chapter 2
Theo Nott stumbled into the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor, his breath ragged, his arms aching from carrying the fragile weight of Hermione Granger. Blood matted her tangled curls, her torn robes hanging off her like rags, revealing bruised and lacerated skin beneath. Her body shivered violently, yet she was burning with fever, her fingers twitching as if grasping for something unseen. She was barely conscious, her lips parting with soft, pained murmurs—half-formed words lost to exhaustion.
“Gypsy!” Theo’s voice was raw with urgency as he called for the house-elf. The tiny creature appeared with a pop, her bulbous eyes widening in horror at the sight of Hermione.
“Get Draco,” Theo ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “He’s in a meeting. I don’t care. Get him now.”
Gypsy hesitated for only a second before vanishing. Theo didn’t waste time—he turned to another elf. “Cookie—fetch Blaise. Now.”
As soon as the elf disappeared, Theo strode through the dimly lit corridors, his boots clicking sharply against the cold marble floors. He pushed into one of the private drawing rooms, laying Hermione onto the velvet chaise. A strangled noise left his throat when he finally took her in properly—the deep gashes along her arms, the swelling of her cheek, the bruises blooming across her collarbone like sickening flowers of violence.
“Hermione,” Theo said hoarsely, pressing a hand against her forehead. She flinched.
She was awake enough to feel his touch but too weak to fight it. Her breathing hitched as she turned her head away, as if recoiling from the mere presence of another person.
“It’s me,” he whispered, though he knew she wouldn’t understand why that should bring her any comfort.
A sharp crack signaled Blaise’s arrival. The moment he saw Hermione, his usual calm shattered.
“Merlin’s bloody—” Blaise was at her side in an instant, already rolling up his sleeves. “What happened?”
“Found her like this.” Theo’s jaw clenched. “Fix her.”
Blaise didn’t ask questions—there would be time for those later. He pulled his wand, muttering a diagnostic spell. The moment the golden threads of magic wrapped around Hermione’s body, the full extent of her injuries was laid bare. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, lacerations, bruises in various stages of healing.
Blaise exhaled sharply. “This is going to hurt.”
Theo braced himself, but it was Hermione who reacted.
As Blaise began to mend the worst of her wounds, a choked cry escaped her lips. Her body arched weakly, every muscle tightening in protest. Even unconscious, she felt the pain. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of the chaise, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.
Theo grabbed her hand on instinct, gripping it tightly.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure if it was true.
Blaise worked quickly, murmuring incantations under his breath. The deep gashes began to close, the bruises lightening, the swelling reducing.
Then, Hermione stirred more, her eyelids fluttering.
Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “Cast it.”
Blaise frowned. “What?”
Her breathing was uneven, panic creeping into her voice. “A contraceptive charm. Now.”
The words slammed into them like a curse.
Theo’s stomach turned to ice. Blaise visibly tensed, his wand hovering midair.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken horror.
Then Blaise swallowed hard and did as she asked, casting the charm in a near-silent whisper.
Theo’s grip on her hand tightened.
Blaise hesitated—then lifted his wand again, this time performing a diagnostic charm. A shimmering veil of light swept over her.
And then her abdomen glowed gold.
Theo’s heart plummeted.
Blaise went unnervingly still, his face unreadable. But the slight tremor in his hand gave him away.
Theo felt something claw up his throat, something dark and unbearable.
They didn’t say it.
Didn’t need to.
But both of them knew.
Hermione was pregnant.
And she had no idea.
The first thing Hermione registered was the pain—a dull, aching throb pulsing beneath her skin, a deep soreness that felt like it had settled into her very bones. It took a moment for her mind to push past the haze, to piece together the fragments of memory slipping through her grasp like sand.
Her eyelids felt heavy as she forced them open, her vision blurring before settling into focus.
The room was unfamiliar—grand but cold, draped in dark velvets and ancient tapestries.
And then she heard it.
Voices.
Angry, hushed, familiar.
“The safe house!—” Malfoy’s voice, sharp and furious.
“Here was safest and quickest,” Nott shot back, his tone low and simmering.
“You know the rules!” Malfoy snarled. “And when she wakes up,how do you think she’ll react? Think she’ll thank you, Nott? You should have let—”
“I know what I should have done!” Nott’s voice cracked, raw with something Hermione couldn’t name.
Zabibi, always the composed one, sounded just as tense. “This isn’t the time for this. She’ll wake up soon—”
Something inside her twisted, a surge of unease crawling up her spine.
