Pansy Potter
The next morning, Theo had returned, but he was unable to meet Hermione’s eyes as he relaid information regarding the funeral arrangements and the process. The Nott signet ring felt cool on her finger as she spun it.
Willa was awake and unruly, attempting to charge up and down the hallways of the Manor, pointing her little fingers at the talking portraits that Hermione had to silence more than once.
Theo had assured her that the Nott ring would protect Willa too, and that the Malfoy blood in her body would also appease the ghosts of the House of Nott, but Hermione was apprehensive.
Wizarding funerals could come together quickly during times of war.
This was not one of those times.
It had been eight years since the war ended and wizarding bureaucracy reigned.
Theo had assured her that they wouldn’t have to remain in the Manor for much longer, but could not actively provide her an answer on when they would be returning to Chicago.
Hermione had sent Evelyn an owl, effectively giving her daughter’s nanny the week off.
“I think I’ll visit Harry this evening,” Hermione said absently, stirring sugar cubes into her tea, “will you be alright alone for an hour or two?”
Theo, the Daily Prophet in hand, nodded his agreement, “I’ll be needed at the solicitor's this evening, will you take Willa?”
Hermione nodded and dipped her biscuit into her tea. Her mind was elsewhere —thinking about Willa. Hermione had nearly forgotten that Draco Malfoy had now seen her daughter. Their daughter.
What would happen if something happened to her? Where would she go? Now that Malfoy knew or her existence, would he challenge her for paternity?
An hour later, she stepped into the floo, Willa wrapped snugly in her arms. “Mummy,” she said, pouting underneath her knitted cap, “where is Teo?”
Hermione didn’t answer immediately, the roar of the floo too loud for her ears. “Theo will be home soon, darling. We’re visiting Uncle Harry.” She paused, dusting Willa’s jacket off. “Harry, we’re here!”
There was no answer.
Hermione walked towards the kitchen, Willa still in her arms.
“Down, mummy, please.” Willa asked, pulling at the lapels on Hermione’s jacket.
“Just a minute, darling let’s find your Uncle.”
Grimmauld Place looked no different than the times Hermione had been here during the war. She hadn’t missed the dank hallways or Kreature. She wondered if the poor house elf was even still alive.
“Granger,” A cool voice met her in the hallway. She hadn’t seen Pansy since Harry’s wedding to Ginny, married on the battlefield that was the Hogwarts courtyard moments after Voldemort had been killed.
Hermione had almost forgotten that he had remarried.
Ginny realized shortly after her first pregnancy scare that she did not want to be married to the Chosen One. Ginny wasn’t ready for a family and to be the next Molly Weasley.
A few years later, Hermione heard that she married Blaise Zabini in a fantastic party on the Italian coast. Hermione had been sad to miss it, but not ready to leave Willa with a nanny to attend.
“Or is it Nott now?” Pansy continued, startling Hermione out of her thoughts.
“Granger is fine,” Hermione countered, “Teddy and I aren’t married. Where is Harry?”
“He’s around. Violet and Delphine were up a lot last night, he’s probably sleeping.”
Hermione was puzzled, “I thought he responded to my owl saying it was okay for me to come over with Willa.”
“That was me,” Pansy smirked. For a moment, all Hermione could see was the girl who tried to sacrifice her now-husband to the Dark Lord. “We need to have a chat, Granger, face-to-face, girl-to-girl.” There was nothing maternal in her eyes when Pansy studied Willa.
Hermione scoffed, in protective mother mode, “I think we will take our leave–,”
“Not so fast,” Harry said, coming down the stairs in his sleep-rumpled clothes. “Hermione, we need to talk about this.”
“I don’t think it's an appropriate conversation to have in front of the children.” He held two girls about the same size in his arms, their hair black and wild like their father’s, their eyes an eerie violet color, not unsimilar to Pansy’s. She hadn’t realized that Violet and Delphine were twins.
“Siri,” Pansy called for their son, she presumed. “Let’s go, family movie night in the picture room.”
Harry settled his son and daughters on the couch next to Willa, casting a silencing charm around the adults who sat at the oak table in the next room over, the door open. He stood at the threshold, leaning against the door, as if to block Hermione in. Hermione convinced herself that he was just keeping a close eye on the children.
Pansy decanted a fine crystal vessel, pouring them all three-fingers worth of the liquid.
Hermione declined, but Pansy put the glass down in front of her with a thud. “So,” Pansy began, “How long have you been in…where is it again?” She said this part to Harry.
“Chicago.” He replied.
“Chicabo.” Pansy repeated.
“Chicago, darling.” Harry corrected.
“Whatever,” Pansy blustered, “How long have you been there?”
“A little over three years, nearly four now.” Hermione finally answered. She pushed the glass away from herself, “Really, Harry, is this necessary?”
Pansy nearly hissed, “Yes,” at the same time Harry replied, “Hermione, if my wife and the mother of my children asks me for something, I do whatever I can within my power to get it for her. She said she wanted to talk to you, so I made it happen.”
Hermione wanted to understand – and deep down, she did understand – but this felt like a betrayal to her. She knew that once Harry married and had children, they would always come first. She just hadn’t expected to feel so hurt to watch this come to life in front of her.
