Chapter 6
“Okay, hold on. Walk me through what happened again. From the beginning.”
“Ginny, I’ve told you! Several times now! I don’t know what the fuck happened!”
“Right. Sorry. I’m only trying to help.” Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s just giving me a bloody migraine.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s…it’s a lot to process.” Hermione looked away in embarrassment.
“I’ll say! So…what’s your plan?”
“What makes you think I have a plan?”
“Well, you’re you. So, you have a plan. Yes?”
Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. She didn’t have a single fucking clue. No inkling as to what should be done. There was a starting point—there had to be—she just needed to rationalize and use logic.
“I need a list.”
“A list?”
Without answering Ginny’s nonquestion, Hermione accioed a quill and parchment from her desk. If she could map out the possibilities, she could determine a proper course of action.
She scribbled her ink into the parchment at warp speed, letting her typical careful consideration fall away.
“Good Godric,” she sighed, shaking her head to herself at the hastily concocted plan. “I know what I have to do.”
“And that would be what, exactly?”
“Care to help me brew a potion, Gin?”
*
Her feet were heavy; she felt gangly and uncoordinated in her new body. After several wobbly steps, she righted herself, standing haughty and tall, just as any posh pureblood would. Could she pull this off? Of course she could, she was Hermione fucking Granger.
She shook her fringe off her forehead, looked in the mirror, and smirked, and then promptly blushed. Gods, was she turned on? The Fucking Smirk. She was. A flawless form, sharp jawline, impeccable clothing, fucking fit. She ran her long fingers through her now silky-straight locks. She could do this. Confidence renewed; she strode down the hall to her sitting room where Ginny waited.
“Hermione, you look good enough to eat! Come on now, give us a spin.” Ginny twirled her finger in a loop with a most flirtatious grin on her face, eyes raking over her body.
Hermione spun gracefully in her long and lean polyjuiced form before stopping and bowing towards Ginny, taking her hand and kissing it in greeting. “Mrs. Potter. How are you this evening?” she drawled.
Ginny’s cheeks flushed red despite herself as she snatched her hand away from Hermione’s firm grasp. “Merlin, that’s fucking creepy.”
“Too authentic for you, Ginevra?”
“I cannot fathom the depths of your genius sometimes! Explain. I’m dying to know.”
Hermione spun gracefully in another circle and curtsied—which felt fucking hilarious—in her new muscular frame. “Pre-brewed polyjuice under a stasis charm only needs one strand of hair and can be ready to morph you into your chosen form within thirty minutes.” She tossed her no-longer-existent curls over her shoulder in the most Hermione Granger-know-it-all hair flip.
“Hermione, you’re brilliant. You diabolical, little spitfire. You’re also incredibly fucking handsome, if I may say so.” Ginny wriggled her eyebrows at Hermione playfully.
“Keep dreaming, Weaslette,” she rolled her eyes, careful to apply the most precise and polished tone to her words.
Ginny snorted and followed with a true belly laugh. “I think you’re ready, love.”
*
Her footsteps echoed hollowly along the stone corridor, the only sound in the otherwise silent prison. She’d expected to hear screams, shouts, something. To her surprise, Azkaban felt sterile and empty, as though it wasn’t filled with hundreds of undesireables being tormented by Dementors at any given moment.
As she approached the wand check, the guard appraised her with obvious suspicion.
“Malfoy. Here to turn yourself in, eh?” His face split into an eerie sneer, yellow teeth gleaming in the low light.
Hermione stuck her nose in the air and straightened the lapels of her jacket, cocking one eyebrow as she spoke down to the greasy man.
“Hardly. I’m here to visit my father. Though you’d know that if you had an ounce of intelligence in that pea-sized brain of yours. Does Azkaban not train their dogs?” Her tone dripped with arrogance, and she found it was rather fun to have blatant disregard for the dirty guard’s feelings.
The guard visibly winced, ego struck down. He snarled an unintelligible response and held out his hand impatiently. “Need your wand then, pretty boy. We don’t need any surprises from the likes of you. Empty your pockets, too. Do you consent to a search?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, feigning boredom, “Whatever, get on with it, I’ve got places to be,” she said, over-enunciating each consonant.
Past the wand check and the near violating “search,” she swiped the proffered quill from the check-in guard’s hand and signed her name on the visitor log: Draco Lucius Malfoy.
*
Lucius Malfoy sat straight-backed in his chair as though he hadn’t spent the last decade in a frozen prison cell. To be fair, his cell was less of a cell and more of a small flat, much like a dorm at university. He had a bed, a desk in a small office space tucked off to one corner, and even a fucking fireplace. Pureblood prat arsehole. Leave it to a Malfoy to live a life of luxury in Azkaban through the pockets of the guards. Everyone had a price, she supposed.
