yourself a girl?”

“Yes,” he clipped, “I’m heading home to my family.” 

Draco didn’t know why he said it. 

The words seemed to come forth on their own volition. Was it jealousy? Potentially. From the surface this man seemed to be a reflection of Draco, just in a different shade. Wealthy, handsome and seemingly charming. Just a brunette instead of a blonde. 

Cal seemed to really try to drive home that he was in this wonderful relationship, which is exactly what Draco would have done, if the seats had been switched. What else was Draco to say? No sir, I’ve been sentenced to work even though I have no need for money and this whole damn programme seems like a great waste of time to both the Ministry employee handling my case and myself. 

Actually, scratch that last bit. 

Tobbs can fuck off. 

It was a great waste of time to Draco who would much rather be anywhere else than here. 

    “Very nice.” Cal yawned and stretched. “Well I best get some rest before we arrive. Need to be in top shape when I see her.” He winked at Draco as if they shared a secret. Repulsed by the show of comradery, Draco couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face. Cal ignored it, crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, tipped back his head and closed his eyes. 

Thank Merlin, the man had finally shut up. Turning back to his book, Draco lost himself to the story just as the countryside began to turn shades of orange and pink with the setting sun.

 

---

 

It was long dark by the time Draco looked back up from his book. Rain had rolled in, streaking his window and branching the lights of Hogsmeade Station ahead. The train began to slow just as Cal woke. 

“Are we here?” His voice was rough with sleep. 

“Well considering that the train is slowing and it only has the one stop, I’d say we are most likely here.” 

“My, my, you are a snippy one aren’t you?” Cal’s tone suggested he didn’t mind a bit. “No worries friend, I’m used to the attitude and like a little fight.” He stretched and rolled his neck. “Ride was actually quite nice; though it won’t be quite as nice as the one I’ll enjoy later.” 

Draco’s nose crinkled in distaste. Cal had made it quite clear the man was going to get shagged. No need to keep bringing it up. 

Eager to rid himself of the American, he stood and opened the door just as the train came to a complete stop. “Well it’s been nice chatting with you.” 

It in fact, had not been nice, but what else was Draco to say? He was a gentleman. Or at least trying to be one.

“Here,” Cal said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Here’s my card. I’ve opened a new bookstore in Hogsmeade. Come check it out when you are done with your current read.”

He handed Draco a dark blue card with gold lettering. A touch extravagant, but still classy. Without reading it, he pocketed it and shook Cal’s hand, gripping tight. 

“I will.” He definitely would not. “ Have a good night.” 

With that, he stepped out of the carriage and onto the platform.The rain had slowed some, but Draco still pulled the hood of his cloak up. Adjusting the grip on his briefcase, he started down the path towards Hogwarts.  

He was grateful to walk. Thestrels creeped him out even more now that he could see them. The long cobblestone road held small puddles that splashed underfoot, but the night was at least quiet. He took a few deep breaths, remembering some of the Ministry mandated therapy he’d gone through. 

When the castle came into view, he slowed. 

It had been years since he’d been here. It looked exactly as it had before, but it felt different. Draco couldn’t tell if that was more because of himself, or that the energy of Hogwarts had shifted since the war. The last time he stood in this courtyard, he’d been surrounded by the smells of iron, smoke and dark magic. 

His stomach turned; the ghost of those smells reconveyed. The handle of his briefcase creaked as his grip tightened. Without meaning to, his eyes cast toward the Astronomy Tower.

This was a bad idea. 

This was a bloody awful idea. 

Panic gripped his chest as he suddenly couldn't breathe. He had to leave, but his feet were suddenly stuck. The castle became blurry and dark as his vision became fuzzy. He had sworn to himself back then, that he would never return, but here he was. 

Azkaban suddenly wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Three meals a day, and maybe they would punish him enough he wouldn’t feel as guilty. Maybe he’ll just go ask Astoria to marry him. Anything, but here. 

“-I said, Mr. Malfoy.”

McGonagall’s sharp tone sliced through his spiraling thoughts. 

“Yes Professor?” He replied, finally breaking his gaze from the tower. 

She scoffed, “I haven’t been referred to as ‘Professor’ by your class for a few years now.” Shaking her head, she turned. “Follow me. I’ll show you to your living quarters for the term.”

Without waiting to see if he’d followed, she strode inside. “You’ll be teaching the first years on Tuesdays and Thursdays, advanced flying techniques on Mondays and Wednesdays. Fridays are supervised Quidditch practice and Saturdays, of course, are for the actual matches.”  

He struggled to keep up as she seemed intent on power walking her way through the halls.  Through an archway, up a flight of stairs, a few turns, through a courtyard, more stairs, and a small bridge to the South Tower and they stood in front of the staffing quarters. 

He’d never noticed this part of the castle before. Looking at the cherry wood wainscoting, he took in the new sight. 

McGonagall chuckled, “It's a modified Notice-Me-Not charm. Keeps the students away.” 

She opened the main door to reveal an open foyer. Leading him past other doors, names plainly displayed. Each door had decorations that he assumed complemented the professors within. He glanced at them as they went past.

Slughorn had vials and bottles and an array of unique potion ingredients. P. Pomphfry, had a small hook that held her medical cap and cloak. J. Wilkins had a stack of books with a well loved toy broom leaning against it. 

A couple of names seemed familiar, but there were those completely unknown. 

McGonagall stopped in front of a plain door at the end of the hall. Good, he’d only have to share a wall with one other professor, this J. Wilkins. She waved her wand, and D. Malfoy appeared on a matching nameplate. The door swung open to reveal an empty room. He stepped in, and it transformed.  

To his right, two dark leather wingback chairs appeared, facing a lit stone fireplace. A small painted table popped up between the chairs, a steaming pot of tea with a single cup upon it. Above the mantle, a large landscape portrait of a summer meadow hung on the wall, framed by a silver drapery that shimmered like starlight. On the opposite wall, the outline of an archway seemed to be pressed into the stone. 

There was a bookcase filled with various titles, and one of his trunks sat by the door that he assumed would house the bed. He entered the surprisingly comfortable room and walked over to a worn writing desk. Ink and quills sat by parchment stamped with the Hogwarts crest.  

“Staff quarters use the same magic as the Room of Requirement, so keep that in mind. I’ll leave you to get settled in. The bedroom has an en-suite, and the bath is a couple doors down. Breakfast is usually taken in your quarters or in the Great Hall. Your first lesson is tomorrow at nine in the morning.” 

She left, closing the door with a soft click. 

He set down his briefcase and stared at the room. The fire crackled, and ever so slowly, the room transformed again. 

The stone walls grew cold as the painting morphed into a forest of decaying trees. The leather chairs split and cracked as the once steaming tea pot toppled and spilled stale tea. Nearly everything in the room changed. From the book case, to the drapery, it all seemed to wither. 

Everything except the archway.

Chapter 4: Disbelief

Summary:

First lesson of the day: Don't Panic

Notes:

I'd like to thank you all again for you support and patience. I hope this chapter is satisfying, considering the wait.
My fingers are crossed that I'll get better and faster as the story progresses. I'm working on figuring how to add in writing time, and I appreciate all the grace given.

Enjoy.

A simple breakfast of poached eggs, toasted bread and sausage appeared on the small table before the fireplace. Forgoing the utensils, he broke the eggs and swiped the toast through the yoke with rebellious fingers. Eating with his hands was rare, but after discovering this form of dining during a weekend trip to Delhi for Holi, he found it quite satisfying. Too much of his time was always perfectly curated; ne’er a hair out of place. 

But this was his time. 

He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin, grabbed a towel, his flying kit, and broom and headed off to the showers to get ready for the day.

The early morning gave Draco some time to mentally prepare for his first day. He wasn’t sure how exactly he was to teach the smallest of beings at Hogwarts how to use a broom, but decided that it shouldn’t be too difficult. He’d just copy what Hooch had done during his first day.

Now that he’d eaten, bathed and dressed, he supposed it was time to head down to the field to prepare for lessons. Shrinking his broom down, he slipped it into his pocket and headed for the exit. The door to the staffing quarters swung open, and Draco was suddenly swept up in a tide of children. Without meaning to, he followed the stream of movement.

They pushed around him and hollered at their friends down the hall. The noise was nearly unbearable, but there was something that made him feel… tenderness.

Must be the sausage. 

The flow of students lessened as he crossed the bridge and down the stairs. It wasn’t until he made his way to the outer courtyard that he realized that some students stopped and whispered. 

He’d hoped that his name would have been relatively lost among the juveniles, and his part played in the war had diminished over time. It would seem that hope had been dashed. 

Like so many others.

His father had recounted to the Dark Lord what had happened in the Department of Mysteries during his fifth year. Draco remembered the testimony as if he had been present.

There had been rows upon rows of prophecies, and Potter and his friends had smashed them during a desperate attempt to flee. Toppled entire shelves causing the delicate orbs to fall and shatter. Lucius had described the smell of dust, the faint taste of frankincense and the heavy pressure you feel before a fierce storm.

Sometimes, when he was at his lowest, he felt as though they weren't just prophecies that had been obliterated that day. It had been everything he had been promised. Every dream, every desire, every hope for his future. His proverbial orbs, however, were crushed one by one. Did the slow death of possibilities make it better or worse? 

 A group of young girls scurried away as he approached the outer archway, as he swallowed away the sudden tightness. 

In through the nose, out through the mouth . A picture of flowing water appeared. Follow the river; slow your breath. After a few more steadying inhales, the mental river of thought eased.  

He’d have this. They were only children; it wouldn't be too difficult.

The brief jaunt down to the Quidditch pitch gave him the perfect amount of time to bolster himself. He’d been flying since before the age of six, so this would be easy. It will be effortless to teach the little mongrels. 

Heading to the broom closet, he flicked his wand at the rows of brooms that levitated out and formed two neat rows in the grass. Pulling his broom from his pocket, he restored it to its original size and laid it out front.

Inspecting the rows, he realized how atrocious the quality was. None of them came with footrests. Two of the broom handles had cracks near the seat, six had slivers near the grip, and four had bristles that were bent. He’d have to mend them all if the children were expected to actually learn how to fly. If he didn’t, they’d only learn how to handle a broom that always drifted to the left. 

He snickered at the image of an off balanced broom. Maybe he could gift one Theo or Blaise. 

Voiced carried excited chatter as the groups of first years exited out onto the lawn. Blue and green scarves signaled his first class. 

Ravenclaw and Slytherin. 

That’s good, he’ll be able to relate. Sure, Ravenclaw was different than what he was used to, but the intelligence is at least on par. 

“Hello students,” he tried to keep his tone even and sure. “I’m Professor Malfoy. I’ll be teaching you the basics of flying while Professor Hodfellow is recovering.” 

The class just stood there and blinked at him. He waited a moment, but was unsure for what. Was his year odd like this? Did he even speak, or was that just a loud thought?  

“Why is your hair white? Are you old?”

His eyes snapped to a tall Slytherin boy with red hair. He squinted. Is that a Weasley?  

“No, I am not-"

“My Grandfather had white hair.” Another Slytherin boy spoke up. “He died last year.”

“It’s not white, just a really light shade of blonde.” A Ravenclaw girl responded, all moony eyed. She smiled demurely, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

It reminded him of Granger in second year. The way she had fawned over that Lockhart author. He shivered. 

Best keep far away from that one. 

“Unfortunately,” he started, looking back to the first Slytherin, “Determining the color of my hair will not help us learn how to fly. If you all will stand to the left of your brooms.” He circled around the front of the rows and raised his left hand over his broom. Without saying a word, it flew up into his waiting hand with a woosh. 

“Now, now darling,” he crooned to his beloved Nimbus 2001, “Let me teach the young ones.” He released it and it glumly drifted back down to the grass. Lifting his voice, he instructed, “Raise your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up’.”

A choir of commands assaulted his ears, and class broke into chaos.

One girl screeched at it. A boy towards the back straddled the broom that lay unmoving on the ground, another student commanded the broom, then snatched their hand back just as the handle lifted. The broom shot up like a rocket, into the sky and disappeared into the clouds. Another broom had rolled viciously, tripping two students, who had in turn knocked down an additional two. Three boys mounted theirs before Draco had a chance to stall them, and a girl hung from the underside of her levitating broom handle as it slowly ascended. 

Draco realized then, that these children were in fact, difficult. 

Quick as lightning, he mounted his Nimbus 2001, and set off towards the girl, now dangling precariously high off the ground. He hoisted her onto his broom, while using his wand to cast descendo in five rapid succession. Once to the sky, once at eye level, and three more times at the boys that were confidently zooming around the pitch. 

He landed hard; slipped the girl from his broom and pointed his wand at his throat. 

“I want all sets of feet firmly on the ground. Now.”

The three boys whose brooms had slammed into the ground kicked at the grass sourly. The boy back of the row, suddenly yelped as his broom decided that now was the best time to surge up. He fell to the ground, clutching his groin and moaned in agony. Ravenclaw, Draco noted. Maybe not so intelligent after all.  

He looked around, and quickly changed tactics. 

“All students, grab a broom and line back up in rows of two. Ravenclaw to my right, Slytherin to the left.” His hands rose and gestured like the muggles do with the aeroplanes. “We will begin two at a time. Once you all have successfully called your broom to you, we will begin with basic mounting and dismounting. If there is enough time, we will learn to hover just above the ground.” 

The students shuffled around until they stood as instructed. The first two in line, managed to get their brooms into hand within the first couple of tries. After clapping them both on the backs, he sent them over a way and instructed them to practice calling the broom a few more times. The line moved on, with only a few students that needed additional time and instruction. The rest of the class went by quickly, but by the end all students could now call, mount and dismount the brooms without any critique. 

In that time, he had learned that the red headed Slytherin was not a Weasley, but a Hartford, the moony eyed girl’s name is Harietta and that she spent most of her time in the library, and the boy that straddled his broom had a younger sister in Gryffindor. The three boys (Liam, Peck, and Higgins) had been friends since nappies. 

They left for their next class, and Draco couldn’t help but feel a streak of triumph. He’d survived and none of the children ended up in the hospital wing on the first day. 

Take that Hooch. 

He turned to prepare for the next class, when a loud crash came from the broom closet. Holding his wand loosely at his side, he opened the door to see what had happened. A streak of white darted out between his legs and ran towards the early sun. 

“Oi,” he exclaimed as he tripped slightly, and turned to face the troublemaker. 

His wand slipped from his fingertips.

The dewy grass captured light and reflected the world in its tiny droplets. Draco could look at each of the thousands of droplets and still not believe what he was seeing. For there, right in the middle of the pitch, stood himself.

Not himself, for he was standing here and not there. If he was here though, who was there? A young version, nay, younger, exact copy of himself stood still as stone. The boy stood as if he didn’t move, he wouldn’t be seen. Silly really.

 A halo of light illuminated the boy’s white blond curls, giving the child an angelic glow. His cherubic face had constellations of freckles across the nose and cold chilled cheeks. 

It stole the breath from his lungs. 

Draco swallowed. All thoughts both fled and flooded his mind. There was a loud ringing sound as he went deaf. It could be himself as a child. He couldn’t remember ever playing with a time turner, but he was at Nott Manor quite a lot growing up. But if the child before him was actually him, he was to go mad. 

He certainly felt mad.

It must be a skewed version of a boggart. What cruel creature would do this? Maybe it was just a boggart, and soon it’d-

The boy’s grey eyes widened, looking at him for a moment, and he turned and sprinted back towards the castle. 

“Stop,” He wheezed as he attempted to get his body to obey. 

His steps were stilted at first, but he quickly recovered as he took off after the boggart-boy. Gods, the child was quick. Or he was out of shape. Really, there was no need to do things such as run when you can usually fly wherever. Unfortunately, that thought came to him now he was halfway across the field from a broom. Losing sight of the boy as he entered the castle, he picked up his pace.

The door swung open for him as he approached, but the students that rushed to their next classes clouded the hallway. There, ahead, was the spot of bright in a sea of dark robes. He took off after him, following the child as he wove his way through the castle. He was quick, and knew the castle well apparently. 

Just as Draco thought he’d lost the boy for good, he spotted him slipping into the library. Lungs burning, he wrenched open the door and followed in after. The boy quickly and quietly tiptoed up to the front desk and bent over, looking at something underneath. 

“Mum,” he whispered, not taking his eyes from Draco. “Mum, look.”

