The Test
The entire contents of Hermione’s suitcase was strewn across Theo’s room. A pair of knickers hung from the corner of the four-poster bed, a couple of dresses were in rumpled piles at her feet, a thick pencil skirt was wrapped loosely at her hips, the zipper undone.
What do you wear to your child’s paternity test?
Willa was riding an enchanted tricycle in circles, the wheels steadily avoiding the hazards Hermione had created on the floor.
She heard the door open before she saw it. Her hair, frizzing and sparking with magic, had blown up three times its normal size and her head was stuck in the narrow neck of her blouse.
She felt a pair of nimble fingers undo the button at the keyhole on the back of the blouse. The cotton released her. “Thank you,” She said sheepishly.
“I wouldn’t go Muggle attire for this, HJ.” Theo said, green eyes circling around the room, as if his eyes weren’t quite seeing the mess. He stepped towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulled out a pair of dark colored robes with silver embroidery down the front. The little vines and leaves started at the shoulders and spread out down the arms.
Theo muttered an incantation before gesturing towards the gown. Hermione slipped the skirt she was wearing all the way up her thighs and gingerly zipped it before stepping into the levitating robes. The fabric fitted itself against her skin and swooshed around her ankles. She stepped into a pair of dragon-leather heeled boots and looked in the mirror beyond the wardrobe.
She hadn’t noticed the green hue of the fabric, but it popped nicely against her warm skin. Her hair, though crackling with magic, started to soothe itself. She suspected the robes were enchanted with a beauty glamor.
“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. “These are perfect.” She watched Theo transfigure Willa’s Muggle leggings and tunic top into something more appropriate for a young witch.
Her top stretched out into a set of cotton robes, similar to what Hermione was wearing. “What do you think, Willa?” Theo asked, scooping her up and walking in front of the mirror.
“I look like Mummy.” Willa’s smile was shy. She tucked her head into Theo’s neck.
“You, my darlings, both look beautiful.” Theo pressed his lips against Willa’s temple and then Hermione’s. “We need to go,” he said. “You’re already late.”
Hermione looked at the watch on her wrist. “Holy crickets, we ought to go. Come on, darling girl.” She took Willa from Theo’s arms. “We will be back this evening.”
Theo nodded, looking absently out the window. He turned around suddenly, “I should come with you.” Hermione disagreed, but Theo wouldn’t hear it. “Let me support you.”
She sighed, taking his hand and walking towards the Floo. Hermione should be supporting him during this time, but she acquiesced. “Just don’t cause any fights today, Theo.”
The solicitor’s office was various shades of Pureblood – pressure-treated oak paneling on the walls, ornately carved desks and the windows were swathed in green velvet curtains.
“Mr. Swire,” Hermione greeted, extending a hand to the portly gentlemen. He reminded her of Vernon Dursley, red-faced and unenthusiastic. “This is my daughter, Willa Granger, and my roommate, Theodore Nott.”
Mr. Swire looked up from his desk, round, gold spectacles perched haphazardly on his nose. “How do you do?” His voice was nasally.
“Fine if we could just get a move on here,” Theo muttered.
Hermione shot him a look before glancing back at the solicitor with an apologetic smile. Malfoy, standing quietly in the corner of the room, was watching Hermione and Willa with no detectable expression on his face.
“Malfoy,” Hermione greeted.
“Granger,” His eyes didn’t meet hers, looking towards Theo, “Nott–”
“Lord Malfoy, if you will please sit here in this chair, and Ms. Granger on the other side.” Mr. Swire interrupted the two jungle cats circling, “And if you will please put the young Ms. Granger in the chair in between you.” He chuckled, looking at Willa for the first time, “Though I have no doubts about the paternity just based on the child’s looks. But let us proceed.”
“Mr. Swire,” Malfoy looked pained, “if you could please refrain from remarks about the child’s likeness, that would be appreciated.”
Hermione cringed, surely he was disgusted by his half-blood daughter. While she had anticipated that, it was terrible to think about. How could anyone be disgusted with her daughter. Brilliant and sweet and beautiful.
To be the daughter of a Mudblood – the Mudblood – the Golden Girl. A juxtaposition that was bittersweet. To someone like Theodore Nott, unfortunate son of a big bad Death Eater, Hermione’s blood status didn’t matter. He had never cared. Theo was quiet, sweet, and smart throughout school.
