Chapter Text
Draco felt as if his heart hadn't stopped thrumming in days. Unable to stop the buzzing in his chest as if it were an overzealous mosquito in the summer. And somehow, summer had come all at once. It was winter a week ago, he was certain. There had been no spring, there had been no warmth to the world until he’d heard Luna Lovegood say six words he never thought he would hear, she’s been desperate to find you.
He hadn’t truly allowed himself to hope until then, and he still wouldn’t let it fully take hold. This had all been some kind of mistake, it would ruin him.
“She’s heavily pregnant,” Pansy went on, nails rapping against wood in a display of relative boredom, “Not sure how efficient the travel is going to be.”
Draco laughed to himself, and Pansy looked startled by the sound. Had he really been so miserable that a second of genuine laughter had Pansy looking as if he’d grown a third head? Yes. Yes he had.
In response, Draco just said, “I would crawl on my hands and knees through broken glass from here to Edinburgh just to catch a glimpse of her.”
Theo took a grape from the untouched breakfast plate and mused, “I think we’ll go for a portkey or some such, thank you all the same for the offer.”
“You can’t put a pregnant witch through a portkey, you imbecile,” Pansy spoke up before Draco had the chance to.
“Broom then,” Theo supplemented, though his thoughts seemed otherwise occupied.
“She hates flying,” Draco couldn’t help but interject, though the intimacy of knowing such a thing in his present company was still a little strange, “I have the travel covered, anyway. I just need a permanent residence.”
“Mine?” Theo surmised, immediately looking uncertain, “You want to keep the Golden Girl in my house?”
Draco nodded, “There’s no safer house in England. I’ve warded it myself. The Death Eaters leave you be. And it won’t arouse suspicion when I’m here every day. It’s the most viable option.”
Theo looked over at Pansy, who looked like she had a slew of protests lined up.
“I know I’ve asked a lot of you both, but I need to see her,” he clenched his fingers around nothing, “I’ll work to convince her to leave with me the very moment as she arrives, I swear."
“Fine,” Pansy conceded, “But I won’t be nice to her just because she’s your girlfriend. She needs to win me over.”
Theo grinned, “Looks like I will be doing some overcompensating.”
Draco returned the smile sheepishly, “Godfather of the year.”
“ Godfather ,” Theo mused, looking across at Pansy to waggle his brows “See how far being nice gets you.”
“I’m not interested,” she huffed.
“Draco Malfoy, a father,” Theo clapped his hands together, “This calls for celebration!”
“Later,” Draco agreed, “For now I need your help with some cabinets.”
Hermione rocked back on her heels, trying to stretch out her excessively taught calf muscles. The hours of descending down stairs had taken its toll on her already exhausted body.
The apartment Ron, Bill, and Fleur shared was more spacious than Hermione had expected, and quite beautifully decorated. It was most certainly Fleur’s touch that had turned this house into a home.
“’Ermione,” the French woman called.
“In here!” Hermione called back, waddling, an inconvenient new development, toward Fleur’s voice.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get up,” Fleur stopped her, her arms filled with clothes, “These are my mother’s, from when she was pregnant with Gabrielle. The fashion is a little out of date but,” she gave a small shrug.
It was the first time Hermione had clothes that were actually designed to fit her current shape.
Fleur set down the generous pile on the edge of the guest bed. As Hermione lifted each item of clothing, curiously perusing it, she was none too shocked to find that Fleur’s mother was just as fashionable as Fleur herself.
The clothes were flowy, yes, but in the way that very fashionable French women were in the 70s. There was not a potato sack in sight.
“These are beautiful, Fleur, thank you,” Hermione smiled warmly at her.
“Avec plaisir,” Fleur returned her smile, “I have tried to call Anaïs by floo, but no luck. It is like her, she is not to be contacted outside of work hours, you understand.”
Hermione nodded, though she only understood because Ron had told her that this was very much the way of the French Ministry.
Fleur, obviously sensing that Hermione wanted some time to herself, offered her one last warm smile, “We will do all we can to get you back with him – her father.”
Hermione returned the smile, though the ceaseless wringing of her hands made it clear that her anxiety continued to build.
To pass the time, and to distract herself, Hermione took a shower and dressed herself in one of the outfits Fleur had provided her with. A yellow top in a baby-doll style that fit her nicely but was entirely the wrong colour for her skin tone, and some jeans that actually did up without her having to resize them.
She left her hair down to air dry, combing through her curls to detangle them. She thought of how Aloisia had smoothed her hair down, her kind face, her brilliant mind. Hermione hadn't had the courage yet to ask what had become of them.
If Aloisia was dead, it was because Hermione had allowed herself too much hope. She’d gotten greedy, so close to where she wanted to be.