With a sigh, she tugged at the collar of her sweater and asked, “What is it exactly that you want to know?”
Pansy unrolled a small piece of parchment that she had tucked into the bell sleeve of her black dress. “Let’s see here…how old is your offspring?”
“My daughter is three, Pansy.” Hermione took a long sip of her drink.
“When was she conceived?”
“Sometime three years ago.”
“Would you be willing to subject her to a magical paternity test?” Pansy asked.
Hermione ground her teeth together, “Maybe at some point in the future, should her father ever ask for it.”
“And who is her father? Obviously it’s not Weasley–,”
Hermione shot an incredulous look between Harry, who was absorbed in the Muggle cartoon projected onto the wall, and Pansy who was grinning eerily. “Do I really need to answer that one?”
“No,” Pansy said, lips turning down. “It’s obvious to everyone that this child is a Malfoy. No wonder you stayed away so long. Shacked up with his best friend–,”
“That’s it,” Hermione said. “Harry, if you aren’t willing to stick up for me, after everything we went through during the war, I am unwilling to stay here and take this slander.”
“The war was a long time ago, Granger.” Pansy deadpanned. “Relationships don’t keep based on old history. Had you been there for our wedding or even the birth of any of our children, or answered more than one owl, I might take pity on you. But now you’ve robbed my best friend of his right to be a father, and I will take no mercy on you.”
Hermione stood up from her chair and stormed into the sitting room. She scooped Willa up, who started crying, and apparated out of Grimmauld Place.
When she returned to Nott Manor, the wards shook.
“Hermione?” Theo called. She pushed her way through the halls, Willa in her arms, and found Theo’s room. Hermione climbed into bed, Willa still crying, and tried to soothe her.
“I’m sorry, darling. Mummy didn’t mean to startle you.” She patted her daughter’s back softly, rocking her back and forth until she settled. Hermione hadn’t thought to conjure ear protection for Willa. Her daughter would get overwhelmed by loud noises, not unlike Hermione after the war.
Theo, watching from the door, gave her a questioning look. He cocked an eyebrow, settling next to Hermione on the bed. “Come here, Willa darling,” Theo sang, gently plucking her from Hermione’s arms.
“Hi Teo!” Willa shrieked, tears running down her face. Her smile was maniacal but sweet. She was always excited to see Theo.
“Hello darling!” He responded, his tone much quieter than hers. “Shall we go see what trouble the kitchen elves have been up to? I hear we might have some biscuits!”
“Yes, please!” Willa seemed to be at an age where every phrase was a shriek.
Hermione smiled softly at the two of them as Theo stood up, Willa perched on his hip. “She has legs, you know.”
“You’re just as guilty as I am when it comes to spoiling her.” Theo snorted. He leaned over and kissed Hermione’s temple. He slid a piece of parchment into her hand, “This came for you while I was out.”
Hermione nodded, watching his slim figure as he left the room, the two heads of curls bouncing as he walked.
Hermione opened the slip of paper, unsurprised by the contents.
Mrs. Nott, Ms. Granger,
I would have liked to have waited for the late Lady Nott’s funeral to have happened and passed before I sent this letter to your betrothed’s house in mourning, but I fear that there is no time to waste in this matter.
I would like to ask you if you would be opposed to a magical paternity test. If your daughter is the product of our indiscretion all those years ago, I would like to know before the Daily Prophet gets ahold of it.
As you may know, if a wizard asks a magical paternity test of a witch, there is a binding spell that is involved. The answers of this test cannot be falsified or magically altered. Nothing in this binding will harm you or the child, rather, it binds me to make a decision regarding my involvement in the child’s life within 30 days.
If the child is mine, you will no longer have a choice in whether or not I get to see her. The law is clear – if I wanted to take her from you for three years, I could.
My solicitor awaits your owl.
-DLM
Hermione seethed. She knew that this could happen. Draco Malfoy was within his legal rights. She also knew that legally, she would not be able to say no to a magical paternity test. The real reason she had stayed away for so long was this alone.
The law was some old Pureblood drivel that had been written thousands of years ago, the Ministry refused to do anything about it.
The ancestral seats on the Wizengamot refused to allow it – it benefited them too much. If a Pureblood wizard sired a child that was not his heir, the paternity test would allow them the opportunity to legally cut ties with the child.
In some cases where the mother hid the child from the father, the father had the right to take the child from the mother for the same amount of time that she had lied to the father. It was meant to be a failsafe to keep mothers from hiding children.
This paternity test might be good for Hermione – Malfoy probably didn’t want anything to do with the daughter of a Mudblood.
She knew the Malfoys had some half-bloods in the lineage, stolen away and hidden from the world. She had never heard of a Malfoy squib, either. He likely wanted to remove her daughter from the Malfoy family tree, and that was fine with Hermione. Not that she had any real choice in the matter.
Hermione responded, her letter brief.
Malfoy, name the time.
A large horned owl appeared at her window not long after she sent Theo’s small barn owl to Malfoy. She untied the scroll from the owl’s leg.
Tomorrow afternoon.