Fourth year, he asked her to be his date to the Yule Ball – a move that would have shocked her had she not seen it coming.
Hermione fondly remembered Theo’s very outward and visible crush on Hermione that year. He asked her to Hogsmeade for a weekend – she had to help Harry with triwizard tournament preparation. He asked her to study with him after Potions – so she did.
And had Victor Krum not already asked her, she would have accepted Theo’s invitation –she wondered if they would be married now, rather than standing in a stuffy solicitor’s office for a wizarding paternity test.
A little girl with curly brown hair and green eyes, rather than blonde and gray. Not unlike the charm Theo placed on Willa not three nights ago.
Hermione banished the thought – she wouldn’t trade her daughter for the world. Willa was perfect, in spite of her father being the Pureblood Slytherin Prince.
“Darling,” Theo said softly, “Hermione.” She snapped her head up, giving Theo her attention. “Please put Willa in the chair.”
Hermione apologized, letting Willa down from her arms and watching as she climbed into the armchair, gingerly plopping down with little grace.
“Lord Malfoy, Ms. Granger,” Mr. Swire began, “if you will take your seats.”
Mr. Swire placed the tip of his wand at Malfoy’s left hand, “Lord Malfoy, if you will.” The end of the yew wand emitted a brilliant fuchsia light, droplets of blood circling in the air before the wizard dropped them into a shallow pewter bowl.
Mr. Swire reached for another shallow bowl, doing the same for Hermione before reaching for a third pewter bowl. “I will now need to extract some blood from the young Ms. Granger,” he announced. “It won’t hurt her, I will numb her finger before I take her blood.”
Why didn’t he numb my finger, Hermione griped internally. She had never been squeamish and quite frankly, she had a high pain tolerance. Hermione just thought that the level of care for her and Malfoy could have been better. Why make an already uncomfortable experience more uncomfortable? She was nervous — her own internal monologue full of rambling.
Regardless, Hermione was interested to see the next steps of this magic. She knew there would be elements of blood magic, but she hadn’t also expected potions to be involved.
“Ms. Granger, if you would, please drink from this.” Mr. Swire said, handing her a teacup. “It’s a small amount of veritaserum mixed with a draught of peace. It will help with any anxiety, but we also will need to question you regarding your knowledge of your child’s father’s parentage.”
“I thought all that was needed would be the results of the test, not my statement.” Hermione said with a frown. She could feel the little crease between her eyebrows growing deeper as she thought about it. “Why do you need my statement? Will you be taking Malfoy’s as well?”
“Lord Malfoy has already provided a statement, shortly before you arrived. It’s just procedure.”
Theo snorted, “And was Lord Malfoy required to take veritaserum?”
Mr. Swire’s face grew redder, “Well, no–,”
Malfoy let out a breath, “Let’s get on with it. Granger, hand over the cup. I’ll take veritaserum and give the solicitor another statement.” Malfoy shot a look at Mr. Swire, who spluttered and set up a Quick Quotes Quill.
“Please state your names for the record,” said Mr. Swire.
“I am Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Hermione Jean Granger.”
“And your relationship began?”
“September 1, 1991.” Draco said.
“July 9, 2002.” Hermione replied.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment before they looked away.
Draco thought their relationship began on their first day of Hogwarts and Hermione chose the evening that she spent with him as their jumping off point. She wondered if it made her look bad that they had chosen such drastically different dates.
“Okay,” Mr. Swire said with a sigh, “Lord Malfoy, did you know of Willa Granger’s existence before the year 2005.”
“Obviously not,” Malfoy said, grinding his teeth.
“Lord Malfoy, did you ever attempt to make contact with Ms. Granger past the night that you spent with her.”
“No,” Hermione said, “I never heard from him–,”
Malfoy interrupted, “I sent her over a dozen owls, all returned, parchment still attached to the leg.”
What bloody owls — Hermione had never seen one of these bloody owls?
“And what were the nature of these letters?” Mr. Swire asked.
Once again, Malfoy was grinding his teeth. His voice was nearly a snarl, “I was inquiring about her whereabouts.”
“For what purpose?”
“I-I,” Malfoy fought against the words, attempting to swallow his own tongue. “I wanted to see her again.”