“What is it Pip?” A feminine voice called back. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the answer rattled.

Curious, Draco rounded the desk and was greeted with an absolutely perfect arse. Clad in muggle jeans and all. Now what vixen had he gotten pregnant? That must be why her voice was familiar. By the age of the child, it seems that this would have happened after his vasectomy, but that wasn't right because he couldn’t get anyone pregnant anymore. 

“Mum, look.” He pointed with his thumb, even though her head was still under the desk.

“Give me a moment buggy. I’m almost done removing the gum wads you’ve been stashing under here. I don’t know why I allow your uncle to give it to you. My parents would be beside themselves.”

Draco cleared his throat in an attempt to speak. It must have startled her, because the next thing he knew, he was thrown back and pinned against the bookcase that sat behind the desk. She whipped up from under and had the boy pushed behind her in a blink. 

Wand raised and eyes burning, her lips moved, but he only heard the ringing from earlier, louder this time. Her cheeks were flushed; from embarrassment or anger he did not know. 

It didn’t matter really because what the fuck was happening?

The moment was instant and jarring and suddenly he was spinning even as his body stayed stuck against the shelves. It was like touching a portkey for the first time. His thoughts became smushed and muddled, his heart stuttered and most likely came to a screeching halt. His vision began to blur.

He was going to puke. 

“Granger?” Was all he could manage before darkness took over.

 

---

“This was not how this was to happen Minerva,” The quiet chastising was accompanied with the sound of someone pacing. “I had a plan .” The strain in her voice was thinly veiled as she continued. “I was going to see if I could meet with him first and-”

“Time is not on your side dear.” McGonagall’s stern tone sounded. “You need to think of your son.”

“I am,” Granger’s sharp voice bit back. “It’s all I ever do.”

“Our patient is awake.” A third voice said. Madame Pomfrey. 

Draco’s eyes opened to see all three faces leaning over him, and a fourth peeking out by his blanket covered feet.

“What happened?” His voice was gritty.  

Granger crossed her arms defensively and retorted, “You fainted.”

“I did no such thing.” She scoffed but he continued, anger rising. “You threw me against a damn bookshelf!”  

Her lips pinched briefly, “You snuck up on me. Don’t you know not to approach a woman like that?” 

He snorted, “More like a wild creature with the way you lash out.” 

“Look,” she uncrossed her arms, shook out the tension in her shoulders and lifted her chin. What a swot. “You clearly were overwhelmed and started hyperventilating. That caused you to faint.” 

“For the last time,” He ripped back the covers and made to stand, “I didn’t not faint. I was knocked out by the force of your depulso. Now I demand to know what is happening. Who is that?” He pointed at the absolutely adorable boy at the end of his bed. Grey eyes met. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper, “And why does he look like me?” 

“I’m not allowed to tell people my whole name, but you can call me Penn,” the boy announced proudly, “And I’m your son.” 

There it was again. He was going to puke. 

“Pip,” Granger knelt down to be eye level with the boy, “Why don’t you go play at Hagrid’s for a bit, eh? I hear he’s working with some bowtruckles today.”

“But mum-“

“No buts. Please listen.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him to exit the hospital ward. “We can talk later.”

Dejected, Penn left but not before tossing Draco a cheeky grin over his shoulder. 

Pomfrey cast a diagnostic spell and gave it a once over before grabbing a vial from her kit. 

“Drink this.”

Draco accepted it from her palm and assessed the color and viscosity before asking, “Calming draught?” 

“You’ll need it. Trust me.” She picked up her kit and tossed over her shoulder, "I need speak with Horace about restocking. You are clear to go Mr. Malfoy."

His knuckles tightened on the vial, before he set it down. He didn’t want to be calm. He wanted to fucking rage. For so long, he had worked endlessly to avoid this exact scenario. Bloody years of occluding, years of self restraint all for nothing now.

They, this whole, no.

 Christ below, he couldn’t even think in a linear line with the fury that was building inside. He didn’t know how she did it, but of course it had to be the gods damned Golden Girl that he’d gotten pregnant. 

Hold on a minute. 

He’d never fucked Granger (he was sure there was no about of substance in the world that could ever erase such a memory) so how, in the name of Merlin, did she bear his son? 

This whole situation was a nightmare, and she was the epicenter. Granger, the maestro of Draco’s undoing.  After years of cultivation and effort to make the life he had settled into—and made peace with—she fucked it up.

She fucked everything up. 

He pointed an accusatory finger at her.

“Witch,” The word was pure venom. “I don’t know how you did it yet, but I swear to all gods Granger, you will regret this.”

Granger gaped at him, for only a moment before her own anger returned. “How dare you, Malfoy. You have no idea-" 

“Ten points to Gryffindor for the astute observation." He sneered.  "Now sod off Granger. I have to go drown myself in Moaning Myrtle's favored toilet knowing that I’m tied to you for the foreseeable future.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall cut in, “I suggest we move this conversation to a more private place.”

“There’s no need, Minerva,” Granger responded tightly, “Our conversation is over.” 

Giving Draco a final, scathing look, she turned and marched out of the hospital wing. The doors slammed shut behind her, cracking the nearest window with the force. 

McGonagall sighed and turned a sharp eye to Draco, “Come Mr. Malfoy, we have things to discuss.” 

Chapter 5: Dissonance

Summary:

Draco panics; Hermione keeps it together.

McGonagall barely flicked her wand at the cracked window, restoring it whole again with a silent repairo as she walked briskly out of the Hospital Wing. Draco followed her all the way to the headmistress’s office in a daze. 

He didn’t know where to start, mentally. Maybe it was time to occlude, to sort out his thoughts some. Taking a controlled breath in, he released the river in his mind. 

As a boy, he had been instructed to use various forms of walls to separate his thoughts. Bricks, granite slabs and such. While he tried it that way, it never worked well for him. No matter how hard he tried, there were always cracks in the mortar. He realized that he struggled with the visual always being too rigid. He needed something that was always moving, twisting and alive.

What he needed was a river. 

His river always ran, and he let the rush of water take over. Tributary thoughts would branch out from the main line, and by the end of his session, his mind would be as mapped as the Amazon river and all its headwaters. 

The only variance that his occlusion had, was the speed and force of water. When he’d lazily muse about, the water was a gentle stream. Times like now though, were gushing white water rapids. Sharp rocks that spear above the surface of the violent flood.

A door closed with a resounding click, dragging Draco back from the riverbank. 

“Professor, how long have you known?” 

He moved unconsciously to the chair provided for visitors. She rounded her desk and sat with a heavy sigh. 

An aged hand rose to rub at her temple as she replied, “For most of Penn’s life.” She paused, and made sure to look Draco directly in the eye. “You see Mr. Malfoy, I’ve been around for far longer than I care to admit. I had a suspicion that child looked like you since birth. It wasn’t until his third birthday that I was certain.” 

“What gave it away?” The question was merely a whisper. 

A small tilt to her lips was all the amusement she showed. “He’s quite like his father.” 

He swallowed. This can’t be happening. 

“How,” The word came out broken. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How did it happen? How did she-”

“I will assume Mr. Malfoy, that you are not asking me what conception is.”

Cheeks flaming, he studdered, “No Professor, I just don’t understand how she did this. We’ve never, uh, been together. It makes no sense.”

“That is a story for Ms. Granger to tell.”

“Oh for the love of Merlin, just tell me.” He demanded hotly. 

“While I share your frustration in this situation, I will respect Ms. Granger’s position.” He rolled his eyes at this statement, but she continued, “Just as I will respect yours. You have been in the dark for far too long, and I will do what I can to encourage Ms. Granger to be honest with you.” 

The shift in McGonagall’s direction made Draco pause and look at her. “Thank you, Professor. Now,” He made to stand, “I have a letter I must write to my mother.”

McGonagall’s hand shot out and gripped Draco’s wrist. “You cannot tell a soul, Mr. Malfoy. It would put Penn at great risk.”

Unease washed over him. “What do you mean?”

But she just shook her head and repeated, “You must talk with Ms.Granger, but I implore you, do not speak of this for his safety.”

He nodded sharply. “I won’t, but this will be most inconvenient. There is a whole mess of the logistics of this. Papers to sign, wards to key.” 

Inheritances to be formalized.

A societal debut. 

Too much work. Especially since he was keenly aware that Granger would be there every blessed step of the way. Circe, she’ll have so many opinions too. 

He left the headmistresses office with little comfort. Too many thoughts rolled around with no answers. The rivers in his mind seemed to have flooded; blending with the shore, the land and over into other tributaries. No single defined thought—only a quagmire of existential crises.

Starting at the beginning, he mused on the how.

How the fuck did she get pregnant? There was no doubt in his mind that the boy was his. It was like looking at the portrait his mother has in her rooms. That odiously massive painting. Draco all dressed up in the traditional garments, was quite frankly, a little shit at the time. He had screamed and threw his little body on the floor in defiance. By the time he’d been soothed, his cheeks were blotchy and tear stained. Little Draco refused to smile. Now every time he visits his mother, a little blonde boy frowns down at them both.

But the boy he’d seen today, his demeanor was the complete opposite. With an angelic little face, and goodness, those cheeky Granger freckles. Manners and dapples aside, the boy had the same nose, eyes and mouth as Draco. It was like the boy in the painting had ripped himself from the canvas and came to Hogwarts. Penn though, seemed to be about five or six years old. Too old for him to be a painting come alive. 

Hold on, that timeline couldn’t be right. 

Draco had his vasectomy close to ten years ago. Intent on discovering what had happened, he made his way to the quidditch pitch to gather his broom and wand. Snatching them both up with vigor, he hopped on his broom and flew directly to Hogsmead to find the nearest public floo. 

He dropped down smoothly onto the bridge that connected the roadway to the town. Shrinking his broom down to pocket size, he stowed it away and stepped into the little town he’d not seen in over a decade. Nostalgia he hadn’t anticipated, bloomed. 

Hogsmead, was in a way, had been like buying treats from the trolly. Able to make whatever decisions he wanted, unsupervised and uninfluenced by his parents. If Draco wanted a sweet from Honeydukes, he bought himself the lot. If he wanted to drink far too many butterbeers in a row, well, he'd have to hear over to the Hog’s Head because that Madame Rosmerta always cut the students off at two. What a nag. 

There was a shop for clothing, an apothecary, greenhouse and broom shop. He remembered the time Blaise tricked him into purchasing a sleek robe, when in reality, the thing was far too big for Draco. And it wasn’t until he’d stepped out, proud of his newest purchase, that the damn thing shimmered a bloody rainbow of colors in the sunlight. 

He’d sent a stinging jinks at Blaise, just as he was about to kiss some pretty witch that evening.  

The Apothecary was never visited in his younger years. Why purchase a potion when a house elf can bring you one? It was later in life that he visited. There were some potions he realized that he didn’t want to summon from an elf that was bound to his parents.

 First, it was for contraception and hangover potions. Later on in his years, it morphed into dreamless sleep, healing potions and salves, and calming draught by the bucket loads. 

The shop keep had begun to question him that year, at which point he’d turned to Snape to help him brew them himself. Late nights hunched over a cauldron that simmered with moonstone, peppermint, and hellebore. A pang went through his chest at the thought of his old potions professor. 

Draco had been ungrateful. He could see that clearly now. Snape had given everything for him, Unbreakable vow and all. Yes, the man was harsh, and only ever seemed to have contempt for Draco that final year, but he succeeded in protecting him more than his own father. Hell, his own father was the reason Draco had ever even been put into that position to begin with. 

Snape would have most likely smacked Draco upside the head for getting himself into this situation, then he would have drawled, “I suggest you get to work, Malfoy.”

With a direction pointed from the memory of a man, he picked up his pace. The Three Broomsticks was warmer than the slight nip outside. The floo was thankfully free, so he walked up to it, tossed in some powder and called out, “Oddfellows on the Park.”

He disappeared with a flash of smoke and ash.

 

---

 

Hermione Granger was completely knackered. 

She was so bloody tired. Between the stress of raising Pip, difficulty sleeping and taking care of her parents, the weariness weighed especially heavy. But Hermione being Hermione, knew she had to continue onward. There were people she cared so deeply for, that depended on her. She’d survived the second wizarding war at the tender age of seventeen; her life should be simple in comparison. 

She lived in one of the most historic buildings, rich with knowledge and a support system that took care of her and her son. She had a wonderful partner who didn't care about her limitations or that she had a child.   

 There was comfort knowing that she wasn’t completely alone. McGonagall housed the two of them with open arms, Hagrid had taken care of Pip while she was away, and Pomphry helped both of them. Harry and Ron and the Weasleys were always only a floo call away, and there was even Neville who she visited from time to time. 

So why, after all those that she listed in her head, did she feel so fucking lonely? And why did she feel as though she was hanging on by a thread? 

Honestly, the jarring reunion with her school bully did not ease her already too large burden. She sighed, and mentally added it to the pile. It would be fine. This will all work out, and someday, she might get to sleep through the night. 

Ha, fat chance of that, the realist in her spoke up. She hadn’t slept well since Pip was born. 

There were of course, those wonderful newborn days, of late night feedings, early morning nappy changes, and everything else in between. It was exhausting, but she was glad to do it. She was blissfully happy when he was born. Her own little swaddle of sunshine.

After he was out of that late night stage, however, was when things went to shit with her parents. Her time split between two all consuming groups and she ended up burning the candle at both ends. Her parents then stabilised enough that she was convinced that now was the time she can rest, and that’s when Pip… 

She swallowed at the sudden tightness in her throat. 

Pip needed more attention and care than typical children. 

So she continued pushing through and still was. 

Now that Malfoy had made an appearance, it seemed her candle was burning faster than before. She’ll just have to pull later evenings and earlier mornings to factor in the additional being to manage. Because goodness, Malfoy will keep her busy. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally for sure. It can’t be much different than Ron though. 

She knew that while his reaction was charged, overall it was still rather tame. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed how monumental this was. She had years to love and know Pip and a time dedicated to processing that she had given birth to Malfoy’s child. 

Not a lot of time mind you, but still.

She’d managed to go through all five stages of grief in record time. Anger and denial on the day of discovery, bargaining when she visited the clinic the day after, and depression was only about an hour on day three where she then accepted that this was to be her life. 

If she managed to keep and love Pip, nothing else mattered. 

But honestly, how was she to know that it was his donation she had accepted? What on earth had he been doing in that muggle clinic anyways? And how much of an absolute idiot does one have to be to be put in such a sticky situation? 

She suppressed a slight gag on that final mental question. 

Strike that last little bit. 

How much of an absolute idiot does one have to be to be put in such a chaotic situation?

Much better. 

Ruminating on the who’s, what’s, why’s and how’s always seemed to help her. If she was able to understand and see it from his perspective, maybe it’ll make it easier to work with him. 

It was a trick she had learned while reading a muggle parenting book. A fascinating bit of reading that explained how the brain develops and best practices for each stage of development. From newborn on, there were tips on how to best handle tantrums and mental blockades. 

Perfect for dealing with Malfoy. 

She had read in a different muggle book, that children with trauma can have delayed development and struggled with everything from problem solving, memory issues, and emotional regulation. Her class held the definition of trauma. So, she’ll just have to dive into a text that explains the best practices on how to work with adults that have childhood trauma. 

It’s not like she hasn't already gone through the ringer with it, but if she had to harbor a guess, she’d peg Malfoy as the wealthy tosser who believed he could just throw galleons at his emotional stuntedness and “make it all go away” . Godric, even in her thoughts he had his nose upturned. He probably disappeared to some other country; traipsing around and trying to outrun his feelings. What a knobhead. 

She pushed open the castle doors to be met with a warm sun on a chilled wind. The pathway down th Hadgrid’s was still slick with morning dew, but the sunlight made the grass and wildflowers shimmer in the bright afternoon.

Hagrid’s door opened and Pip ran out excitedly. What looked to be a tiny branch sat on his shoulder. Hagrid followed the boy, chuckling.

“Mum! This is Snickett. Guess what?” Hermione opened her mouth to guess, but Pip continued, “He’s attached to me! Can we keep him, please?”

“Darling, bowtruckles need to live in their natural habitat. We don’t keep them; they aren’t pets.”

Pip frowned as Snickett clung to his shirt and squeaked in protest. The bowtruckle was small, even by their standards. His bark brown body was as thin as nundu bristle, arms a beautiful dark kelly green, and had a tuft of clover colored lichen on his head. On his back, it looked like a miniature bud of a flower. Snickett held onto the collar of Pip’s shirt, made direct eye contact with Hermione and shook his head seriously. 