She shifted, pushing herself upright with shaking arms. The movement sent a sharp stab of pain through her ribs, but she barely felt it past the overwhelming rush of fear and confusion.
The voices cut off.
And then three pairs of eyes were on her.
Malfoy. Zabini. Nott.
They stared at her, expressions unreadable.
Her breath came faster. Her heart pounded.
Where am I?
And then her gaze landed on Nott, and the memories came crashing down like a tidal wave.
The last thing she remembered before everything had gone dark—was Ginny.
Blood. Screams. The broken body of her best friend.
And the person standing over her.
Theodore Nott.
Her stomach lurched.
“You,” she breathed, voice shaking.
Nott didn’t move.
Then suddenly, her rage ignited, burning away the remnants of confusion. Her body moved before her mind could catch up.
“You killed her!” she screamed.
Nott didn’t flinch.
Hermione lurched forward, her hands trembling as she shoved at his chest with what little strength she had.
“You killed her!” she sobbed, her fists colliding against him, weak but frantic. “You murdered Ginny! I saw you!”
Nott let her hit him. He just stood there, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and hollow.
Malfoy and Zabini moved in an instant, both stepping forward, ready to intervene.
But before they could—
“Hermione, stop!”
The voice—clear, desperate—impossible.
Hermione froze, her breath catching painfully in her throat.
That voice.
That voice.
Slowly, her head turned.
And there, standing in the doorway—
Ginny Weasley.
Alive.
Whole.
Breathing.
It wasn’t possible.
Hermione stumbled back, her legs giving out as she crashed against the edge of the bed. Her hands trembled violently as she pressed them to her temples, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“No,” she whispered.
Ginny took a step closer. “Hermione, listen to me—”
“No,” Hermione snapped, her voice rising, shaking. Her vision swam, nausea curling in her stomach. “You’re dead. You died.”
“I didn’t—”
“I saw you die!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I saw your body! This—this isn’t real. This is some kind of—” Her hands clawed at her hair, her nails digging into her scalp. “No, no, no—”
Ginny’s face crumpled. “Hermione, please, it’s me—”
“Stop lying to me!” Hermione’s voice was high-pitched, bordering on hysteria. “You’re dead! You—”
Her breath hitched. She looked around wildly—at Malfoy,Zabini,Nott. Their faces were grim, tense. Real.
No one was correcting her.
No one was telling her she was imagining things.
Ginny wasn’t fading. Wasn’t vanishing like an illusion.
But she couldn’t be here.
She couldn’t.
Hermione felt the betrayal settle in her chest like lead, cold and suffocating.
Ginny took another cautious step toward her, hands raised in a silent plea.
And Hermione—
Hermione flinched away.
She stared at Ginny as if she were looking at a ghost. Her mind refused to accept it, refused to make sense of the impossible. Her stomach twisted, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt.
Hermione was still gasping for breath when the door burst open.
Three figures rushed inside.
Luna. Astoria Malfoy. Parkinson
Astoria was the first to speak. “Draco,” she breathed, her voice wavering as her wide blue eyes took in the scene. “Gypsy told us.”
Draco barely acknowledged her, still tense, his gaze flickering between Hermione and Ginny.
Astoria hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, her face etched with concern. She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but instead, she turned to Blaise.
And without a word, he pulled her into his arms.
Astoria let out a shaky breath, gripping the back of his robes tightly. She was trembling, her emotions barely held together.
Parkinson, standing beside them, crossed her arms and let out a sharp exhale. “Bloody hell,” she muttered. “I was expecting something bad, but this is a nightmare.”
Hermione barely registered their presence.
She couldn’t look away from Ginny.
Couldn’t understand.
Couldn’t breathe.
She flinched violently when someone suddenly moved beside her.
A pair of arms wrapped around her.
Soft. Warm.
Luna.
Hermione stiffened.
Luna’s voice was as airy as ever, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
Luna pulled back just enough to look at her, her pale eyes shining with something Hermione couldn’t comprehend. “Harry and I were so worried.”
Hermione’s heart pounded in her ears.
What?
What was she talking about?
Harry? Worried?
She wrenched herself back. “Luna—?” Her voice cracked as she turned frantically between her and Ginny. “What—what is going on?”
Luna smiled softly, her hands still resting on Hermione’s arms. “You’re safe now.”
Safe.
Safe?
Hermione shook her head violently, trying to pull away, but Luna’s grip was steady.
Safe.
The word rattled inside her skull, foreign and meaningless.
She wasn’t safe.
She hadn’t been safe since the war started.
And she definitely wasn’t safe here.