A cold flush ran down Hermione’s body. “What?” Hermione looked between him and Theo. Draco looked hot, a scarlet blush staining his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Theo’s face was a mask –unreadable.
“Ms. Granger, when did you find out that you were pregnant with the young Ms. Granger?”
Hermione stuttered out her answer, “A few months after I moved to Chicago. Perhaps early September.” Hermione knew the exact date. She fought against the veritaserium, unwilling to divulge any more about that day.
“And why did you make no efforts to contact Lord Malfoy?”
“I was unsure who the father of my child was. I had spent one evening with Malfoy after my ex-boyfriend and I split up. It had less to do with not wanting to tell Malfoy and more to do with the fact that there was a possibility that she was not his child.”
“And when you discovered that the child was a Malfoy, why did you not come forward?”
“I thought that he would be ashamed of his half-blood daughter,” Hermione’s tears were in her throat, almost guttural as she spoke, “why would he acknowledge this beautiful, lovely girl, when her mother is the most famous Mudblood in the wizarding world?”
Malfoy cringed. Theo was looking at the ground. Hermione’s breath was ragged.
Mr. Swire, ever the professional, continued on. “Ms. Granger, do you understand the consequences of this paternity test?”
“I understand that Malfoy can choose to let go of his parental rights. That this child, my child, can continue to be a Granger. Legally, he will have no responsibility for her and she will not be his heir.”
“Do you also understand that Lord Malfoy, should he prove to be the father, can either fight for shared custody or for full custody for the same term in which you kept your child a secret?”
“What do you mean by full custody?” Hermione asked, “I was certain that the law had been changed, I would have rights–,”
“Not in the case of when the heir to a line as noble as the house of Malfoy and Black has been denied her ancestral birthright. Ms. Granger, there are deeper magics at play here. One being that Mr. Malfoy is unable to sire another heir until something has been done about this heir.”
“What?”
“Lord Malfoy, should he have chosen to marry and start a family, would have been unable to. He would have found out then that he had an illegitimate child. The Malfoy family magic does not allow for bastards to be unknown.”
“Do not use that word when referring to my daughter,” Hermione snarled, grateful that Willa was sitting within a silencing charm.
“Really, Swire, I second that.” Malfoy said, an air of arrogance in his words.
“Pardon me, Lord Malfoy, only employing the technical terms.” Mr. Swire’s face couldn’t get any redder, Hermione supposed. “Lord Malfoy, I have a few more questions for you, as you know.”
“Get on with it.”
“Might I suggest that you refresh your veritaserum – both of you.”
Hermione ground her teeth, lifting the cup to her lips before passing it back to Malfoy.
“What is the child’s date of birth?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“How old were you when the child was born?”
“Rough estimate, I was twenty-three, maybe twenty four. I’m not entirely sure.”
“What is the name on the child’s wizarding birth certificate?”
“I assume it’s something along the lines of Willa Granger but I don’t know.”
“Ms. Granger,” Mr. Swire said, “I have a few more questions for you as well.”
Hermione nodded at him, she wished desperately she had a glass of water. Her throat was aching. Holding back tears, she continued forward.
“Ms. Granger, when was your daughter born?”
“May 25, 2003 at a Muggle hospital in Chicago, Illinois.”
“Would you be able to provide medical records for your daughter’s pre-birth appointments with the Muggle healers?” Mr. Swire asked.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Has she shown any sign of developmental delay?”
At that question, Theo interjected. “What exactly is the meaning of that question? Are you trying to determine her magical status? Because believe me, that darling little girl is not a squib.”
“Not that there is anything wrong with being a squib–,” Hermione wasn’t sure if she could get any angrier than she was in that moment. “My daughter is developing just fine, thank you.”
“Ms. Granger, Mr. Nott, if you would please calm down–,”
“It’s Lord Nott.” Theo’s voice was like ice.
“Lord Nott–,”
Draco scoffed, “We aren’t here to establish your ascent into the ruling class, Nott. Swire, let’s move on. I’m growing tired of these questions. I want to know what the blood magic says. If I wanted to drag Granger to Muggle paternity court, I would have.”
The older wizard let out a heavy sigh, returning to his desk. “Give me a moment to prepare,” He replied. “Essentially, I will take a drop of the young Ms. Granger’s blood and drop it into the dish with her mother’s blood. A sort of projection of a patronus will form, one of mother’s and one of child’s. After, I will take a small amount of blood and drop it into Lord Malfoy’s dish. If he is the father, the patronus projection will take form and it will want to protect the child. If he is not the father, the patronus will attack the child.”