As seriously as one can with lichen bobbing comically on their head.  

Hermione’s mouth twisted in amusement as she said, “It seems as though I’m outnumbered.” She bent to get eye level with her son. “Here is what I propose. Snickett can live with us as long as he wants. But-” Her eyebrows raised and her serious mum tone came out, “If he should choose to leave, you have to let him go. You are not allowed to try and talk him out of it.” 

Snickett clapped his little hands together as Pip hugged her tight. “Thank you mum, I’ll take good care of him.” 

Without waiting for her to change her mind, he dashed off back towards the castle. Probably to find a nice indoor plant for his new companion. A heavy hand clapped her on the back making her knees buckle slightly. 

"Tha’s a good boy yeh got there. Snickett’s been bitin’ at me fer days now—never felt a thing, mind you. Pip shows up, an’ he’s climbin’ all over ‘im like they’ve known each other forever. Like a duck to water, that one. How’ve yeh been, ‘Ermione?"

“I’ve been alright.” She scrunched her nose and looked up at the half-giant. “I’m assuming Pip told you of our little family reunion.” 

Hagrid huffed and dropped his voice low, "He better be good to yeh. We all know yeh don’t need no lookin’ after—but jus’ the same, I’m here when yeh need, right?"

She smiled up at him and turned to give him a hug. He always made it difficult to breathe mid squeeze, but his embrace was always warm and comforting. 

“Thank you Hagrid. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll pop over to Hogsmead later this evening. Do you mind keeping an eye on him while I’m out?”

All solemnity abated, as he grinned, “Yer sweetheart show up, then?” 

She playfully rolled her eyes and replied, “Maybe I just want to find a new book.” 

“Off yeh go, now,” He nudged her in the direction of the village, “No sense in keepin’ ’em waitin’.” 

“Thank you again, I’ll be back before dark.” 

She twisted on her heel and disappeared with a soft crack.

Notes:

Surprise! It's dual POV.
I'll admit, I tried to keep it to just him, but there is so much to this story, I struggled with leaving Draco be the only narrator. I also attempted to finalize the chapter count (and succeeded) and then decided to add in her side as well. Sorry I've been a bit of a clown.
Hence, the extra long wait between chapters. Back to the drawing board it seems. I'll redo my work for the chapter count and nail that down for you all.
Special shout out to BeauxT who guessed what happened. Quick as a whip, you are.
Hope you catch all the little treats I'm sprinkling in.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 6: Diversion

Summary:

Hemione seeks comfort; Draco talks to himself.

Notes:

I am SO sorry this took forever to update.

My family went on a trip out of the country and I had no service for a couple of weeks. It was pure bliss to disengage from the world for a while.
When I returned home, I was laid off.
And then I became extremely ill for a while. These past few weeks have been a bit of a ride.

Good news is though, I'll have some more time to write.

Chapter Warning: Description of a panic attack.

Hermione landed just outside of Hogsmead, inside the Shrieking Shack. She summoned  a beautiful floor length mirror, and got to work. 

First and foremost, the hair. 

She caressed a curl for a moment, before tapping her wand at her temple. She exhaled a soft vultumora. Her hair slowly began to change. The curls shortened and relaxed from their usual mass, into a gentle wave. The tips of her hair lightened to a warm champagne blonde while the roots darkened to a deep shade of sable brown. She loved the way the color would gradually change from tip to root. By the time her charm finished, she had sleek, ombre blonde waves just above her shoulders.

Next, she changed her eyes from brown to a supple shade of forest green, and added her signature beauty mole just below the corner of her left eye. She summoned her beaded bag and applied a light dusting of blush, a few swipes of mascara and dabbed her lips with gloss. Stepping back, to assess her handiwork, she realized that freckles still bridged across her nose and cheeks. Tapping her wand again, the freckles vanished. 

Satisfied with the change in her appearance, she got to work on her outfit. Her blouse transfigured into a cotton dress with tiny blue flowers all over and her trainers into nude colored heels. Vanishing her jeans and socks, she took one last look in the mirror. 

This was what she always thought would make her beautiful. 

Or more, how others could see her as beautiful. 

She was one who prided herself more on her smarts and ability to keep it all together, but there were some things deep down that always bothered her. The most prominent one being the way others saw her hair. 

Her personal opinion of her hair was that she loved it. Wild curls; alive and unbound. Untamed locks that were as free as her spirit. She loved the warmth they brought her in the winter, and the whole spectrum of colors visible in the summer. 

They made her happy. 

But life had a way of finding happiness and twisting it into something else. 

She tried to hold onto herself, but it wasn’t easy. Children had teased about those curls her entire life. From primary school on, friends and bullies alike saw it as a target. 

“Is Hermione there under all that frizz?”

“Blimely, Mione, how can you see anything with all that?”

“Miss Granger, can you please tie back your hair? The students behind you cannot see the board.”

Frizzy, bushy, and unruly. 

All of these narratives were tinged with negativity and all her life, this is how it was described by others. But it wasn’t just her curls that people took issues with, but her.  

Loud, bossy, and swotty.

She supposed that there might be a vein of truth, but again, it was always tainted in a less attractive light. Harry and Ron never fully understood; and instead chalked it up to “Hermione being Hermione.” As an adult, she now saw what were glaring neurodivergent traits. Hyper fixation, missed social cues, extremely talkative, and a vocabulary that even adults were jealous of. 

Check, check, check and check. 

While yes, these traits were wholly Hermione, she wanted to be seen as all of her; not just the loud parts. Even though those loud traits were undeniably her.  

As time continued, she realized that being her undeniable self was not in her or her son’s best interest. So, she would bury the parts of her that stood out. She bit her tongue around strangers and changed nearly everything about her appearance to blend in. Each time she did, a little part of her shriveled. Her throat knotted with unsaid words, and she seemed to stand a little low. 

It was tiresome, and really, quite demoralizing. 

She wasn’t a vain woman. But for once she wanted to feel like someone liked her curls and personality as much as she did. 

A sad smile ghosted across her glossed lips. 

He would like them - if he was ever able to see them. She was still working on how to refer to him as. Her lover was too romantic for what they had, her snog buddy seemed too superficial. It was a bit in between really. Her boyfriend? She wasn’t really sure.

They’d met about eight months ago. 

She had been at the bookstore in Edinburgh looking at rare wizarding ailments, when he’d reached for the same book. Unlike this total stranger, Hermione needed this book, so she snatched it before his fingers closed around the spine. 

He’d turned on a charming smile and had asked her to dinner in exchange for her letting him purchase the book, and she declined. His smile grew, and he asked again, this time without an exchange. Just dinner. She didn’t know why she said yes, but she did. 

They met for a candlelit dinner the next week. 

He asked her to dinner again and again each time, in a new town. She accepted each one, enjoying a little less loneliness. He was wonderful and kind and smart. 

As long as she didn’t think about how he didn’t even know her name, she was fine. 

Or the fact that he didn’t know the color of her eyes.

Or of the curls she treasured.

Or that she was muggleborn. 

He was fun; and she needed fun every once in a while. 

 

---

 

He was waiting for her by the open door to the shop when she arrived. His muscular arms were crossed and his gorgeous blue eyes lit up when he spotted her making her way down the path.

“There you are, beautiful,” His arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Gods, how I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” 

He nuzzled into her hair, his nose brushing the sensitive skin at her neck. Her heartbeat quickly picked up. The excitement she got whenever they were together was a wonderful diversion to all of the complicated parts of her life. He never tried to push his way in, but let her set the pace. 

Now, all she wanted was fast. It had been too long since their last meeting. Her lips began to move hungrily over his; tracing the lush skin as her hands trailed down his toned body in exploration. His neatly pressed shirt quickly became wrinkled by her touch. Moving her fingers back up, she slowly traced his abs, then pectorals, as her lips traveled down his neck. 

Feeling the heat off his body made her warm in all the right places. He groaned, and his arms came around and lifted her up to wrap her legs around his waist. Clearly, he was just as eager as she. 

He backed her into the wall just inside the door, and ground down on her until she whimpered. It already felt so good, and they were still fully clothed. He was already stiff in his trousers, and she wondered how quickly she could get him there. It had only been a couple of minutes, could he have already been half hard knowing she was coming around? Her curiosity peaked through her lust filled haze. 

“Come on babe,” His voice rough, “Let’s take this somewhere more private.” 

He tossed a spell at the sign on the door, switching it from “Open” to “Closed” and apparated them upstairs into his bedroom. Boxes were still piled around; but the bed had been fully made. The heat between them cooled for a moment as she glanced around. She disentangled herself from him for a better look.

“I never thought I’d get to see what your bedroom looked like,” She mused as she noted the titles on the boxes. “There was a part of me that felt it was always going to be hotel rooms.”

He chuckled and pressed up against her back, “Well I offered to host you and your kid for a visit. A few times if I remember.” He kissed her neck slowly, dragging his teeth over her collarbone. “But you are such a stubborn woman. I had to cross a damn ocean to get you in my bed.”

She hissed at the scrape of his canines. 

“Please,” She breathed as she pulled him closer. 

“You need this?” His tongue laved where his teeth had been as his hands began to ruck up her dress. 

“Please,” She repeated, nearly whining. Distract the constant worry.

His hands were rough as they gripped her hips; thumbs pressing into her thighs almost painfully. 

“You know,” His breath warmed just below her ear, “I’ve been waiting for this since I decided to buy the shop.” Teeth bit down gently on the back of her neck. 

“Oh?” It came out breathy as one of his hands cupped her through her dampening knickers. The other traveled up, skating over skin in search of her breasts. His hands were so warm. 

“Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about you since the last time we were together.” 

A heavy sense of foreboding, lurched awake. Her heart kicked up for a completely different reason. It was as if her body was responding before her mind could comprehend. 

She didn’t believe in divination, but she did believe in instinct. 

Hermione’s instincts have never been wrong. 

His next words came out slowly; almost apologetic. “Even spilled about you to a guy on the train ride in.” 

“Wait,” She stepped out of his arms, suddenly cold. “You’re telling people about me?”

“I know babe,” He sighed, clearly disappointed. She didn’t know if that came from the loss of contact, or the reprised conversation making an appearance. “I didn’t use your name or anything. I’m just so happy to be wi-”

“I told you not to talk about us.” 

Her throat was swelling shut. She needed air before she started choking. Her hand made its way to her collarbone; fingertips skimming for an invisible noose.

He looked so hurt, standing there, lost. “I know, and I didn’t even really mean to, I just started thinking about how I was going to see you again and wanted to share with the world.”

“Gods,” The noose tightened, “I can’t-”

“Please, Jane.”

The name, said so lovingly, pulled tight and the platform dropped out from under Emotions choked her senses and reason. 

It was all wrong. None of this should have happened. 

Guilt was the first emotion to hit. How could she have been so self-indulgent? Pip deserved better than this. If she hadn’t been so selfish; if she had just been happy being alone; they never would have been in this position. She had put him at risk and for what? A few minutes of pleasure every once in a while?

Then it was fear at being discovered; anger at not being respected.   

Anxiety. 

Panic. It thundered in her blood.

  Run. Hide. Steal Pip away and protect him at all costs. 

Her carefully built life crumbled and fell; burying her. She had to leave; but couldn’t go. Her logical side screamed all the reasons why she had to stay, but the desire to flee was overwhelming. She was cemented in an impossible situation. 

There was no exit. 

Strong hands shook her shoulders. 

“Please Jane,” He said again. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please,” His hands cupped her face gently, “Just take a breath, yeah? I’ll get you some water.” 

A ragged exhale passed her lips as he disappeared into the hall. Had this gone too far? Did she need to obliviate him?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, quiet tears found their way out. She couldn’t do that again. Not to yet another that she cared for so deeply. 

It wasn’t quite love, but she had grown quite attached to him. He’d helped keep her mind and body busy when life became overwhelming. 

He returned with a glass, handing it to her gently. A sip was all she was able to manage, but it helped loosen the noose a little. Focusing on a singular drop that had sloshed over the rim of the glass, she slowed her breath in to match it as it rolled down the side. Feeling slightly better, she set it down on a nearby table and turned back to him, mouth open to speak, but he pulled her into his embrace and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I didn’t mean to fuck this up. Will you forgive me?”

Her throat was still tight with emotions, but she nodded anyway; unable to trust her voice. His relief was nearly palpable. His eyes softened, as he exhaled a quick breath. “Thank you. I’ll do better, I promise.” 

She nodded again and slowly extricated herself from his arms. 

“I should get going.” Her voice sounded raw. 

He cleared his throat and nodded. “I’ll walk you to the door."    

“No need, I’ll just apparate home from here. You don’t have wards up yet, right?”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck as he replied, “How on earth would you know that?”

“A lucky guess.”

More like he’d just moved in, she didn’t feel them when crossing his threshold and he had said on their third date of how he was rubbish at warding charms. She had seen that as a worrying point and found that tidbit of information to be essential.  

She leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss goodbye. He grabbed her arms before she could pull away and whispered, “Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” She lied. 

It had to have been convincing enough, because he nodded and released her. He looked her over, memorizing her face before nodding again. 

“I’ll see you later Cal.” She said softly, before disapperating. 

 

---

 

Draco flooed to Oddfellows on the Park and walked over to Manchester Fertility. The whole ordeal was a bit awkward and entirely unhelpful. 

After being greeted by a too chipper receptionist who knew nothing of the accidental incident with himself and Granger, he ended up having to disillusion himself and sneak into the archives after closing. He feared getting caught by the muggle Aurors, but double checked that the stasis charms on the security cameras were holding tight.

He spent hours sifting through files, casted accio like it was the new revelio, and even attempted to use the computer, before giving up. His name and specimen were absent. 

It was as if he had never been here. He definitely remembered being here. 

He’d never forget the complete embarrassment of having to give the nurse a cup of his spunk. They knew he had just had a wank and were thanking him for it. 

One would have thought the whole situation to be quite sexy, but at the time, Draco felt anything but sexiness in the situation. He wasn’t sure how to feel, but mortification was definitely towards the top. 

He left the archives, feeling even more irate than before. A right cock-up he’d done, going to a muggle clinic like this. This exact thing that he’d been seeking to avoid, came to fruition with the last woman he wanted it to. An image of a pureblood witch that had fawned over him only last week came to mind. She was a pleasant enough woman but her laugh was so grating, and gods, frequent, it set his teeth on edge. No, maybe not the last woman he wanted. 

The last woman on his mind really. Yes, her being banished from his thoughts was intentional, but still. 

Who all knew? Did scarhead and the weasel know? There were obviously only a select few that Granger allowed to know this information. It was vexing that it only extended to her friends. He could argue that even he, the bloody father, hadn’t been privy to the information until recently. McGonagall had very quickly shut down him speaking with his mother. If his mother wasn’t to know, then his friends were completely on the outs. 

This clearly wasn’t some joke, no matter how fervent Draco wished it was. Now that he had time away from Granger and her shrieking, he knew that this hadn’t been intentional on her part. 

No, she would have picked a bloody house elf over Draco.  

So the only conclusion was that this debacle really was nothing more than a coincidence. 

A terribly unlucky coincidence. 

A very terribly unlucky coincidence. 

But there was nothing to do now about it. He couldn’t exactly turn back time and stop Granger from walking into that clinic. Or himself for the matter. 

He groaned and rubbed at his tired eyes. This was clearly muggle karma. All of his sins have called to collect and Granger was the damn solicitor. A disjointed laugh bubbled up and grew in intensity. He laughed until his side began to ache and tears streamed down his face. 

This really must be it. This was the moment he’d feared would happen for years. 

He’d survived with the Dark Lord living in his home, being forced to take the Mark, lived with the constant worry for the safety of his mother, but this, this is what has finally pushed him over the edge. Mind cracked like a two minute egg. 

He sat there, in the dark cackling like a maniac on the floor of a fertility clinic. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Suddenly exhausted, he laid down upon the cold tiled floor and closed his eyes. 

“What do you think?” He mumbled into the air. 

“You’ve found yourself in quite the predicament.” A familiar voice responded.

Fantastic, now he’s hallucinating. Maybe he should check himself into St. Mungo's. 

His brows rose. Maybe he was already in St. Mungo's.

