Mothers
When Malfoy returned to the hospital room, Willa in one arm, a chocolate croissant and a vanilla latte in the other, Hermione couldn’t help but gasp.
She never thought she would be so excited to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway of any room she was in.
“Mummy!” Willa cried out, wiggling out of Draco’s arms and towards Hermione’s bed.
“Careful,” Malfoy said, tone soft but firm, “Your mummy is not feeling good.”
Hermione’s stomach flipped. It was a weird thing to hear your mortal enemy refer to you as mummy, even if it was in the context related to your own daughter.
“How was staying with Uncle Harry?” Hermione asked, pulling her daughter close into her arms.
“Good!” Willa shouted, peppering sloppy kisses on Hermione’s cheek. “I missed you, mummy. Are you feeling better?”
“Much,” Hermione lied. “Maybe I will get to come home tonight…?” She said hopefully, more to Malfoy than to Willa.
Malfoy, taking a moment to set the little paper bag and latte down on the side table, excused himself for a moment.
Hermione thanked him silently. It was nice to have a few moments alone with her own child.
His child, too. She reminded herself. She shoved a bite of buttery chocolate croissant into her mouth and then into her daughter’s. Before long, the latte was gone and Hermione felt marginally more like herself.
A few moments had passed and Malfoy returned, another paper cup with coffee in his hands. He looked worse for wear, the bags under his eyes were dark. Hermione thought she heard his voice in the hallway, but had brushed it off as she swallowed the last little bit of rich croissant.
“What do you think, Little Granger?” He asked Willa, “Mummy looks a little tired. Why not come sit over here in my lap?”
Willa nodded her head once, hesitantly letting Malfoy pick her up and put her in his arms.
It was then that Hermione noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. The observation window was usually covered, but Hermione had spelled it open so she could watch for Malfoy and Willa’s return.
She saw the familiar face of Arthur Weasley, smiling apprehensively at her. Next to him, the ghost of Theodore Nott.
Hermione could see the pain clearly on his face. His skin at the bridge of his nose looked tightly drawn. His eyes, around the pools of green, were rimmed red. He looked gaunt, like he hadn’t been eating properly or sleeping well.
“Malf–,” Hermione began to say, but he was already up. Willa was gently placed into the plastic hospital chair and behind his back. His arm was outstretched into a defensive position.
“Nott,” Malfoy spat.
“Malfoy,” Theo said, coolly. His voice didn’t give away any of the devastation Hermione knew he was feeling.
It was exactly the situation he didn’t ever want to see – Malfoy playing doting father to Willa. Malfoy protecting Willa – and by extension, protecting Hermione.
“Lower your wand,” Mr. Weasley commanded, “this young man is under my protection.”
Malfoy lowered his arm marginally, watching Theo for any sudden movement.
“Allow them a few moments to speak,” the Minister implored, “I have Theodore’s wand. I know he won’t hurt her. Take Willa and let’s allow them to explore a conversation.”
“Two minutes,” Malfoy countered. “Granger,” he directed towards her without turning away from the door. “Are you okay with that? Well enough to cast a protego if you need to?”
Hermione replied a tentative yes and Malfoy scooped Willa out of the chair and down the hall.
As if Hermione wasn’t a war heroine in her own right – and she knew Teddy. Well, she thought she knew Teddy.
Theo shut the door to the room, pulling the curtains shut by hand. “HJ–,”
“What the actual hell happened, Teddy?” Hermione didn’t even let him get another word out. “They’re saying the ring is cursed or came into contact with some type of substance that is cursed. I know you would never do something like that to me–,”
“I wouldn’t, Hermione. I swear it.” Theo sucked in a breath. “HJ, let me talk for a second. This is going to be difficult to explain. I won’t be able to explain it all…” He paused, watching Hermione for a moment to gauge her reaction.
When she remained silent, he continued, “I will tell you what I can, and what I am comfortable sharing.”
After a moment, Hermione met his eyes. She could feel the warmth there, the redness was surely evident. “Theo, I need you to tell me as much of the truth as possible. I can’t keep Willa around you and the manor if something bad will happen to her–,”
“I swear to you nothing will happen to her!” His voice was nearly breaking as he exclaimed, his chest rising and falling in a way that wasn’t aligning with his breaths. “Hermione–,”
“Teddy, I love you. I trust you. But you promised me nothing would happen to me in that house as long as I wore the signet, and now the mediwitches think that the ring is the direct cause of these seizures–,”
“They are wrong.” He interrupted. “I am not who you think I am.”
Hermione shut her mouth.
“My father was…well, not Thaddeus Nott Sr. My mother was having an affair, you see. Another nobleman, you could say.”
Nobleman?