She looked wildly at the others—Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, Astoria, Parkinson and—
Ginny.
Alive.
Standing.
Breathing.
How?
Hermione pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, her entire body trembling. “No—no, this isn’t right.”
Luna frowned slightly. “What isn’t right?”
Hermione let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh, her breath uneven. “All of it! You—why are you here? Why are they—” She gestured frantically at the others, panic clawing its way through her chest. “Why aren’t they capturing me and taking me to him?”
Silence.
A suffocating, deadly silence.
Malfoy stiffened. Nott’s jaw clenched. Zabini’s expression darkened.
Astoria’s eyes widened in horror.
Luna’s fingers twitched against Hermione’s arm.
“What?” Luna asked softly.
Hermione’s breathing grew faster. “They’re Death Eaters—” She snapped her head to Ginny, her voice breaking. “You—you’re supposed to be dead—”
Ginny flinched.
“And now you’re all here, and you’re helping me?” Hermione’s voice rose in pitch, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Why? Why are you helping me?”
No one spoke.
Parkinson muttered something under her breath, looking away.
Astoria wiped at her face.
Zabini exhaled deeply, his fingers pressing against his temples.
Malfoy turned his head, his expression unreadable.
Nott—
Nott was still looking at her.
And for some reason, that made her angrier than anything.
“Why?” she demanded. “You killed Ginny, Nott! You—”
Ginny interrupted, her voice strong and unwavering. “No, he didn’t.”
Hermione snapped her gaze back to her, shaking her head. “I saw—”
“You think you saw,” Ginny corrected.
Hermione’s hands curled into fists. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Ginny hesitated.
And that hesitation sent a sharp bolt of fear straight through Hermione’s chest.
Something was wrong….Very, very wrong.
Before her thoughts could spiral further, Zabini stepped forward, his expression firm but calm. “Enough,” he said, voice low but commanding. “Everyone, out.”
Hermione barely registered his words, her pulse roaring in her ears.
Out?
But they weren’t listening.
No one was listening.
She pressed her back against the bed frame, breathing shallow and rapid.
Malfoy hesitated, looking as if he wanted to argue, but Zabini shot him a warning glare. “She’s panicking, and this isn’t helping.”
Ginny swallowed, her face tight with emotion. Luna cast Hermione one last concerned glance before nodding and following the others out.
Nott was the last to leave.
He looked at Hermione for a long moment—something unreadable in his gaze—before turning and stepping through the door.
The moment it shut behind him, the air shifted.
Hermione couldn't make up any voices outside. Maybe they left. But then she noticed it.
Someone had put up a Silencing Charm.
She sat there, on the floor, her head buried between her knees, wishing this nightmare would go away.Minutes of silence passed, when suddenly the door opened. She looked up to see him enter and close the door behind himslef.
A tremor ran through her.
She was alone.
With him.
Zabini turned to her, his movements slow, careful.
“Hermione,” he said softly.
Her head jerked up.
His face held none of the sharp cruelty she expected. His voice lacked the malice she was bracing for.
“I know you don’t trust me,” he continued, his deep brown eyes steady, “but I need you to listen. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Hermione swallowed hard, her hands gripping the fabric of her sleeves.
Zabini exhaled, taking a step closer before stopping himself. “You’ve been through hell,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “And I need to tell you a few things—gently, I promise—but you need to hear them.”
She gave him a wary look but said nothing.
He took that as permission to continue.
“You have multiple injuries,” he said carefully. “Several fractured ribs, deep lacerations, significant bruising—” He hesitated, glancing at her. “And... trauma that will take time to heal.”
She flinched.
He softened his voice. “I’ve healed most of the worst wounds, but you must take it easy. Your body is in shock. No sudden movements, no unnecessary strain.” He pulled out a few vials. “I’m prescribing you these potions. They’ll help with the pain, the healing, and the nightmares.”
Hermione’s fingers twitched. “Nightmares?”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes.”
She stared at him, mind racing. Why did he sound so gentle? Why wasn’t he mocking her? Why did he care?
And then—
Zabini exhaled heavily, shoulders tense.
“Hermione,” he said slowly, as if the words pained him. “There’s... one more thing.”
Her breath caught.
He hesitated, gaze flickering to her stomach.
The room suddenly felt suffocating.
Zabini’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was softer than ever when he said the words that shattered her world.
“You’re pregnant.”
Hermione froze.
No.
No, that wasn’t—
The charm.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Her vision blurred.
Zabini took a step forward, concern flashing across his face. “Hermione—”
But she was already gone.
Darkness swallowed her whole.