 “Don’t be daft Mr. Malfoy,” Snape’s sharp tone cut through his inner thoughts. “You and I both know that this is merely a coping mechanism. Your life is surprisingly solitary, and you are in need of something to talk to. Why I'm the one your mind conjures up, we may never know.”

“Well sense you’re here, why don’t you tell me what the fuck I should do.”

Snape sighed heavily, as if Draco’s statement really drove home exactly how stupid the young man was being. “Try again Mr. Malfoy. You are asking the wrong questions.” 

Draco groaned in frustration, “Okay,” he paused, thinking. “Why does she not want me to know? Or more, why does she not want mother to know?”

“Better,” Snape sounded past caring. “Keep going.”

“Starting at the beginning,” his mind was racing now, “I know that we visited the same clinic. That accounts for the timelines. Now what was it the boy had said? His name was Penn and wasn’t allowed to tell his full name? Why would that be? Surely it had to go with what McGonagall said about not speaking of him for his safety.” He tapped at his bottom lip as a glaring answer presented itself. “I have to speak with Granger.”

“Congratulations Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled, “It only took you a fight, a floo, a dead end at the clinic and a few more hours to finally get it. Now the only question remains,” he paused dramatically, “Will you manage not to piss her off again?”

He gave an ungentlemanly snort, “That will be nigh impossible.”

Snape’s voice began to fade as he replied, “Try anyway.”

Chapter 7: Exasperation

Summary:

Draco has two tasks before him. Can he complete them both?
Probably not.

Notes:

Guys, I made it to 100 kudos and I feel like I could cry. THANK YOU so much for all the comments and love. It keeps me writing.
Yes, this chapter may be a touch slow, but please remember that slow burn is one of the tags.

It will be picking up soon.

Enjoy <3

The next morning, Draco woke before the sun with a renewed sense of vigor. He hadn’t felt like that since he’d been studying for his mastery. Faced with a real challenge, it was actually a little exciting. Hermione Granger will be his biggest undertaking yet. Last night's mental break was proof of that.   

Today, he had two objectives. One, talk to Granger and see what all is going on. Find out why the child had been conceived to begin with, why she hadn’t spoken to him until yesterday, and what danger surrounded them. 

In all honesty, he believed that last point was probably moot. Granger the Gryffindor had a way of throwing herself in front of danger on a daily basis. Reckless types. Her House always accused Slytherin of being the dramatic ones, but it was always Gryffindors that seemed to get off on near death experiences. And gods, how they loved to gloat about it after. The tales of near death experiences were so frequent between the lot, it wasn’t even exciting to hear anymore. A truly disgusting display for attention. No wonder the scarhead and weasel absolutely thrived there.  

His second objective for the day was to actually teach the flying lessons he was hired to do. Thankfully McGonagall had the wherewithal yesterday to cancel all of his classes after that mess. He had to work on the brooms before his classes to make up for the lost time the day before.

He’d also missed reporting to Tobbs, so he’ll have to make up for that with an even longer report today. Salazar, the gods truly detest him right now. What he needed was a blackout drinking night with good drinking mates.

And their endless supply of high quality liquor. 

“Oh Theo,” He sang to himself as he whipped out a quill and parchment. He really should be preparing for the day, but this was for his health, in a sense. 

It is essential care. 

His note was quick, and he rolled it up to take to the owlery on his way out to the pitch. He then threw on his kit, and brushed his teeth and hair. 

His broom leaned against the wall, in that vacant archway in the stone. He reached out to grab it, when he spotted that there were actually little carvings of various potion ingredients that curled along it. Botanical outlines of valerian root, knotgrass stems and various plants climbed up one side. The crown had two very different wands crossed and tied with a ribbon. It was all clasped together with a rough-cut, milky quartz at the center. On the opposite side of the curved stone, jobberknoll feathers and other creature byproducts made their way down to the floor.  

There wasn’t a potion he knew of that held this combination of these ingredients. It must be just there for decorative purposes. It was odd though. He swore those carvings were not present the prior day. However, he wasn’t exactly inspecting the walls of his rooms, so maybe it had just slipped his notice.   

He stored his broom in his pocket and headed out. A quick stop by the main hall to snatch a pastry and make sure to give a wide berth around the library doors. While speaking with Granger was on his list, he had no idea if she was one of those morning troll types or not. Best to be cautious and wait until later in the day. 

The owlery was thankfully empty. Soft morning light began to filter in through the windows and lit the cold tower. Pellets crunched under his boots as he picked an owl at random. A large short eared owl sat above a little nameplate that read Thorne . He attached his note, gave a treat to the school provided owl and made his way back out before she took flight. This morning was going to be better than the prior. He was sure of it. Really, not much would be able to top the morning he had yesterday. Goodness.

The storage closet was exactly as he’d left it before. Flicking his wand, he pulled out each broom and organised them from best to worst. A truly difficult task, considering that the best one there was at least as old as his mother. Age wasn’t the issue so much, but the fact that by the look of it, it hadn’t been maintained since its original purchase. 

He grabbed a dusty tin of wood polish, sandpaper, and twig shears and got to work. Starting with the worst, he assessed if it was even reparable. The handle was badly cracked and the fronds bent in every direction. Using his wand like a tuning fork, he tapped it and listened to the reverberation. 

The flat thunk told him everything he needed to know. The wood grain was still bright in color though, so it was salvageable, even if barely. It’ll need new runes, but there wasn’t time for that before class. He set it off to the side and moved onto the next. He went over each one meticulously. Sanding and polishing handles until they shone like new. Trimming dead twigs until they were all mostly usable. Only a handful needed more repair work than he had time for. 

By the time he’d finished, the sun was fully in the sky. His first class of the day trudged across the field, donned in yellow and red. This class was for more first years, but he was prepared better this time. 

He repeated the set up from before and went through the motions. His expectations for this class, however, were low considering the houses he was to teach. The Gryffindors were just as rowdy as the Ravenclaws and Slytherins from before, but the Hufflepuffs were surprisingly helpful. 

Figures, they needed a bit of a boost in life. What better way to get that boost than to kiss up to a Slytherin? Everyone knows that they are the ones to rule the world anyway. Someone needs to be the lackey; and Hufflepuffs made excellent lackeys. 

Class went smoothly, and they all left with a little more confidence than they arrived with.

The next group rotated onto the field and he repeated the process with the second year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. Being a higher grade, he gave them more challenging lessons. Their drills included flying through magical rings Draco would cast at random and check to see how well they maneuvered in the air. 

Time blurred by for him, and before he knew it, it was time for lunch. Deciding to meet the Maker, of his child that is, he grabbed his broom and marched determinedly back up to the castle. 

There wasn’t enough time for him to take a quick shower before trying to talk to Granger and making it back out for his next class, but he wished that there was. He smelled of wood polish and grass; his hair sticking to his dampened forehead. Tendrils curled around his ears and neck, giving him an unkempt look. His hands were reddened and stained from his work, and his kit had dirtied while teaching.  

Gods, he felt gross. 

It didn’t really matter though. It’s not like he was looking to impress her or anything. Maybe his odor would drive her off. He dismissed that wish as soon as he thought it. No, Granger had been around the weasel and scarhead for years and they were both much messier than Draco was, even at present moment. Besides, he wouldn’t be so lucky. 

His jaw clamped a moment as he stood outside the library doors. The Closed until 1pm sign next to the entrance was small, but no less intimidating. He had no idea what secrets she held, but Draco knew deep down what she had to say would change things even more so. Should he wait until after lunch when the library reopened, or attempt to speak with her while there was still a chance for privacy? He did not want to have this conversation with young, impressionable beings around. Especially if Granger and her famous temper might make an appearance. 

Taking a breath, he pictured his river. Water flowed; cool and refreshing. His heartbeat seemed to steady and he pushed open the doors. 

The sound of loud music assaulted him.

Strong thumping beats reverberated in his chest as he looked around for where the music was coming from. He knew the song, but couldn’t quite remember what it was called. It reminded him of the time he went to a club in muggle London. Women had worn these tight little outfits that made Draco even more grateful for discovering muggle life. He wondered if Granger owned any of these outfits. 

It wasn’t as if he wanted to see her in one or anything. Just that she clearly knows what music is played in those clubs, so she must have frequented one at some point, right? And if she frequented those types of establishments, even once, she should own the proper wear for the occasion. 

It was the only logical reason he would have pictured her in one.

Not that he pictured her at all. 

There wasn’t a full picture at least, more like a flash of her curls bouncing as she danced to the music. Lights would circulate various colors, painting her in reds, blues, greens. Her skin glistened with the humidity of so many bodies pressed in. Her hips would sway as her head tilted to the ceiling, eyes closed. Purples, oranges and yellows would cast across her features, her freckles and eyelashes showing the same colors but in deeper shades. 

She was probably one of those types that didn’t know how to do a proper dance, but more flailed about with the songs. 

Salazar, he needed to focus. He pulled out his wand to silence the music when he caught sight of her at her desk. She was bent over a sheet of parchment, scribbling like a mad woman. Her lips moved, synchronized with the lyrics. The hand that was not writing, massaged the side of her neck. 

She had changed some since their school years. 

Her hair, while still extremely voluminous, no longer looked as if she had just stuck her finger in a muggle outlet. No, it had smoothed out into soft twists that flared over her shoulders. Had the bridge of her nose always been adorned with freckles? He remembered them only across her cheeks. They reminded him of stars. If he looked long enough, could he find his constellation? Her eyes looked tired, her mouth bracketed with worry lines even as she danced in her seat. 

It struck him suddenly that he was standing there, watching her like some pervy git.

“ Silencio ,” His wand arched over his head and pointed at the speaker that sat hidden between shelves. Granger jumped in her seat, and sent him a scathing look. 

“What in Godric’s name are you doing?!” She shrieked at him as her hand quickly covered the parchment. Ink stained her palm as it crumpled in her fist. 

 Draco took a fortifying breath and straightened his arm guards. He knew that delaying a response would only irritate her further, but he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed getting under her skin.

“Well,” he drawled, “I came to try and speak with you.”

A sharp, humorless laugh rent the air. “You cannot be serious.”

“I have questions, and I’d appreciate it if you calmed down enough to answer them.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his grave error. “What I mean to say-“

She stood, parchment still gripped tightly. “How dare you come in here and demand answers from me after the way you accused me of-“

“I didn’t accuse you of anything!” He threw his hands up, exasperated. “I did however imply that you had intentionally ruined my perfectly curated life-”

She stomped around the desk and jabbed her ink covered finger in his chest, “I’ve had enough of your moaning!”

His chest puffed angrily, “Well I’ve had enough of you withholding all the information! How on earth do you expect me to process all of this when I haven’t been given all of the information?” He looked down at where she was attempting to impale him. “Fantastic work Granger, now you’ve gone and ruined my kit too.” 

Her cheeks flushed, “I can remove it easily, Malfoy. Just let me grab my wand-”

“No,” he sneered. “I don’t trust you pointing a wand at my heart.”

“Worried I’ll remove the blackness there too?” She snipped. “I wouldn’t want to mess up your outfit and devastate your reputation as a rake.”

“What’s a rake?” 

Both adults snapped their attention to the little voice. Pip stood by the entrance to the library, clutching a toy broom. Dressed in little grass stained shorts, and a light blue button up shirt.  His white blonde curls were clearly windswept, haphazard, and yet equally cute. A twig poked out from his breast pocket.

No, not a twig, but a bowtruckle.

Draco looked back at Granger, who kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish. He could only imagine the internal war she was having. This was a grand opportunity to teach the boy, but was he ready for such content? To answer, or not to answer. The world may never know. He had twisted satisfaction at her dilemma. 

Might as well fan the flames. 

“A rake is a man who-“

“Pip!” Granger nearly yelled the boy’s name in an attempt to drown out Draco’s answer. “Darling, what are you doing here? You are supposed to be in the Hospital Wing with Madame Pomfrey.” 

She twisted an arm behind her back, stained fingers still clutching her notes. Could she be any more obvious?

Pip looked past his mother and gave Draco a look that said, does she think she’s slick or something?  

Draco shrugged and shook his head, not even bothering to hide his grin.

Ignoring his mum's questions, “Are you two fighting again?” 

They answered in unison.

“No.” Granger denied.

“Absolutely.”  Draco confirmed. 

Pip scrunched his little button nose and sighed.

“Mum, you said fighting was bad.”

”We aren’t really fighting, just more having a loud discussion.”

Pip heaved an even deeper sigh. Dramatic little thing.

“Mum,” He crossed his arms and dropped his voice, “You said dishonesty was bad too.” 

Draco barked out a laugh. This kid had Granger on the rocks. She rounded on Draco, pointing that damn finger again. 

“You can leave.” She all but ordered.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He jeered back. 

Draco sauntered over to her desk and kicked his muddy boots up on it. Feeling rash, he decided then and there that he rather liked playing with fire. A thrill shot up his spine as she attempted to burn holes in his soles with her gaze. Having Pip here kept him safe from Granger. Miss-goody-two-shoes wouldn’t dare punch him in front of her beloved boy. 

Would she?

Her wand twitched as she started huffing through her nose. Much like a graphorn before the charge. 

“Actually,” He started, suddenly unsure of the child’s ability to protect him. “I need to get going for my next class anyway.” 

His boots kicked off the desk, cast a quick scourgify at the scattered flecks of mud, and legged it out of the library. It was just making a strategic withdrawal, really. 

He wasn’t running from Granger.

He really wasn’t. 

 

---

 

Hermione glared at Malfoy's retreating back and wished she was a lesser person. If she was, she would have hexed him; regardless that he was unprepared and had his back turned.

That selfish, snobby, spoiled, sleazy man. He made her so bloody angry, all of her descriptors started with S’s. 

That sodding Slytherin.

There. She’s done. 

“Mum,” Pip took her seat and gently removed Snickett from his pocket. “Madame Pomfrey fell asleep again.”

Hermione let out a weary breath and repressed the tears that threatened. 

“Come now Pip, let’s go see how we can help.”

He scooped up his little friend and slipped him back in his pocket. The bowtruckle had barely left Pip’s side since he attached himself to the boy.  

The all too familiar path to the Hospital Wing was a route that she could walk all in her sleep. Lunch was nearly over, but the halls were thankfully still quite empty. Her stomach ached at the smell of meat pies that seemed to leak from the Main Hall.

She had planned on swinging by to grab herself a nibble, but yet again Malfoy had to bugger up her day. 

Poppy Pomfrey was sitting in a simple wooden chair by Pip’s usual cot. Her chin rested on her chest; a faint snore rising from her. 

Hermione laid a gentle hand on the witch’s shoulder. 

“Poppy?” 

Pomfrey startled at the sound of her name.

“Oh goodness! I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” 

Hermione smiled at her, “It’s alright, I know you have your hands full. Brewing all night, healing all day.” 

Poppy scoffed, “I used to burn the midnight oil regularly in my youth. Why, there were times I’d be up for days.” 

Hermione suppressed her smile. “I’m sure there was. Let’s try this another day, yeah? Why don’t you have a little lie down, I’ll keep an eye out for the Hospital Wing.” 

“I think I will. Thank you, my dear.” 

She made her way into the adjoining room and closed the door. Pip had been standing quietly by his cot, watching his mother closely. 

“Mum, am I too much work?” 

Hermione’s heart ached. “No my love, never.” She scooped him onto her lap and kissed those blonde curls she adored. “Only the best things in life take a little extra work. That’s because when you finally get what you’ve been working towards, it makes it that much sweeter.” She continued to shower him with kisses, “And you, my little one, have been something I wanted my whole life. I’ve waited for you for years. The work is no trouble at all, especially when I get to do it with a friend like you.”

Her finger tapped him on the nose in affection. He smiled up at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I hear you cry at night sometimes,” He confessed. “I’m sorry I’m more work than other children.” 

“Pip-”

He covered her mouth with his hands, his eyes suddenly alight. “What if you had someone to share it with? More than just me?” He continued, not pausing for her to respond. “What about that wizard I haven’t met yet? He can live with us and help. You seem to like him. Is he a friend?”

Hermione coughed; unsure of how to really respond. “He’s a friend, but not one I’m comfortable sharing you with yet.” She nuzzled his curls and whispered, “I don’t know if I’ll ever want to share you.”

She tickled his side until he cried out for enough. Hopefully the distraction of a good tickling would keeps him from worrying about her anymore. 

Pip however, would not let it lie. 

He let her distraction work for now, but he knew she would still need help. 