“When my father and the wife of the man my mother was sleeping with found out the truth, they put a curse on my bloodline – my mother’s blood. It was why she never had any more children. As a result, I cannot have children, either.”
Hermione was stunned. Is that why he wanted to claim Willa?
“I am not the rightful heir to the Nott fortune and the Nott estate. My mother made sure she damned me upon her death. My father – not my blood father – had cursed her into madness. He locked her away in the manor and never let her leave again. Even after his death, she was forced to remain there.”
Hermione had so many questions, but she forced herself not to interrupt him.
“My biological father did not name me as an heir to his estate and because he is dead, I have no claim, nor way to prove that I am the rightful heir.”
“Who–,” Hermione began to ask.
“There is another heir,” was all Theo said, shaking his head. His curls were flat and loose around his temples. His clothing was sleep-rumpled, despite the haunted look in his eyes.
“And you think I care at all?” Hermione murmured, outstretching her arm towards him. “About a name? About a fortune? About blood?”
“I have nothing to give you,” Theo sounded dejected, sinking into the plastic chair next to her and taking her hand. “I have nothing to offer to you and to that beautiful little girl. My mother, before she died, she penned a handful of letters to those who she thought ought to know the truth about who Thaddeus Nott really was. Arthur Weasley received one. The suspected list of other recipients is long. I expected Potter to receive one – Malfoy too.”
Hermione thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure why the two of them and the Minister for Magic might have received these letters. What was it that they all had in common? Ministry officials? Aurors?
Harry, Arthur, and Draco shared no blood connections.
They all were touched by loss from the war and from Voldemort. Hell – they didn’t even really share a social circle.
“Any other guesses as to who?”
“Maybe Andromeda Tonks or young Teddy Lupin.” Theo said, running his hands through the hair at his temples.
“--times up,” Malfoy called, barging in the door.
“Leave us a while longer,” Hermione said softly. “He needs to finish this.”
Malfoy looked between the pair, eyeing Theo coolly and Hermione with concern. “Shout if you need anything,” He said with a pause.
“Holy crickets,” Theo’s laughter was tinged with a little mania, “Draco’s acting like he’s your bloody boyfriend.”
Hermione said nothing, cheeks growing warm. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t shut down the assertion, yet–
“I assume,” Theo started, eyes burning into Hermione’s, almost uncomfortably so, “that the brightest witch of her age can determine who my father is just based on these statements alone–,”
Hermione blinked up at him for a moment, “I won’t insult you as to guess, Theodore. If you want to tell me, then tell me.”
Theo said nothing.
“How can you guarantee me that nothing will happen to Willa? Or to me, for that matter?” Hermione asked, “Tell me what exactly you think it is that happened to me in that manor the other night? Tell me I didn’t just touch something at Flourish and Blotts.” Her voice shifted into a whine towards the end of the sentence.
Theo said nothing, but this time, he leaned forward and brought his lips to her own. He kissed like a wildfire – consuming her down to the breath in her lungs. She gasped under him, the pressure growing in her belly almost too much.
“Teddy–,” She begged, pushing him off her. “I can’t–,”
Theo pulled back, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. He trembled as he sat back down in the chair. “I think it’s my fault, HJ.”
“Meaning?”
“The curse on my mother’s bloodline.” Theo said, matter of factly. “I think I am cursed to be alone. My father – Thaddeus, that is – wouldn’t have wanted me or my mother to be happy. Not after what she did to him.”
“What makes you think that’s true?”
“You didn’t grow up in that house, Hermione.” He whispered. His eyes didn’t meet hers, he seemed far away and small, like a child who never had the chance to grow up properly. “All I ever wanted was a family.”
“And you have one, with me and Willa.” Hermione replied.
“For how long?”
“--what?”
“How long will you be my family? If I can’t provide you with another child? If I can’t provide a comfortable home for you to live in?”
“Theodore Nott,” Hermione chided, “I can’t possibly believe these are the questions you are worried about – what is it, really?”
He paused, eyes reddened even further. He stood up and walked towards the door, “Hermione, I can’t talk about this anymore.”
“Theo, please–,”
“I’m scared I’m going mad,” He whispered, his fingertips resting on the door handle. “What if I am like my mother?” His voice barely flittered to her ears. His shoulders had relaxed, as if the sentence had been a relief to say. “Hermione, I think I will end up just like her.”
She was speechless.
“Lately,” His eyes were lost somewhere, his back turned to her. “I feel as if I am slowly becoming untethered from this world. Especially since she died.”
He gently clasped the handle, opened the door, and walked away from her.
Even if Hermione hadn’t been hooked up to the machines on the wall, she wasn’t sure that she would have been able to follow him.
I’m scared I’m going mad.