He stood to greet Hermione formally, turning his nose up at her in a show of pompousness.
“Draco, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Hermione was simultaneously intimidated and disgusted with Lucius acting as though this was an ordinary occurrence, when in reality, he hadn’t seen his only child in over a decade. This was all the greeting he could manage?
Draco deserved more, fucking twat.
“Father,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m not here to exchange pleasantries, though I think you’re quite aware of that.”
Lucius cocked an eyebrow, an almost picture-perfect duplication of what she’d seen Draco do since they were eleven. “Then why are you here, son,” he spat, saying the last word like a curse.
Hermione did her best to appear unbothered, though she couldn’t help but to feel small in his presence. She thought back to all the times she cowered from Lucius Malfoy in what little interaction they had from her Hogwarts days. She wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her again. She was on a mission.
“I’m sure you’re aware by now that I’m renovating The Manor, yes?” She picked at her nails with her thumb, hoping her pretense of disinterest looked genuine enough.
“I’ve heard," he sneered, "Go on. Out with it, boy.”
“I’ve found the prophecy.” Hermione fixed her gaze onto Lucius’ cool grey eyes—a grey she’d gotten to know quite intimately in recent weeks through Draco. It was especially odd, seeing Lucius now after being so close with Draco. They looked incredibly similar, it was almost frightening, as though she were staring into a mirror of Draco’s future. Would he look at her with such cruel eyes? Appraise her with such a disdain? No, certainly not. In any case, Theo wouldn’t allow it. She needed to refocus her efforts.
She cleared her throat to break the silence and waited. She would not break.
Finally, Lucius spoke, “Your ancestors took great consideration when creating this magic. It cannot be stopped. I advise you to let it run its course. Whatever that may be. You cannot break the bond that has started. The Black lineage won’t allow it.”
Hermione stood silent, processing. “It won’t allow what?”
“Don’t play dumb, Draco, it’s uncouth. I raised you better than that. You know as well as I do what the Black Family bond means.”
She felt sweat beginning to bead at her forehead as she struggled to keep her composure.
“It’s just a prophecy. A foretelling. It doesn’t mean it will actually happen. You can’t seriously tell me you believe in divination.”
“Can’t I? The Nott’s have Seer blood in their line. What did Theodore have to say about it? If I’m to understand correctly, he had quite a hand in this,” Lucius waved his hand dismissively at Hermione, “communion.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not happening. Where did you get this prophecy and why did you keep it hidden away?” She did her level best not to allow her indignation flow freely.
Lucius straightened to his full height and took a step back, placing an assessing gaze on Hermione. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke again. “Who are you?”
“I think we’re done here. Have a good life, Lucius.”
Hermione turned her back and began to walk away, leaving Azkaban and Lucius behind. She made it halfway down the corridor before he spoke again.
“Miss Granger,” he called in a singsong voice that echoed down the hall, “I look forward to becoming a grandfather, even if it is to a halfblood.”
Hermione whipped her head around in disbelief as Lucius cracked a sinister smile.
*
She apparated back to her flat as soon as she reached the prison ward lines. She was gasping, chest pulling, begging for air. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
She stumbled her way down her hall to her room as her limbs began to transform. Bit by bit, she’d shrank and converted back to her former self. Dizzied and nauseous, she rushed to the toilet where she promptly vomited.
What had she done to her life? She’d broken things off with her high school sweetheart—who was safe and steady in his own way—and rushed into the arms of two ‘former” Death Eaters, with whom she had a spectacularly debauched one-night-two-ish-stand, and now she was cursed to have a child?! A baby?! Would she be expected to marry before the birth?! She was only twenty-six! She'd be practically a child bride! There was so much more she wanted to do.
She paced in her bedroom. One lap, two, three, five, seven. Godric, what happened? What a spectacular failure. Not only was Lucius fully aware of her ruse, but apparently, he knew every detail of the blasted prophecy. Was this prophecy some secret pureblood rite that she had never stumbled across in her research? What about Theo? How did he factor into the Black Family bond? He was pureblood, and his name was on the prophecy itself. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She fell into her bed and pressed her face into her pillow, allowing it to muffle her screams.
*
A large brown owl woke her, rapping its talons on the windowpane. She recognized him instantly and groaned. It was too early to deal with this nonsense. Couldn’t she just floo to the Leaky and have brunch with Ginny? How had her life spun so spectacularly out of her control?
She stared at the owl before taking pity on him and opened the window. “Sorry, buddy. I know you’re just doing your job.” She grabbed the parchment fastened to his foot and plucked the green satin ribbon from the scroll.