And he knew just the wizard to do it.    

Chapter 8: Juxtaposition

Summary:

Pip's scheming is Headmistress approved.

Notes:

I've realized that I didn't have the "Unreliable Narrator" tag and needed to add this. Please keep in mind that this is a story about growth, and there will be thoughts (mostly by Draco, but a little by both) that are incorrect assumptions about people, places, etc.

There's also an update to the chapter count. Please be patient because this is an estimate and most likely will flex a little.

Buckle up, it's getting interesting.
Enjoy.

After Draco head back to the pitch, he taught two more classes before finally getting the blessed time to shower. His face had pinked from the sun for hours on end, and his shoulders ached from lifting children on and off their brooms. He didn’t mind though. It felt good to be sun touched and muscles fatigued after a long day of work. Was this what it was like to the common man? No wonder they worked so much. It felt good.  

It was a triumphant feeling, showing the sprouts how to fly. 

He repeated this process for the next few days. Each day, he grew more confident in his position. 

One day he returned to his quarters after his classes and a shower, and spotted three letters sitting on his desk. He opened the first, from Theo. 

 

Drake, 

Piss off. 

I’ll get the lot together next Friday. 

T

 

He tossed the letter to the side, smug. Theo was always so easy to push around. 

The next letter was heavier, and was addressed in tight, sloppy cursive. The sight of the handwriting alone was enough to irritate him.   

 

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

One day in your new position and you have already failed to meet expectations. You best have an excellent excuse for such deplorable work ethic. Though I cannot say I’m at all surprised with your inability to focus on anything other than yourself.  

Consider this letter to be your first official warning. 

Do better, or face the consequences.

Handler Wilberforce Tobbs 

 

Why was Tobbs always such a gods damn prick? Could he at least attempt to be understanding? Tobbs’s letter landed unceremoniously on top of Theo’s. Draco reached for the third letter and hesitated. He didn’t know the loopy, feminine handwriting, but he had a strong guess of who this was from. The parchment was rosewater pink, and it radiated a subtle hint of sweet jasmine perfume. Steeling himself, he opened it.

 

Dearest Draco, 

I hope I’m not being too bold by writing. When I had tea with your mother, she had mentioned that you had taken a post at Hogwarts. 

I’ll admit, I was thoroughly surprised. Being a professor was not something I would have thought you would be interested in. After all, during your final year, you had made it abundantly clear that you both never wanted to be around children en masse like that again, and that you couldn’t wait until you’d never have to step foot back there. 

It’s funny how much we change as time continues. You, back to Hogwarts, and me here drinking tea with your mother. If I had to hazard a guess back then where we would be today, I would have expected us to be married and start families of our own.  

I hope that you are doing well, and aren’t too lonely there. You’ve stepped away from your friends during your tour abroad, and I worry that you haven’t reconnected since your return. Pansy says not to worry, but I do. 

I’d very much like to be a friend, if I may be candid. A partnership between us could be beneficial to us both. Please consider giving me a chance. 

Until you miss me,

Astoria

 

While Astoria’s letter was significantly better than Tobbs’s, it still made Draco’s stomach sink. This witch was relentless. 

After he’d told his mother of his choice to work, she took the hint and had stopped trying to pair him off for now. The fact that Astoria went and had tea with his mother, and subsequently squeezed the information of his whereabouts out of her, he was now even more cornered than before. Can’t this bird take a hint and fly off for the winter?

He remembered back in their school years, his friends had teased Draco about Astoria’s near obsession with “dragons”. They all knew that it was really him she was after. But being raised in the society that they did, it was frowned upon to pursue a man. She was always the perfect pureblooded witch with just the right amount of flirtatious, sultry and demure. Never was she too forward with her advances. 

Back then, he had toyed with the idea of letting her ride this dragon, but ultimately decided against it. Tangling with a pureblood was not a wise choice. They were too crafty.

While he had dated Pansy for a while, any desire to date anyone died with the war. He had watched others unravel under the weight of love lost, their strength fading the moment it was threatened, and he swore to guard himself from such a fate.

Hence, bachelor for life. 

Turning his focus back to the letters, he pulled out a sheet and started working on his extra long report for Tobbs. He included the repair work on the brooms and the lesson plans for the students. It was boring, and honestly not quite long enough, but he felt it should make do. 

Setting it aside to be posted, he mused on the productivity of his week. 

Classes, done. 

Shower, complete. 

Letter to Tobbs, written. 

The only thing left to do was to still discuss the child with Granger. After his attempt earlier that week, he felt that they would never have a conversation that doesn’t end up with them bickering. He needed to find an alternative way to either speak with her, or to get the information. 

Her support group however, were quite loyal to the witch. He listed them off in his head. 

Hagrid. Absolutely not. Draco no longer saw the half giant as a bumbling oaf, but he still didn’t care for the man. Hagrid was messier than Potter, bushier than Granger and more emotional than the Weasley. He was a combination of the Golden Trio that Draco couldn’t stand. 

He had already attempted to speak with McGonagall, but she had just as quickly shut him down. 

There was, however, Pomfrey. Maybe he could give her a go. Being a healer, she had that bleeding heart type that might take pity on him. 

It was worth a shot. He stood from his desk, when a twig sprinted across his floor and sipped under his door. Frowning, Draco followed the miniature branch and opened his door, only to be met by Pip.

“Hello.” He beamed up at Draco. 

It was unsettling, seeing the boy again. Now that Draco wasn’t sprinting across a field, or afraid of being hexed by Granger, he took in the boy. 

The child had a level of intelligence behind those gray eyes, and a spark that he couldn’t quite place. His hair clearly held Draco’s coloring, but the curls had come from his mother. Tiny freckles dotted the boy’s nose and cheeks. He had Draco’s mouth, and Granger’s button nose with an ever so slight upturn. Would the boy inherit her teeth or his? 

“Hello.” Draco said cautiously. He looked behind the boy, glancing around the empty hall.

“Mum isn’t here.” Pip boasted.  

“Oh.” 

“Come on,” he reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand. “Follow me.”

He wasn’t sure if Granger wanted him around the boy, but he was feeling a restrained flicker of excitement at the opportunity. Over the last couple of days, he’d worked through most of the shock, and now was at the point of pulling curiosity. 

What was the boy’s favourite Quidditch team? Can he ride a broom? Does he like to read? What was his favourite color? What was his favourite meal? Where were they going?

The boy led him through the castle. 

Draco followed, unable to tell the boy no. 

They rounded a corner, when they ran directly into Henrietta, from Draco’s first class. The girl’s gaze narrowed in on Pip.

“You are supposed to be at lessons with the Headmistress.”

Without missing a beat, Pip turned up his nose and clipped back, “And you are supposed to be helping Madam Pomfrey with the Hospital Wing. Wait until my mother hears about this.”  

Henrietta paled and bent down to Pip’s level. “Don’t worry Pip, it’ll be our little secret. I won’t rat you out.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “How about a chocolate frog? My mum just sent me some treats and I thought you’d like that one the most.”

Keeping his nose turned up, he nodded. “A chocolate frog will do.”

Henrietta sighed in relief, and without sparing a glance at her Professor, hurried out of sight. 

“That,” Draco drawled, “Only worked some of the time when I threatened to tell my father.”

“Well your father must not be as scary as my mother.”

“My boy, truer words have never been spoken.”

 

---

 

“He accused me of ruining his life!” The embers in the fireplace at Grimmauld crackled with indignation. 

Harry watched Hermione pace, her steps blistering, her wine glass precariously close to sloshing over the rim with each pivot. 

“Honestly,” He started slowly, “I’m surprised that’s all he did.”

She turned her eyes to him, gasping in outrage, “Harry James Potter, you are not allowed to-” She huffed, “To defend that prat! ”

He lifted his hands, placatingly, “All I’m saying is that finding out he has a son, with someone he never even shagged, would be quite the shock.” 

She stopped her pacing and dropped onto the sofa next to her friend. 

“Of course it is, and I’ve tried to be sympathetic.” A shaky exhale left her lips, her tone quieting. “It’s just really hard right now.”

Harry patted her on the leg, “Is he getting worse?”

“Yes, but Poppy has hope this next batch she’s brewing will help. Have you had any luck at the Ministry? Any new leads?” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but failed. 

He swallowed, “I’m sorry, no. Whoever is responsible for the notes was good at covering their tracks. I’ve run them through the archives, tried to cross reference them in the department of mysteries. Nothing comes up. It’s all completely blank, not even a wisp of a magical signature anywhere. I don’t know how they managed it.” His brows furrowed, “I’ve considered maybe they are from a squib, or maybe even a muggle, but we would be able to track that.” 

She leaned back and groaned, “I’ll take another look and see what I can find. It’s difficult, considering my resources are limited, but this has to come to an end, Harry. I can’t live like this.” Her chin quivered as tears threatened. “I knew being a mum would be difficult but this-” the first hot tear tracked down her cheek, “-this is so much more than anticipated.”

Harry nodded sagely and pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re a great mum, Mione. Pip is the luckiest duck in the pond.” She choked on a watery laugh. “What did Malfoy say about all of that?” 

She sat back, cheeks flushed and downed the rest of her wine. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Mione,” Harry chastised, “You have to tell him.” 

“Godric, I know.” Setting her empty glass down, she looked at the sofa and picked at a stray thread, unable to look Harry in the eye. “He gets me so riled, I can’t help but just end whatever argument we are having. I just don’t have time for his drama.”

“He could help. He probably would.”  

The fireplace roared, green flames licking the mantle. Harry and Hermione turned just as Ginny stepped out of the floo. 

“Hermione!” the witch exclaimed, running to hug her friend. “It’s been too long. Is everything alright?” 

Hermione clutched the redhead, enjoying the warmth. “It is as it always is.” 

From the sofa, Harry interjected. “Malfoy met Pip.”

Ginny gasped and pulled back. “Was he a prat?”

“The worst.” Hermione chuckled. 

“That’s it. We go now. I’ll give him my signature bat-bogey hex first,” She turned back to the floo, and pulled out her wand. “Then-”

“She hasn’t told him everything yet, Gin.”

Hermione shot Harry a glare.

Ginny rounded on Hermione, “You haven’t told him? You have to tell him.” 

Hermione threw back her head, exasperated. “I know. And I will, promise.”

“Soon.” Ginny’s eyebrows rose and gave her a look that rivaled Molly. 

“How are you feeling?” Hermione gestured to Ginny’s slightly rounded belly. 

“Quite alright, now that the first trimester is over. I couldn’t stand the smell of meat. Had me gagging anytime Harry cooked.”  

“Hey!” 

“Hush, Harry, when I was pregnant it was the same for me. It has nothing to do with your cooking.” 

“Are you still seeing that American fellow?” Ginny asked. 

Harry stood and mumbled, “I’ll just see myself out.” 

Hermione sat back down on the sofa with Ginny and nodded. “He bought a shop in Hogsmeade to be closer.”

Ginny’s eyes lit up, “It’s getting serious then?” 

“Mmhm.” It wasn’t a confirmation or denial. 

Was it getting serious? Hermione couldn’t tell. They saw each other so infrequently, she assumed it was more a physical relationship than anything else. They were monogamous, but that was with Jane, not Hermione. 

It was all too complicated. She wanted that partnership; someone to lean on when she was tired, but was Cal that person? Maybe eventually. 

If he knew who she really is. 

The reality was, she couldn’t have that relationship with him. Not with the lies keeping them separate. 

Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, she saw the time. 

“I must be going,” She stood, and gave Ginny a quick peck on the cheek and hollered, “Bye Harry!”

“Bye Mione, don’t be a stranger!” He called from the adjoining room. 

A handful of floo powder and a flash of green flames later, she was back in the headmistress’s office. Before the flames even died down, little arms wrapped around her hips. 

 “Mum! I’ve found a new room to explore. It’s huge!”

Minerva chuckled and supplied, “He’s an explorative little one you have there.”

“Come mum, I have to show you!” He tugged on her hand and gave her no room to object. Minerva followed the two as Pip pulled Hermione along and talked the whole way. 

“Snickett was the one that found it really,” He skipped down the halls, running his hands over tapestries as he led her. “We were playing hide and seek and-”

“Where is he?” She noticed that the little bowtruckle was absent from her son’s pocket. Hopefully he wasn’t sick or injured. 

“Oh, we’re meeting him there.” Pip’s eyes glittered mischievously. 

Before she could question him further, he turned and led her up another set of stairs. Following him closely, she shot a look at the headmistress who was a step behind. Minerva’s mouth was pinched in amusement, and for some reason Hermione didn’t like it. 

What were these two up to?

Pip was at the top of the stairs, chanting something over and over again. She realised that they were on the seventh floor, a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on one wall, the other one blank. 

The Room of Requirement.

Confused, she turned to the headmistress, when the groaning of stone stole her attention. Looking at the wall, it transformed into a low archway. 

“Oh thank Salazar!” A relieved voice called within. 

Hermione gasped, looking at Pip who was preening in triumph. 

“What have you done?” She scolded as she stepped inside. A small hallway led to a door with bars, and behind it, a frowning Malfoy. She rushed to open the door, mortified at her son’s actions. 

“No Granger!” Malfoy pointed over her shoulder, eyes wide with devastation. She knew her error as soon as her name left his lips. 

She whirled back around, but the archway she’d just stepped through was closing. If she ran, she could squeeze out, but that would leave Malfoy trapped within.  

Hermione hesitated. 

Turning back at Malfoy, the door had transformed into an archway and by the time they sprinted toward the exit, only a small window remained. Minerva stepped up to the window, now only the size of a pygmy puff and shrinking by the second.   

“Before you get too angry at your son, know that I agreed to this. He’s quite a cunning boy. He was the one that discovered that the Room was still here.” She patted Pip’s head as Snickett climbed up into his pocket. “Don’t bother trying to get out, my dear. The Room will only answer to me, and I’ve given strict instructions to not let the two of you out until you’ve had a much needed conversation and have agreed to work amicably. I’ll take care of Pip until you do.”

“Have fun mum!” Pip giggled as the wall closed completely. 

She whimpered and pressed her hand to the stone. 

No, no, no. 

This was the absolute worst. She turned to face her cellmate, finding his eyes fixed on the sealed space and exhaled a pitiful whine, catching on the edges of a sob.

“Merlin’s balls,” Malfoy whimpered. “What agent of chaos have you gone and raised?”

Chapter 9: Disclosures

Summary:

The Room requires a sacrifice: Tolerate one another.

Notes:

I can't seem to help myself, I've started working on an outline for my next story, and we're not even halfway though this one.
It feels like I've opened Pandora's Box.

Enjoy!

Trapped.

They were trapped. He was trapped with her . 

He tried not to panic, he really did. 

“I’m going to die in the Room of Requirement, like I should have all those years ago.” He whispered to himself. 

Of course imminent death was to be the outcome of this situation. There was a high chance that Granger will avada him before their time in the Room was over. 

I need to get out of here alive.

The wall before him didn’t budge. 

I need to get out of here alive, and to do that I need a door to leave this room.

Nothing.

I need a door. Please.

Desperation truly hath taken over. The last time he sincerely said ‘please’ was to his mother over tea. She was the only being to have received it from Draco. 

Well, before today.  

Did the Room count as a being or was it more of a sentient object?

He hoped that McGonagall would have been wrong, but considering how he was still firmly trapped behind stone, she had been right. 

“Oh my god,” Granger yelled from far away. 

He whipped around and drew his wand, clearly on edge. He hadn’t even noticed her wandering off. 

The Room had transformed again, revealing a large oval seating area. At its center stood an open hearth fireplace. On one side of it rested a single plush sofa; on the other, a small table flanked by two wooden chairs. Books lined the far wall, gleaming leather spines with titles such as Magical Maladies and Remedies and Tantrums After Twenty: Surviving the Spoilt Rotten. Complete rubbish and entirely unhelpful.   

 The room opened to an adjoining kitchen on one side, copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. He noted the wine glasses that hung under a cupboard. Must be wine here too. Stepping through the kitchen, he came upon a small brewing alcove. Dried herbs and flowers littered the workbench, and a single cauldron hanging over glowing coals. Candles dripped wax onto fresh parchment, a full ink pot waiting by a variety of quills. A single row of colorful jars containing ingredients lined the top of the alcove. Some of them glowed, some fluttered and others radiated an ominous aura.    