“That’s barbaric.” Hermione muttered under her breath. Surely there were better ways to determine paternity.
Malfoy’s tone was soft as he spoke, though Hermione was sure Theo could hear him across the room, “Agreed.”
“Lord Nott,” Swire called from behind the book he was skimming. “If you would act as witness?”
“I will,” Theo’s tone had not warmed, the ire in his voice evident. His posture was neutral, his back straight and eyes staring straight ahead at the solicitor.
Swire took the tip of his wand and cast a droplet of blood from Willa’s bowl into Hermione’s bowl. The otter that conjured itself was familiar to Hermione, it looked like a smaller version of the patronus she learned to cast in Dumbledore’s Army.
A puff of white smoke clouded the air surrounding Hermione’s patronus – a swan duckling appeared, nibbling playfully at the otter’s paws.
Hermione watched the two patronuses play, the otter gentler than the duckling. She was lost in it, a feeling of motherly love overcoming her. She looked at her daughter, who had been quietly coloring in a picture book that Theo gave her earlier in the year. Hermione was sure that she would be stirring soon. While her daughter was showing some of Hermione’s studious habits, Willa was a wild card and had a mind of her own. She would grow bored and want attention – particularly from Theo. Theo was Willa’s favorite person. It had been evident from the moment that Theo had entered her life that he had enraptured her, the same way that she had him wrapped around her finger. Theo would have been a good father to her –
Hermione cut herself off. It was too late for those types of conversations. She could have let Theo legitimize Willa at any point and Malfoy wouldn’t have any legal claim. Despite her parentage, Theo’s magical signature and the House of Nott would have overtaken the Malfoy line.
She banished the thought, looking towards Malfoy’s bowl. She was interested to see what sort of patronus he would be able to cast. From what she remembered, he had never been able to cast before. Harry had even mentioned in one of his numerous unanswered letters that it was difficult to skirt around the patronus requirement for the Auror exam – maybe Malfoy had learned to cast a patronus.
A dragon formed in the mist, the wings large and outstretched –and while Hermione had no doubt that Willa Granger was the daughter of Draco Malfoy – the dragon was skeptical. It circled, first, the mother otter, snout sniffing at the nape of her neck and throat. The dragon – a Hebridean Black – outstretched its bat-like wings. The rough ends of the scales met the otter’s paws, and the otter playfully bounced away, the duckling held gently in its mouth.
As the otter leaped playfully across the office, landing gracefully on a bookshelf in the eastern corner of the office. The dragon bounded forward, cat-like, its haunches trembling – its prey-drive must be going mad.
The dragon swooped in behind the otter and gently tore the duckling from its mother before taking off at full speed towards the other side of the room. It found a large gold vase, turned it over, and perched, the duckling still hanging from its teeth.
Draco’s face had lost all color, watching as the dragon gently placed the duckling in between its front legs. The fearsome Hebridean Black had claimed its young, the duckling curling up against the scales and falling into a gentle slumber.
Mr. Swire walked towards the patronus, it’s form more corporeal than Hermione had ever seen before. Mr. Swire reached out with his wand, pointing it directly at the duckling. The dragon hissed, baring its teeth, and moved comfortably over the duckling to protect it.
“We have our answer,” Mr. Swire announced, “Mr. Malfoy, the choice is now yours – do you intend to caste the child out?”
Malfoy’s face remained pale, taking turns watching the patronus and then looking at Willa, as if it was hitting him for the first time that they were here, in paternity court, because this wee creature was his own spawn.
“I intend to make her my heir,” Malfoy replied coolly.
A glimmering white light shot through the room, bounding forward – a stag – and then Harry’s voice, “Malfoy, we have a code blue. Meet me now.”
“We’ll have to take care of the arrangements later,” Malfoy’s lofty air vanished, his snark returning, “Saint Potter summons.”
Malfoy excused himself.
“What does this mean for us?” Theo asked the solicitor, “Are we able to return to Chicago next month?”
Mr. Swire let out a heavy breath, “For you, Lord Nott, you may come and go as you wish. Unfortunately, until custody matters are settled and an agreement has come between the parents, Ms. Granger must remain in the country.”