Granger,
Please come see us immediately. This is time-sensitive and it cannot wait.
xx,
Draco & Theo
Time sensitive, on a Sunday. When she should be in her giant groutfit eating transfats and watching garbage television. She was fresh off a detrimental breakup, after all. But no, she needed to travel to a manor, where she had previously been tortured, then wined and dined, and apparently impregnated?! She couldn’t focus. Couldn’t function. She would be disowned by everyone in her life.
Not only would her baby be the product of a drunken mistake, but it would have a Death Eater father! Former Death Eater—fucking semantics. And was it a Malfoy or a Nott? Did it matter? No, it didn’t. Because Hermione was fucked no matter which way anyone looked at it.
*
The gates swung open as she approached the main drive of Malfoy Manor. Hermione jumped back, alarmed, then decided the coast was clear to proceed. She approached the front doors when a gust of wind whipped her hair into a flurry.
“Granger! Thank Merlin! Come along now, love!” Theo swooped down on his broom and scooped Hermione up into a comforting embrace. She immediately relaxed in his hold, melting into his form and leaning into his firm chest. She felt a warm comfort wash over her, her anxieties from earlier seemed so far away now.
“Theo, you know I don’t fly.”
She wanted to remind Theo of her fear of heights, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but his hands roving over her body. He held her tightly to his front, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her denims and stroking her hipbones. He kissed the shell of her ear and gently bit her lobe before moving to place hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck.
She was dizzied with want, in a lustful embrace with Theo. On a fucking broom 10 meters in the air.
“Theodore Ignatius Nott, bring her down from there this INSTANT!” Draco practically screeched from the manor courtyard.
Theo whipped the broom around in a few more circles before swiftly landing at Draco’s feet.
He skidded to a halt, gripping the broom in his long fingers while holding Hermione securely to his body. “Dray, you’re no fun.”
“She’s carrying our baby, Theo. Show some fucking caution.”
Hermione hopped off the broom and stepped over to greet Draco while his eyes scanned her for injuries.
“Calm down, Draco. I’m not pregnant, you needn’t worry.” She leaned forward to give him a polite kiss on the cheek when he reached out to her and grasped her shoulders in his hands, eyes still searching for anything amiss.
“…you’re not? But, the prophecy? It said—”
“I know what it said, Draco. But, after taking a little time to process, I came to my senses and performed a pregnancy detection charm. It was negative. Nothing to worry about.”
Draco’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the revelation. “But Theo saw—”
“Yes, yes, I know. Seers and great prophecies and ancestral magic,” she waved her hands dismissively. “I’m not pregnant. What Theo saw is a very real possibility. Which makes sense, because sure, I’ll probably have a baby someday in the future.”
Draco and Theo stood in silence, waiting for Hermione to explain. It felt eerily similar to the days she spent at Hogwarts explaining literally every-fucking-thing to Harry and Ron. Only now, instead of explaining how to accurately slice beetles into quarters in potions class, she was explaining how she absolutely was not carrying a tiny Malfoy-Nott heir.
“First of all, the prophecy said, ‘she will hold in her, new life,’ it didn’t say that I amright now. And secondly, prophecies are rubbish magic.”
“So…you’re not…now…but you will be…eventually?” Theo pieced together in his sweetly confused voice.
Hermione repeated the prophecy verbatim, as if to teach the men before her how to properly listen to basic words and phrases, “The ancestors decided long ago, the bond of destiny has sparked. Three lines will merge: two of pure blood plus one of pure heart. She will hold in her new life twice over, ushering in a new balance of harmony and power.”
“Yes. Beautiful recitation, Granger. We were there, remember? So…care to elaborate further?”
“I’m not with child, Draco. It’s just a silly prophecy. Your father thinks, for whatever reason, that the Black Family created the prophecy ages before your birth, tying our three bloodlines together inexplicably. To prove a point of some kind. Such a load of bollocks.”
“Hermione. How can you be so calm? You’re practically giggling.” Theo’s face was a picture of perplexed worry.
“I’ll admit I had quite the meltdown after visiting Lucius. But I’ve come to my senses since then. And like I said, the pregnancy detection charm was negative. You can’t tell me you truly believe in divination? Prophecies are such flimsy predictions—if you could even call them that—it’s not going to come true.”
“Wait. Did you say my father? You spoke to Lucius?”
“I did.”
“When? How? Why?”
“Yesterday. Polyjuice. To get answers, of course. Answers that were entirely useless, by the way.”
Theo’s complexion paled as he reached for Hermione’s hand. He interlaced his fingers in hers and grabbed Draco's shoulder with his free hand. “Love, Black Family magic doesn’t lie. Never has,” he shook his head almost imperceptibly, “never will."
Draco nodded solemnly at Theo. "I think...I think it's best if we go inside to discuss."
"Discuss what?" Her voice felt shaky, the air thick with palpable tension that she'd tried to dismiss.
"We'll need to discuss our future. Together."