He exited the alcove, backtracked through the kitchen, and made his way to the other side of the seating area. An archway opened to a small ante-chamber with three doors. In the very center, he opened a door that turned out to be a modest bath. 

Granger’s voice had called from one of the other two doors. Both were ajar, but he was unable to see inside.  

“What is it?” He called back, unwilling to go in after her. If she was eaten by some great monster that the Room provided, he wasn’t going to be next. 

She popped her head out one of the doors, eyes almost manic and face pale. “There are beds in these rooms.” 

“What?” Draco seemed to be just as articulate as ever.

Granger huffed, a little of the panic in her face ebbing. “Malfoy, there are beds in these rooms.” She repeated, her words slowed as if speaking to a child. “If there are beds, it must mean that the Room anticipates us being in here for at least a night.” 

More than an evening of being trapped in the Room with Granger? He’d rather trade his broom in for mooncalf. 

He chuckled nervously, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

Granger scoffed and crossed her arms, “Have somewhere better to be?”

“Actually I do.” He snipped back. “Anywhere than trapped in here with you.” 

“You are unbelievable. This wouldn’t have happened to begin with if you hadn’t managed to be fooled by a six year old.” 

“Me?” He nearly screeched. “Let’s talk about how you were equally fooled by said six year old.” 

“And McGonagall!” She shrilled. 

“Who says McGonagall didn’t do the same to me?!”

“Well did she?” 

“I-“ He didn’t want to admit the truth. “The boy did not act alone.” He ended lamely. 

“This is ridiculous.” She massaged her temples, “I’m going to have a lie down and try to stop the pounding in my head. Maybe I can figure us a way out of this mess.” 

“You do that, Granger. I don’t want to attempt a prison break the old muggle way, but there are spoons in the kitchen and a toilet next door. If this doesn’t clear up soon, I may have to get my hands dirty.” 

She snorted, and turned towards the rooms she had just exited. 

“Godric,” She cursed as soon as she opened the door.

“What is it now?” Draco couldn’t contain the irritation in his voice. He wished that she would just stop with the screeching. 

“The rooms have changed again,” was all she said before stepping further inside.

Unable to help himself, he followed. There was a cosy looking bed, piled high with plush pillows and soft quilts. This had to be Granger’s assigned bed. 

“What seems to be the is-” He started, but stopped and turned to see what she was gaping at. 

Thick, cream-colored curtains hung from the ceiling, a track running from one wall to the other, dividing the room in two. The curtains pulled themselves back to reveal a second bed: four postered and covered with dark silk sheets and a thick duvet. 

His bed. 

She turned her glare on him. “This curtain used to be a blessed wall!” 

“And how is this my fault?”

“You-” but before she could finish, her eye caught that the curtain was starting to slowly become opaque. “Oh good heavens, no.” She pleaded. Fresh panic bloomed in her eyes and she whispered, “It’s going to force us closer together until we stop fighting. This is our ‘get along’ shirt.”

“Our what?”

“It’s a thing some muggle caretakers do to get children to stop fighting. Typically, it’s an oversized shirt that they make the bickering children wear until they stop fighting.”

“So the Room is going to make us wear a shirt?”

“No, not literally.” She nibbled on her lower lip in thought. “More like the Room will push us closer and closer until we can at least coexist peacefully.”

The curtains continued to become thinner, now nearly translucent. He could see the lamp next to his bed clearly, but the shapes around it were still vague.

“Merlin, at this rate I’m surprised there are still two beds.”

She squeaked and grabbed his hand. Her fingers were warm in his palm. “Malfoy, we have to stop fighting right now.” 

He shook her off. “For once Granger, I wholeheartedly agree.”

The curtains stopped where they were, but did not thicken back out. 

Granger exhaled sharply, “Right. Well it seems we have an assignment we need to do.”

Pulling him back out into the seating area, she pushed him down onto the small sofa and paced in front of the fire. Taking a sharp breath, she placed her hands on her hips and faced him. “I need to tell you about Pip.”

Well this was going to be much easier than he thought. When he was on his way to Pomphrey, he practiced what he was going to say and how to approach her when that hellion intercepted him. Really, how did that child do it? One moment he was determined to head off to the Hospital Wing, and the next he was following this child blindly around the castle. 

If he had paid any mind at all, he would have recognised where they had gone. But the boy was talking so much, it took all of Draco’s attention to follow his train of thought. He didn’t realize where he was until the little bowtruckle ran off into a cupboard the boy had asked him to help open. By the time Draco turned around, the boy had shut the door and the bowtruckle slipped through the keyhole. 

And that little menace had giggled like it was the funniest joke. Draco loathed that the sound made a twinge behind his ribs. 

No, it couldn’t have been the laughter, but the panic he was feeling. Definitely that. 

Granger puffed herself up, almost like she was trying to tower over him as he sat. Which was a cute thought, considering he was still slightly above her eye level. She met his gaze head on. Draco suppressed a shudder and wanted to look away, but didn’t. 

Even if it was like staring into the sun, he wasn’t going to back down from the mother of his spawn. She already was to be his limiting factor, but he’d be damned if he’ll let her take his pride as well. 

That was his to muck up, thank you very much.  

“Well,” She said after a fortifying huff, “After the war, I was determined to do all that I wanted to do.”

“How ambitious.” He cut in, unable to stop himself.

“Hush, I’m still talking.”

The walls groaned, and both their heads whipped towards the rooms. Now instead of two doors, there was now one. He could only pray that it was just a door that had vanished and not a bed as well. 

Granger swallowed and bobbed where she stood, as if she wanted to run back in and see what all had changed. He could practically hear the spellfire of her conflicting thoughts as they warred within. 

He couldn’t help himself. “Are you going to check-”

“No,” She shook her head, curls bouncing. “I’m tired of worrying about this and just want it fixed. As I was saying,” She sat before the fire and crossed her legs. “I wanted it all. The career, the family, the further education.”

“What did you continue studying in?” The question took him by surprise. He didn’t care about her. Draco didn’t want to know anything about her, but it didn’t stop his impulsive need to know. Yes, he’d been intrigued about her for a while now, and there may have been times in his youth when he wanted to dissect her. Pick her a part and see how she ticks. 

How does that brain of hers think? Work? Feel?

But those days have long passed. Now he only wanted to know the basics. Stick to the boy, and nothing else. It didn’t matter if Draco wanted to know her mental pathways and how they might differ from his own. He needed to board it up; don’t let it out.
She eyed him suspiciously, as if working out why he’d even ask. 

“Law.” She clipped. “I started out wanting to become Minister of Magic someday. But the infamy of being Harry’s friend and being dubbed the ‘Golden Girl’ started to become too much. After a while, I changed my goal for something less-”

“Public?”

“Yes.” The word was soft. 

“What did you do?” Circe smite him; he just couldn’t help it. A deluge of curiosity broke free. Stick to the basics, he’d told himself. Apparently he had no restraint whatsoever. He was itching to know it all, and as long as she’d keep talking, he’d drink it down greedily. Deal with the consequences later. 

“I first got a position filing paperwork for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It was a mundane, nameless, entry level position and it was perfect. After my supervisor heard of my experience with memory charms, they promoted me to an Obliviator.” She paused and her gaze drifted towards the fire, deep in thought. Draco said nothing, not wanting to break her reviere. 

“At first, I was hesitant, but there was a part of me that wanted to take what I’d done and overcome it by turning it into something good. Something helpful. It was like how muggles get behind the wheel again after a motor accident. I didn’t want to stand in the way of myself.” Her eyes dulled as she finally blinked at the light. Her knees tucked up into her chest and she wrapped her arms around, hugging herself. “But the more I did it, the more I started thinking.”

Questions swirled around, but Draco stayed silent. 

“I-” Her throat bobbed with the effort to continue. “I started wondering if it was right.”

“If what was right?” 

“Obliviating muggles. The Statute of Secrecy. Essentially, all of it. I knew that our world had a long way to go, with the rights of magical creatures, oppressive traditions, and blood supremacy.” 

“Of course,” His curiosity curdled into poison. Here it was; the targeted statement at Draco. Why not make him wear a sign and stand at a street corner while she’s at it? It’s not anything more than he deserved, but it wounded his dignity. 

“This is the moment where the great Hermione Granger swoops in with her hero complex I see.” He sneered and rose out of his seat to make for the exit, before realizing there wasn’t one. If she was going to remind him of his villainy, he might as well commit. Pivoting on his heel, he rounded on her to find that she had followed. “Why not just say what you really think of me, Granger?” 

“Christ, Malfoy,” She rolled her eyes at him as if he were no more than a child throwing a tantrum. “Do you think for a moment this wasn’t at all about you?”

“Of course it’s all about me.” 

A heavy silence fell over them.

Dear Morgana, why the fuck did he have to sound so petulant? 

She stared at him for a minute, patiently waiting as he grappled with his completely childish response. He was stuck in here with her, and he’d gone and made an even bigger fool of himself. 

His pride was taking a beating. 

He looked at the curly headed witch before him. This nosy woman didn’t know when to stop. Clearly she had no fear of Draco, but the reality was, she should be. 

If he were a meconium more like any other purebloods, he’d steal the child away and he’d never see his muggleborn mother again. He’d raise the boy to be not only a copy of his physical attributes, but as the flawless Malfoy heir. The next king in a long line of kings. The child would miss his mother in the beginning for sure, but after being showered with affection and never wanting for anything, it would fade. 

He’d always get the most exclusive toys, designer robes, and more properties than he’d know what to do. And Merlin, once he was an adult, he’d get the perfect witch or wizard to live out the rest of his life with. Dripping in jewels, drowning in the finest wine and every desire satisfied with the snap of his uncalloused fingers. 

And there would be no actions of a war hanging from his neck like a chain. Constantly pulling him deeper into a well of broken dreams.

The child would be everything Draco could have been.

Draco would be everything his father should have been.

He’d dote on the boy, not look at him with disgust when he was angry. He would listen to the child’s tales of adventure, his dreams of the future. Draco would hold his boy when he cried.

He’d never sacrifice Pip because of his own fear. 

At what point did his thoughts morph from dark and disparaging to an almost daydream? This was dangerous territory. He needed to get a hold of himself.  

Draco couldn’t have any of that. It sounded a little too close to ‘attachment’ for his tastes. 

“This isn’t about you,” She sliced through his thoughts like a hot iron. “Just please listen. It’s already difficult enough.” 

 

---

 

Hermione’s thumb scratched at the hangnail of her pinky finger. It stung as the skin pulled, no doubt bleeding again. He stood there, towering over her, eyebrows furrowed as he glowered at her. He had no intention of actually listening to her, she could see it in the clenched fists and the palpable irritation. 

Anger was good.

Anger can be matched. 

She didn’t want to tell him any of this. Her stomach twisted with nerves as she looked at Malfoy. He was the first person she needed to tell, but he was also the last she wanted to speak to. Old, childish insecurities rose from the grave. 

He hated her. He hated the way she looked, the way she sounded, and being anywhere within arms reach of her person. She didn’t really blame him, though she wanted to.

If he’d had even half a brain walking into that muggle clinic, he would have read that he was donating his sperm, not just preserving it. Idiot. What was he even doing in the muggle world anyway? Wasn’t he above that sort of thing?

None of this was her fault at all. All donors were anonymous, so how on earth could she have known? Yes she did love the idea of a sweet little blonde running around, but she’d always imagined it as more of a honey blonde, not the platinum that her son and Malfoy sported. Really, they were the only two people she knew that came by the color naturally. 

Subconsciously, she patted at her hair. This was ridiculous, they needed to get out of there. Better get it done with. 

Her voice was low when she started, “I started working on ways I can help bridge the gap between the muggle and magical communities. Studied laws and researched how the Statute of Secrecy came to be and what the parameters were. Then, I dove into the statistics. How often were we obliviating muggles? What were the events that led up to those decisions? Who made those calls?

 “There were so many variables, it took me months to gather all the information. I drafted an outline for alternative methods. When I was able to give my proposal to my superiors, they laughed at me.” Her cheeks pinked at the memory. “They pointed out my ‘condition’ and said that being able to do this would require my full attention. And that with my current state, I was unable to do so. So they shut it down.”

“What was your condition?”

“I was pregnant.”

He rocked back slightly, eyes flicking down to her stomach. Her cheeks burned as she wrapped her arms around herself. 

“Was no one going to help you with this grand vision of yours? Potter?” 

She was surprised again at his line of questioning. What was his motive? She didn’t trust him. Yes, she’d forgiven him for his past sins, but she still only saw him as that spoiled boy from school. The one that only ever thought of self preservation. 

Maybe he was working just as hard to get them out of here. 

“This wasn’t really Harry’s department.” She had tried to get him on board, but he disagreed with her reasoning. With his line of work, he only saw the potentially negative outcomes. He was frustratingly headstrong, but so was Hermione. They bickered regularly about it until one day Gin made them agree to disagree. Harry and Hermione’s stubbornness was nothing compared to Ginny’s. “It all died in the water, but I haven’t given up. Even with all of this going on. I still want to see a real change happen. Traditionalists are getting better about changing the laws, but that won’t help if society isn’t backing the new changes. It’ll always have an undercurrent that sweeps away progress.”

“What, so you want to change societal standards as a whole as well?”

“Yes. I don’t want to take away from their values, but I want to open the door to new values as well.”

He hummed, thoughtful. 

“Anyway,” she continued,  “I had Pip a couple months later. He was perfectly healthy for the first few years then,” Her throat constricted as she tried to force out the words, but it hurt. 

“Then?” 

He leaned forward as if he could inhale her next sentence; pull it from her lungs. He was so close, she could feel his soft exhale on her cheek. 

“Then he got sick.”

Chapter 10: Contrite

Notes:

Hello lovely!

Here is where things start getting deep. Please read on cautiously and take care of yourself.
TW: Mentions of a panic attack, torture, gore and death. Blood, seizures, memory loss and severe illness all involving a child.

I'll add in for your sake, this is a HEA, so take comfort in knowing this not forever.

Sick.

The word clanged between Draco’s ears. Sickness didn’t exist in the wizarding world. That was something that muggles had to deal with. Common colds and such. Wizards simply didn’t fall ill, unless it was some magical malady. By the way Granger looked, eyes red rimmed and shoulders slumped, this was worse than that. The woman that never quit, looked downright hopeless. It was unsettling to behold. 

He hadn’t seen her look like this since Hagrid carried Potter back from the forbidden forest. 

“Was it Black Cat Flu?” He asked as unease slithered through his body. 

She shook her head, “No.”

“Dragon Pox? There’s also-”

“No Malfoy, it isn’t anything I’ve heard of yet.”

He stopped short. “But just because you haven’t heard it, doesn’t mean that it can’t still be fixed somehow.”

Her reddened eyes turned on him. “You think I haven’t looked into anything and everything there is in this world? In the muggle world?”

“I-” He wanted to snark, but something held him back. She looked so fragile. He didn’t want to break her. Irritate her, sure. But to break the Golden Girl? It’d be like pissing on an orphan. Gently, he said, “I believe there doesn’t seem to be a single thing that escapes you.” 

Too soft. He sounded like a soppy git.

“With hair like that,” he continued, “I very much doubt that any information you manage to stuff in your head could ever escape.”

She scoffed at him, her spine straightening slightly. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Her lips pursed as if she didn’t believe him. “Alright, it wasn’t a compliment. The point is Pip is sick, and I need your help.”

“Right,” he started slowly, “And how exactly am I supposed to help you? You have years of research ahead of me.”

“With your marks in school, I don’t believe this will be too difficult.” 

She noticed his marks in school. What else had she noticed, his chiseled jawline perhaps? Broad shoulders? Or how about when he twisted just right, his pants could outline his massiv- 

“Are you listening?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

“Of course I am,” he replied, “you were just begging me to use my intellect. I’ll admit, there was a time when I thought you’d be nearly unbeatable, but here we are.”

“Enough, Malfoy,” It was almost a growl. “Will you help or not?”

“Of course, I will.” He replied, affronted.

Granger may be an annoying twit, but the boy was clearly heaven sent. How could Draco refuse that precious, manipulative, sweet-natured face? 

She let out a shuddering breath, and stood even straighter. “Then let’s get to work.”

With a wave of her wand, piles of literature covered the floor. The books were stacked as tall as Granger, sorted from most faded to newest spines. Multiple bundles of papers all annotated with the same handwriting and bound in various colored ribbons fanned around the room. 

“Pip had his first episode when he was three,” her tone was soft, but clinical. “Seizures. They started shortly after we moved here.”

“Was he exposed to any hinkypunks at any time?” He matched her mood brilliantly. With a flourish, he accio’d a quill, ink and parchment and sat at the small wooden table. “Or did he ingest any potions that you were unaware of?”

“No, he was attached at the hip when it all started.”

“How frequent were these episodes?” He summoned his glasses and shook the hair out of his eyes as he donned them. “Did he have any other symptoms?” 

“At first, they only happened once every couple of months, but they’ve increased lately.”

The steady scratch of a quill was the only sound for a moment. “And the symptoms?”

“He-” she cleared her throat, “he also suffers from memory loss and bleeding from the ears and nose. And the last seizure triggered a loss of feeling in his fingers for a day.”

The quill stopped. Draco’s heart pounded uncomfortably as he took in the information. That poor little boy. He was not but a sprite, and to think he’d suffered from such extreme symptoms. 

It was so similar to an unforgivable curse. 

“It’s not the cruciatus,” she supplied, reading his mind. “That curse requires the caster to be within sight, and most of the time, the seizures happen when it's just the two of us. He can also feel when one is going to happen. It’s only a few seconds beforehand, but it’s enough of a heads up to keep him from further injury.”

An uneasy relief bloomed. Draco was mollified, knowing an adult wasn’t cursing a three year old. Who would be sadistic enough to curse a child? A list of names grew in his mind. 

Too many would. 

Too many wizards have. 

Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though that was the root. His relief was short-lived when he realized it was back to square one.

“And no potions? No exotic magical creature encounters?” 

“No, none. After his first episode, I took him into St Mungo's, and they sent me home with a pain potion. Told me to come in if it happens again.”

“Who was the healer?” He clenched his jaw, caging in the sudden anger.

“I don’t think that matters.”

“I’d still like to know. Anyone who would dismiss a child like that is severely unqualified.”

“I agree, which is why I’ve been working with Poppy here, at Hogwarts.”

“Madame Pomphrey?”

“Yes, the trouble we keep running into though, is she’s overworked. Hospital ward by day, potion brewer by night. I tried doing the potion, but it requires less emotion than I’m capable of.” 

He snorted, “So you’re employing me for potion brewing?”

“In part. I need your help brewing to take it off of Poppy’s plate, but there’s more. I believe-” she cut off and switched mid sentence. “You cannot take what I’m about to say personally.”

“Of course I can.” 

“Draco,” She pleaded. “I need you to work with me.”

The room creaked in warning. 

“Fine, I won’t take it personally.” 

“Thank you. Now I believe that he may have some genetic pureblood condition that is causing this.”

The rest was unsaid. They locked eyes and it was clear what they were both thinking. Did he have some old relative that would curse the child of a muggleborn? Some kind of ancient spell to discourage procreating with anyone other than a pureblood line? It wouldn’t surprise Draco in the slightest, but he’d never heard such a thing.

“While I can see that would be the most logical conclusion,” he started, mind working fast. “I don’t believe that is the case. My mother has actually been working on setting me up with any and all eligible daughters of pureblood families, but she had also added in a couple of families with mixed lines. If something like this existed, I feel she would have known about it.”

Granger shook her head, dismissive. “I’d still like to rule it out as a possibility. I’ve worked on this for years now, exhausted almost all possibilities except this. And I’ve tried researching it on my own but,” a subtle blush spread across her cheeks and her tone hardened, “most of the books I pick up end up singing my fingers, or refusing to open. One particularly nasty book actually managed to spit on me.” 

Shame spread through Draco. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, hanging his head to hide his reddening face. There was a time that he would have laughed at her for this. Called her a stupid mudblood, and wished more books had the ability to spit on her. 

The thought made him ill. 

He’d been a small minded pile of shite. Backstabbing, self-serving, moralless and drifting.

Unworthy of happiness, regardless of his lineage and status. The things he witnessed during the war, brought all of that to light. Cause and effect peppered him with every event that took place in his familial home. 

Nagini feasting on bodies; their blood ran red, just like his.

Greyback dragging his wailing victims; voices that mirrored the screams within.

They felt pain, terror and anguish.

Then they felt nothing. 

Blank stares and unmoving bodies. Draco couldn’t help but wonder, were they at peace? Would he feel the soothing calm someday, after he’d taken his last breath?

He looked up from his notes to see that Granger had turned to fully face the fire. Yet another victim to the blind following of a mad man. 

He didn’t deserve happiness, but she did. After all she’d been through, it was the least he could do to help. 

“Compile these books for me and I’ll get to reading them for you.”

She turned back, surprised, “You have no idea what you are signing up for.”

Challenged, he straightened, “You have little faith. I quite enjoy reading.”

“Malfoy, there is a veritable library. It will take you months, if not years to get through it all.” 

“Like I said, I enjoy a good book.”

She frowned but let it drop. “I’ll still need help with the potions.”

“That’s child’s play for me. Won’t take any time at all.”

“Well,” She started slowly, “There are some banned ingredients that we will need to procure first.”

“Banned? Goodness Granger, I never pegged you for a naughty girl.”

She laughed and her already pink cheeks darkened. “You have no idea.”

Feeling suddenly warm, he asked, “What kind of ingredients?”

Her eyes glittered in the firelight. The beat of Draco’s heart thumped, danger danger danger . 

After an unnecessarily long pause, she said flippantly, “We need an Inferi heart.”

 

---

 

Malfoy was taking it quite well, all things considered. His mouth gaped soundlessly as he looked at her in disbelief. She saw the moment the words hit his ears, traveled to his oversized yet underused brain, the quiet chug chug of rusty gears finally moving after years of inactivity. 

After that, it was like a bullet train down to his stupid, posh mouth. 

“An Inferi heart? They don’t exist. It’s nothing more than a fairy tale fathers tell their children to get them to stay in bed.”

“They do exist. I’ve already gotten one.” 

“You did not.” He said, incredulous. “They don’t exist.”

“I’m not going to bicker with you any further.” She sniped with finality. Why did he insist on being so antagonistic? It was exhausting. “I’ll be acquiring the next heart during the full moon, in a couple of weeks. I’d really appreciate it if you came with, since I almost died going alone last time.”

“You must be joking.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“I cannot believe you faced an Inferi alone and survived. Where did you manage to find one anyway? I thought they all were put to rest after the war.”

“Mhhm, most of them were. It wasn’t an easy find, but I did some reading and discovered a handful of wizards that attempted to raise loved ones back from the dead, only to accidentally make an Inferi. I always believed that the caster had to have the intent of creating a mindless minion, but as it turns out, that was wrong. Fascinating, really. Anyway, I figured that if it was someone that was beloved, they would be buried in the crypts with the heartbroken partner.”

“So you’ve raided the tombs of lovers?” His voice cracked as it grew higher, sounding almost pubescent.

“Yes, and I need to do it again.” Her lips pinched together, suppressing a grin that would surely provoke him.

“I cannot believe I’m being roped into this. No wonder the Room had to lock us in. You are as mad as Moody was.”

“Please Malfoy, it’s not a big deal. Typically the loved ones’ souls have passed on, so we don’t have to worry about ghosts interfering. All we have to do is incapacitate the Inferi and carve out its heart in the moonlight.”

“Is that all?” He asked, his tone growing ridiculously shrill. If he doesn't bring it back down soon, he’ll be at so high a register, it’ll rival the Fat Lady’s portrait during third year.

She rolled her eyes so hard her vision blurred. “No, that is not all, but the rest will be easy.”

“Please,” He covered his face with his hands, “don’t stop on my account Granger.” He muffled. “We might as well carry on.”

How dramatic.

“We have to keep the Inferi alive, and put it back after we take the heart.”

“Right.” His hands dropped from his face, “And how are we to do that?”

“I can do that part on my own. What I need is for you to hold the Inferi down so I can take what we need.”

“You have a wand Granger.”

She shook her head, “We can’t use magic.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t want this to be simple.”

“I need the heart to keep beating. We can’t stun it, or it may stop the heart.”

“Petrificus totalus?”

“No, its body is too fragile for that. The rib cage will cave like a poor souffle.”

“How did you manage this on your own last time?”

“I set a basic snare and used myself as bait. After I extracted the heart, the rope snapped and it knocked my wand out of my hand as it fell.” She lifted her shirt to show him the four jagged scars just above her hip. “It tried to go for a kidney, but I smashed it with a rock and retrieved my wand. Incendio killed it. When I got home, I discovered that the heart had stopped beating.” 

What she didn’t tell him, was that after holding the lifeless organ in her hand, she sobbed until she couldn’t cry anymore. The sun had come up, closing her window to retrieve another. Pip would have to go until the next full moon before she could brew his elixir.

He spent the entirety of that next month, bedridden. 

His tiny body had broken out in cold sweats from the continuous seizures. It soaked his bed. He lost an alarming amount of weight over a couple of days, and had eyes so sunken, dark rimmed and haunted, he looked like a Holocaust survivor. 

Blood had dripped steadily from his ears. 

She had taken to laying him in black clothes, in black sheets and placed black towels under his head. She didn’t want him to see the ruby droplets scattered around his pillow like a morbid halo. His white blonde curls crusted with dried blood daily. She’d eventually sheared it nearly to his scalp to avoid having to see it anymore. The contrasting colors were too much.   

In an awful way, Hermione could have handled all of it, but that wasn’t the entirety of his symptoms. There was more. 

Pip had woken up from the first of a long line of episodes and asked who she was. The simple question snapped the frayed thread that held her together. She had excused herself before completely falling apart in the corridor. Minerva had found her clawing at her throat because why couldn’t she breathe? How did he forget her? When can she hold him and kiss his curls and tell him that she loved him so?

It was the longest month of her life. Days passed by slowly. Nights were full of fitful sleep, and when it took her deep, nightmares feasted on the last vestiges of peace. 

She still blamed herself for her carelessness that day. The memory of his sickbed was burned so deeply into her retinas, she saw it with every blink. It was the last thought in her head at night, and the first when she woke. 

Guilt, resinous and putrid, lived in the rotted cavity within her chest. It pulsed with every heartbeat, and took on different forms with each slip up.

She was the reason for her innocent son’s horrific condition; there was no way about it. If one would ask her what her part was, she’d be without an answer, but she knew in her heart that this was a result of her neglect somehow.

It didn’t matter that all of her friends had agreed that this was not her doing. 

They were all wrong.

She was Pip’s mother. It was her job to keep him safe, and she’d failed spectacularly. Even still, by having her irresponsible relationship with Cal. She needed to let him go. He was a liability that she couldn’t afford. 

A liability that held her when she felt her lungs had stopped working and her vision would go hazy. He’d wrap her in his arms and fight back the isolation that threatened to consume. He was a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning; an exciting new film on the telly. 

If it really came down to it, she’d drop him for Pip without a second thought. Right now though, and the months prior, things had settled some and complacency moved in. Pip’s episodes were managed and the troubling notes have been absent for a few weeks. Things were looking up.

And now, she had Malfoy as well. 

Not much, but it was something. 

Chapter 11: Armistice

Summary:

Continued conversations and reflections of the past.

Notes:

Please don't hate me for how long this took to post.
I've been enjoying the last bits of summer with my children while they still want to be in the same room as me.

TW: Blood and gore.

I've written an extra long chapter to make up for some of my absence.
Enjoy!

After they quietly, and separately, retired to the singular bedroom, they each had discovered that the curtain and two beds had thankfully stayed.

Hermione had turned in first, looking forward to having a night alone and equally feeling guilty for it. She never blamed Pip for his needs and was there at the drop of a hat to care for him. There were times, however, that she felt it would be nice to just sleep through the night. 

It was a selfish feeling though. 

How could she relax when Pip was out there, his life being disrupted at every turn? How could she be so self-concerned with something as typical as sleep, when he’s just struggling to live as normal a life as any child? Pip had his daily challenges and she just wanted a night of peace and without fear of losing him in a myriad of ways. One had a critical, life altering condition, the other wanted to sleep through the night. The two weren’t even within the same realms.  

Slumber never came. 

Her legs tangled in the soft quilts and her brain never quieted. How could it when Malfoy had agreed to help them? This was, she loathed to admit it, monumental. A pleasant buzz hummed in her veins with the possibilities. It was the same feeling she got when discovering a new section in the bookstore. His ability to read those ghastly discriminating books will give her the last piece needed for curing Pip. She knew it, just like she had known Harry was going to win the war. 

Malfoy also had the ability and skill to brew the elixir. Like she had told him, her emotions were too great and was too attached to the patient for it to be a great batch. If Malfoy, one who not only shares blood but also one who didn’t have the emotional ties, could do it, then it had the potential to be the strongest brew yet. 

At last, she rose from the warm mattress and made her way to the kitchen to prepare a carafe of French press, before settling on the floor with her work in hand. 

The reality was, she wouldn’t rest until her son was better. 

She might fantasise about a life free from dreams of his haunted eyes, or from the relentless anxiety that shadowed her every moment, but that peace would only come once a cure was found.

She flipped through books and stacks of papers, not gaining any new information for hours. Eventually, she sat on the sofa and set her sights on the one piece of literature that brought her comfort. 

Grabbing the lavender cloth bound book, she opened it and began rereading the last few pages of text. It was handwritten with soft, curly letters that bespoke of a gentle hand. Even though she had this book nearly memorized, she always came back to it after a trying day. 

Tilly Nettlebend was an absolute hero to Hermione.

She was the first witch to become a Master in Magical Maladies at St. Mungo’s, and Hermione suspected that she was the one who established the Janus Thickey Ward, though there was no evidence. Her work was driven by patients with continued magical ailments and her progress was far past her time. She had invented a way to not only diagnose, but give a sample of potential cures as well. Her ways of replicating the condition, isolating the issue and reversing the damage done was leagues beyond what any wizard had done before her. 

All this was during a time when witches were still seen as less than wizards. Every few decades or so, someone had to break the glass ceiling and Tilly shattered it; paving the way for more witches in the healing field. She was a real pioneer for little girls everywhere. Sadly, she had drifted into obscurity as her healing journals had all been lost.  

All except the singular one in her hands.

The gold lettering across the spine had begun flaking, no matter how many times Hermione reinforced it. Thankfully, the pages within were preserved beautifully. 

 

Cassius found the Aegimenta today.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I found it the day before, but was working on dissecting its properties and point of origin before making my discovery known. 

He was so proud to have unearthed something no other wizard had before; I let him have it. 

For years now, we’ve seemed to be off balanced and this would have created even more of a rift between us. Besides, it didn’t matter if it was him or I that came across this profound revelation; our family name will still be attached. 

The Aegimenta will change the course of history. I feel it in my bones. With this, I believe we will be able to fully understand our magic and its mysteries. This may be the key that unlocks all the answers I have yearned to know for years. What is the difference between us all? Where does our magic come from and how is it accessed? Too many questions that I cannot wait to answer. 

I’ll have to be careful, and not tread on Cassius though. He’s a proud man, and having his wife unleash the full potential of his discovery would cause even more of a divide. 

This is not the age of the witch, I fear. I hope we do get there eventually, but for now I’ll continue to push him in the right direction. I’ll do anything for my patients. All of my patients.

Thankfully Cassius hasn’t questioned my growing need to spend hours in town, for I fear I’d tell him the truth. Too long I have seen sick children on their deathbeds and my tolerance for his bigotry has all run out. It matters not if they are muggle or magical, I will heal them the best I can. 

I’ll be heading out again later to check on the children in town and to use the knowledge of the Aegimenta in some of the cases I’m struggling with. This might be the piece I’ve been missing to help that poor little Marabella To-

 

“Oh good, you’ve made coffee.” 

Startled, she gasped and looked over her book. Malfoy sauntered into the room, hair rumpled and sleep clothes disheveled. A faint crease from his pillow lingered on his cheek, pulling with the slow stretch of his hearty yawn. He seemed to be well rested. 

Hermione hated it.

“You look out of sorts.” She commented blandly.

“Well there is no one here to impress, so why bother?” 

Quite touchy in the morning it seems. He reached for the carafe, and conjured a mug. Spooning an ungodly amount of sugar in, he poured the coffee and drank deeply. Hermione stayed silent.

She watched as his lip curled in disgust. The coffee had long grown cold, its once rich flavor falling into bitterness. But with him waltzing out here in his tousled-fine form, she enjoyed watching his perfectly smug face twist in revulsion. He looked at her, noting the self satisfied smile she wore.

“You could have warned me, Granger.”

“Why would I bother?” She volleyed back at him, snapping the book closed. 

He shook his head and vanished the carafe. “I’m making a new one, and I’m not sharing. Yours was practically poisonous.”

“You are so bloody dramatic. It was merely cold.”

“When did you brew it? Yesterday morning?”

“No,” she could hear his condescending tone and didn't care. “I brewed it a few hours ago.”

“It’s six in the morning, Granger. How long have you been awake?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” It wasn’t said with malice, but with boredom.

He plopped down on the far side of the small sofa and flicked his wand at the kitchen. The kettle set to boil as fresh grounds scooped themselves into a clean carafe. While the water heated, Malfoy leaned over the pile of books she had set aside for him.

“Is this it? I thought you said it was more.”

She rolled her eyes at him, already done with his rejuvenated arse. “Of course not. These,” she said as she gestured to the pile, “are the ones I’ve concluded have the most relevant information, therefore most likely to aid us in our cause.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “These have nothing of use,” he held up a finger at her indignant gasp and continued, “I know because I’ve already read them.”

“You’ve already read them?”

He grabbed the top one, The Serpent’s Birthright, and flipped through it.

“Of course I have. You don’t think I became such a blockhead solely because of my father’s influence, did you? The best way to make ideologies stick is to flood information in multiple forms.” Revulsion contorted his face once more, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of a thick, heavy rage. His voice was low as he continued, “Growing up, they were fed to me and reinforced through literature, art, fashion, theatre, and even music. Nothing compares to the intolerances of the rich; if they are unhappy with something, it’s erased.”

He hurled the copy in his hands into the fire, his mouth set in a grim line. Landing toward the back, the book fell open, parchment already catching in the hot coals. She gasped and dove for it, but he caught her by the shoulders before she could grab it.

Whirling on him, she opened her mouth to give him a proper scolding, but he cut her off.

“That one, in particular, is nothing more than the ramblings of a bigoted prick who felt emasculated by halfbloods. In that exact book,” he nodded toward the flames, “he claimed the parents of halfbloods should be punished and that their attraction towards each other was ‘unnatural.’ His doctrine held that the one with the magical blood should be sent to Azkaban, the other parent Obliviated, and the child placed in an orphanage with other halfbloods, where they would never receive their wands. You don’t even want to know what he said about Muggleborns.”

His voice had grown soft by the end, his grip loosening slightly before he completely removed his hands from her.

“And before you get too uppity about the book being destroyed, these can be found in any pureblood home. It was, unfortunately, not the only edition.”

Hermione watched The Serpent’s Birthright glowing pages, her heart in her throat. Why hadn’t she involved Malfoy sooner? His knowledge and history of pureblood philosophy was a turning point and she had refused it out of pure haughtiness. 

In all fairness, it wasn’t his involvement she had rejected, more like what his connection meant and how it would change all of their lives. Looking from the fire to the man standing there, running a hand through his hair while absently shifting through papers, she felt suddenly ill. 

He’d remove himself as soon as he knew the full gravity of her situation. Any level headed wizard would. If she could just get him to help her with Pip first, maybe the rest could stay dormant. There would be no need to bring it up, and he’d never need to know the risks he was taking. Typically Hermione would have never approved of such an underhanded approach, but she was willing to do anything for her boy. Even if that included keeping vital information from the one person that could help them.

He sighed and rubbed his face, “I should pop over to the manor. My family has guarded records like these as if it were treasure. Some of the books there are the only available copies in the world.” He boasted while casually summoning the carafe and hot kettle.

“Have you read some of them?”

He gave a very ungentlemanly snort as he watched hot water poured over the grounds, “No I have not, but I do know exactly where they are located.” 

“It’s a shame none of that information will ever be shared with the world.” She muttered,  “I’ll bet it’s like the Library of Alexandria; doomed to waste away.” 

His nose scrunched at the comparison. “The Library of Alexandria was, in part, a public place. Its destruction was an effect of political and military interventions over centuries. The library at the manor has been preserved for nearly a millennium, and it only grows richer with each addition. It being a private library is what is protecting the records over the years.”

She rolled her eyes again, “Of course it is. And keeping this precious material in the club is the reason we are in this,” she gestured to the Room, “heinous situation to begin with.”

“We are in this heinous situation because of that troublemaker you call a child. Honestly, I’ve only known him for a little over a week and I can already speak to the constant threat of peace because of that boy. My nerves can’t take much more, Granger.” 

“Alright, Mrs. Bennett.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms. 

"I have no idea who this Mrs. Bennett is, but I don’t need to know in order to recognize when you’re being unreasonably difficult."

“Yes I am,” she stood and made her way to the loo, “and you are stuck with me.”

 

---

 

The rest of the day passed in stilted silence. The only sounds were of an occasional page being turned, a muffled yawn, or a sudden pop in the hearth. It reminded her of late nights in the library, where she’d study like mad for an upcoming exam. Funny how back then, it felt that her study sessions were the only thing between life or expulsion. Now here she was, studying with Malfoy of all people, and for something that actually did affect life. 

Supper arrived, and Hermione took it with her to the floor, as she poured over her notes for the hundredth time. 

Malfoy claimed the little table with his food, accompanied by a small stack of books. His brow was furrowed as he read, creasing the skin of his forehead. She wondered if he knew that habit will give him wrinkles eventually. 

He turned a page; a soft whisper of paper against paper. His fingers splayed over the spine and she couldn’t help but notice the various rings he wore. A thin silver band on his forefinger, a black one with a moonstone inlay on his pinky, and that gaudy Malfoy signet ring on his middle. His other hand raised as he cupped his cheek and leaned on his elbow; which narrowly missed his half eaten plate. A singular copper band rested on his ring finger; the rest were bare. 

As much as she hated to admit it, the evening had been quite nice.

Having Malfoy stop talking would do that. His silence did come with an unfortunate downside though. 

She was bursting to know what the books had to offer. When he first cracked open the pages, she attempted to read over his shoulder, but the book would snap shut with the first word read. Taking a few steps back, she tried again, and just as before, the book would close on them. He eventually looked back and pinned her with an admonishing look, and she silently sat back down by the fire. 

She tried to focus, but her attention kept drifting up to Malfoy in a poor attempt at reading the book backwards through the thick leather cover. This was the worst. 

“If you keep staring, it may close for good.” He said, breaking the tranquility. “You are going to be suffocating, aren’t you?” He turned another page, seemingly unbothered, yet clearly annoyed.

Waving off his pointed remark she asked, “Have you found anything of use yet?”

“Granger,” her name was a suffering exhale, “I am on the first of a hundred and eighty seven books you’ve handed me. This one alone,” he hefted it into the air, waving it with two hands, “has over seven hundred pages and,” he opened it up and flashed the text at her, “it’s written like the bloody muggle bible with the two columns and tiniest print known to man.” 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” She said sullenly.

“That would be correct. As convenient as that would be to find the answer we have been looking for on page ten, I have to confess that we are not so lucky today.”

She tidied up her papers and stood. “I supposed it would be too convenient for that.” 

A grandfather clock on the wall chimed eleven times. 

Malfoy stretched against the wooden chair, his back popping with the motion. “It’s late. I’ll take the sofa here.”

“Why is that? There are two beds and you had no issue with it last night.”

“Last night I was emotionally distressed and not in the right mindset. Now that I’ve had a day to process, I realised the singular room would probably be inappropriate for you.”

She snorted, “We are both adults, Malfoy. It’s not like we’d be snuggled up under the same blanket.”

“But you are so uptight and prudish. I’d hate to be a scourge upon your good name.”

“Please. I did that all on my own by having your child, not by sleeping in the same room as you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to stuff them back in. It all came out disastrously wrong. “I didn’t mean it that way-”

“Don’t worry about it, Granger.” His posture was stiff, a flush crawling up his neck.

“No really,” she pushed, “I meant it in the way because I had a child the way I did. It was difficult, being a single woman and suddenly pregnant. To the world, I was seen as a loose witch. It didn’t matter that I gave interviews that said otherwise. The world always saw it the way they wanted, and that was a tarnished Golden Girl.”

“I’d honestly find it difficult to believe you as well. Here I am deeply involved in this, and still struggling to wrap my head around it all. But that boy-” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he collected his thoughts, “that boy looks just like me. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” he cleared his throat, shaking off the sentimentality. “Why didn’t you pop out little redheads with Weaslebee?”

Tilting her head at his jab she answered, “ Ronald and I, well we really only came together under strenuous situations. When the war ended, we realized that maybe the excitement was the only thing pushing us together. We didn’t end up where we thought we would be, but I wasn’t going to let that slow me down. I wanted to be a young mother, and partner or not, it was going to happen.”

“So you found yourself at the clinic.”

She nodded. “I found myself at the clinic. A year later, I was holding the precious, bald baby and knew life would never be the same. Little did I know, it would take the form that it did. You know it’s funny, they say that no matter how much you prepare for adding in a little one, there will always be something that surprises you. That you’ll forget back up nappies, snacks or a change of clothes. And I was, ironically, prepared for that. I was not expecting something like this though. It left me floundering and isolated.”

“But you have your friends and family to help though.”

“My family is-” she swallowed the sudden knot in her throat, "unavailable. As far as friends go, they have been as understanding and helpful as possible but at the end of the day, they go home and leave the burden of his care behind. I’m unable and unwilling to do that.”

“It’s piss poor luck you are saddled with me then. I enjoy my unrestricted lifestyle and unfortunately, didn’t plan on changing that.” he paused, the left-hand corner of his mouth tilting up slightly, “I suppose it was getting a little boring though.”

She smiled. “Well Pip is a far cry from ordinary. He’ll beat away any opportunities for dullness to arise.”

His storm grey eyes looked at her closely before saying, “He’s just like his mother then. Good thing his sharp wit and good looks have been inherited from his father. Otherwise we might be in real trouble.”

“I could argue we are in trouble because of his sharp wit, which he clearly also got from me. The only thing he got from you was the blonde hair, and I’m sure even that will darken with time.”

He laughed, deep and unbridled. “That will never happen.” He tapped his own head, “I’ve tried everything. Muggle dyes, charms and even a ritual once. The family magic won’t let the color go.” 

“Fine, he can keep the hair only because there is nothing to be done about it. But the rest is all me.”

“We’ll see about that, Granger. That boy is going to grow up to leave a trail of hearts behind him. He’ll take after me for that.”

“Yes, yes you are quite the Casanova. I’m raising Pip to have more respect for people than you did. When he’s older, he will treat romantic partners with more care than you.”

“Who’s to say that I don’t care?” He spit back, affronted. “I am a very attentive lover.” 

“Sure you are. You strike me as the type to only be attentive until you’ve finished, and then you either kick them out or roll over and fall asleep as they dress.”

His eyes glittered as he volleyed back, “Thinking of what it would be like to sleep with me Granger?”

She choked on air, jaw dropping at his sheer audacity. “No I absolutely have not!” 

She absolutely had.

In all fairness, it wasn’t because of desire or anything, but more the realization that others, society, her friends, strangers all looked at her boy and couldn’t help but wonder, how had they shagged? When had they shagged? Was it intense and emotionally fueled, or did he take her slowly after wooing her? Was it hate sex or more intimate?     

In her poor attempt at understanding how to combat these laughable rumors, she tried to imagine what others did to solidify a sound argument. Unfortunately, her imagination ran rampant. She could see it in full spectrum, from toxic and hate fueled, to soft and romantic.

She pictured everything from being taken against a bookcase as her hand was wrapped around his tie, to his hand up her dress at a gala as she bit her lip, suppressing a moan. Did he whisper desires in her ear or was he more of a sharp curser? Her eyes flicked to the rings on his hands. Did he remove those beforehand, or could you feel the cool metal as it skated over heated skin?

Suddenly warm and deeply embarrassed, she stood and marched to the room, slamming and locking the door behind her. Her heart pounded uncomfortably as she smoothed down her curls. Why does her mind wander so far? It was a curse, diving so deep. 

Now that the thoughts made an appearance, she looked over at the beds and groaned. It was all too close to the surface for comfort. She didn’t want him and by doing her hypothetical exercise in the name of a good rebuttal, made things terribly awkward.

Malfoy was right, he should take the sofa.  

 

---

 

Draco stared at the closed door and shook his head in disbelief. 

At least the sofa was quite comfortable, if not a touch too short. Nothing a bit of magic can’t handle. He waved his wand at it and it lengthened to accommodate for his long legs. 

He laid down, propped up on a pillow and continued to read.

Or at least he tried. 

That Granger really must be quite the prude to have marched off in such a huff after an innocent comment like that. He didn’t even get graphic, and even the mention of the two of them together like that was a ridiculous thought. He’d sooner kiss a toad.

Rubbing a page between his fingers, he looked to the wall that had sealed them in. They had spent the whole day together, and were still no closer to getting out. It wasn’t a stretch to say that she was veiling something from him and that is why they were still where they were. 

How many days would pass before she would finally come clean? She wanted to get back to the boy and he had a drinking night planned that he just couldn’t miss. 

“Can you be any more daft Mr. Malfoy?”

Oh for fucks sake, he wished his mind would just stop with this already. He closed his eyes. “I’m at peak perfection. Your asinine comment is not only untrue but it is also quite rude.”

“I’m only stating what is most obvious.” Snape’s drawl was grating on Draco, but he had to admit to himself, these little imaginary conversations have been quite helpful in the past.

“Care to explain what I’m missing then? Instead of taking the piss out of me.”

Snape’s ghostly form, the one Draco had conjured up in detail, frowned at him as he laid there like a halfwit. He could nearly taste the bitter disappointment in the air.

“Miss. Granger,” he started off slowly, “needs to trust you.” 

Draco chuckled, “She either already does or never will.” He paused, musing the situation. “She told me about the boy’s illness and trusts me enough to help. If she was willing to give me that, something that I could easily use against her, then she must trust me.”

But she was still not being completely honest, and he knew it.

What had McGonagall said the terms for their release was? The Room would not let them out until they’ve had a much needed conversation and have agreed to work amicably.

Well, they have had a conversation and have agreed to work amicably. What was he missing?

Snape sighed, his eyes glittering like he held all the answers. This bloody apparition was starting to really irritate. Draco huffed out his nose and continued, “But she must not trust me enough. I do believe that the conversation we were meant to have, hasn’t happened yet.”

“Very good. Ten points to Slytherin. Now what?”

“I-” He didn’t know. Shit, what now? “I-” he started again slowly, “show her I can be trustworthy.”

“How will you do that?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? Why is she so afraid?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because she’s afraid I’ll back out.” The wheels started turning and picking up speed. “She’s afraid, because whatever she’s hiding, will affect me in some way. In a way she’s sure will drive me off.”

“So…”

He sat up tall, “So I show her that I won’t leave. I’ll not be scared off by whatever she has to say.”

“And if you hear what she has to say and it’s too much?”

Draco thought of the boy. The child with an easy smile and a personality that drew Draco in and refused to let go. What was he willing to do for that child? How far will he go for Pip?

In his own life, his father had basically sacrificed him and his mother to the Dark Lord for safety. Back when he was younger, he believed it was the right thing to do. To fully prostrate themselves at the feet of the Dark Lord. He was to lead them all back into a world of greatness, magic and power. 

As an adult though, he realized his father’s actions stemmed from fear. Not for his family, but for himself. And now with the sudden emergence of Pip, his view of his father separated even further. 

Lucius had the resources. Money, spies and unplottable properties that he could have transferred his family while the war raged on, but instead, left them vulnerable and exposed to the worst. 

Blood pooled in the middle of the mahogany table. It was passed down for generations, now ruined as Nagini dug into still warm flesh. Open wounds bled freely, adding to the copper scented lake until it flowed to the edge and trickled down a hand carved leg.

He didn’t know much about Professor Burbage, but he did know that she was kind to all the students and never raised her voice. She had smile lines around her mouth and always wore soft looking robes. She always waved at the Slytherin class as they passed her Muggle Studies door. His class never waved back.

The recollection seized him, stiffening his will. That is exactly the type of situation that Lucius had put him in. His father, the one meant to protect him, instead thrust him into the middle of danger. That is exactly the type of situation he would work to free Pip from. At any cost. He looked at Snape as he waited patiently for Draco’s answer.

“There is nothing she can say to drive me off. I’m here to stay, whether she likes it or not.”