She joined Bill, Fleur, Ron, and Harry for dinner, with the visiting company of Clotilde. They recounted the alarm that had sounded at the French Ministry. How their plans were destroyed to preserve their viability, and the evacuation that followed immediately after.
Death Eaters had tried to attack the French Ministry just hours after they had collapsed the Kloisterreich. The French had sent healers and aurors alike to Austria, and faced immediate retaliation.
Hermione wanted to ask whether Aloisia or Ingrid had survived, but didn’t quite feel up to hearing the answer.
She excused herself shortly after dinner to read intently from the pages of the book that Ingrid had sent with Harry as a parting gift. Or perhaps just out of necessity. It detailed the counter curse required once Hermione had sourced the necessary materials.
It was complex. Intricate. Meant for an extremely experienced curse breaker. Beyond Hermione's capacity, even if she had had her wand to practice. Bill was perhaps the best person to execute it, having had the most experience with curse breaking, but even still, Hermione wasn't sure.
A long night and longer day passed and still no word came from Anaïs. Hermione was beginning to worry that she had been captured, or worse. There was every possibility that she had been identified by her owl and the message she had sent.
Hermione remained on edge, comforted only on a surface level by Ron and Harry’s company. She caught Fleur quietly berating Bill for making too much noise in the kitchen, having seen Hermione flinch at the sound.
To try and prove she wasn't made of glass, Hermione offered to help Bill with the washing up. Hearing the fireplace roar to life, she let the plate sink into the water. With still wet hands, she knelt by the fire, a vaguely familiar face appearing before her.
“I must pass this information to you quickly,” the woman addressed her, “Your child’s father has a way home for you, but you must return to la lune .”
The use of French had been intentional, of course, and the meaning was obvious to her, but hopefully not so much to anyone who might be eavesdropping.
At that moment, something else fell into place for Hermione, but she had no time to sit down and draw it out.
“I have been working to secure a pathway back,” Anaïs spoke again, not waiting for Hermione to confirm that she had understood the first part of her message. “Be ready at 3am, you and whoever else is to return.”
Hermione nodded frantically, “Repetez, s’il vous plait,” the woman encouraged her.
“3am,” she confirmed, “With anyone who is to return.”
Anaïs nodded once, and was gone.
Without Hermione, Luna’s days had been long, patients had materialised regardless of their short staffing. There was no time for being particularly tired, given the amount of work she had been required to do.
She had only been reinvigorated by seeing Draco.
He looked sallow, eyes darkened, hair askew. Frayed at the edges, as it were. Much like Hermione had before she’d left for Austria.
When Luna had returned to the empty field, as requested, the following evening, it was not Draco that she met.
There was no mistaking that he was here for her, given the isolated location and the rather out of place cabinet that loomed close by.
“Hello,” he smiled apprehensively, offering a hand, “We went to school together, not sure you’ll remember me much, I’m -”
She took his hand, “Theodore. I remember.”
“You can call me Theo,” he held on a little too long, his smiling eyes holding her captive, “I like your uh, your dangly,” he pointed to his ears in a playful manner, “things.”
“They’re dirigible plums,” Luna explained, pinching her own earlobes to better display her earrings.
Theodore shoved a hand forcefully into his pocket, a rueful smile settling on his mouth, “Draco is indisposed at the moment, so I’ve come instead. Hope that’s alright and not too frightening - given we’re committing a number of felonies, and would probably be killed for sport if we were found.”
“I don’t mind,” Luna shrugged her shoulders, turning her attention to the elephant in the room, or rather, the large cabinet that stood at least six feet tall on ornate feet in the middle of a grassy field. “Oh my,” she observed, “it’s quite large.”
“That?” Theodore hooked a thumb over his shoulder, leaning in to Luna as if he was about to share a secret, “Barely above average, I'd say.”
Luna let the comment pass over her head.
Theo stepped up to the woodern furniture, placing a hand on the golden handle and opening it with ease. He was about to give her a proper demonstration of how it worked, one long leg perched on the interior floor. Draco mustn’t have told him that Luna and Hermione had previously owned a smaller version.
“You step in, you close the door and voila, the downstairs powder room in the Nott Estate,” he knocked on the wooden door, for good luck or just to have something to do, Luna wasn’t sure.
Under the moonlight, his eyes did sparkle a beautiful shade of green, they were mesmerising.
“I suppose you’re wondering if you can trust me or not,” Theo observed, mistaking her surveying gaze for suspicion.
“Not at all,” she shook her head, “You have very kind eyes.”
Theodore blushed then, though he responded with as much bravado as he seemed capable “The better to see you with.” The deflection was amusing to them both, if the smile they shared was anything to go by.
Luna decided quite quickly that she would enjoy seeing Theodore again. Theo. No, she preferred Theodore.
“Well, I’d best go, I have a patient who’s been vomiting a sort of orange jelly substance,” Luna shrugged, “Nothing serious for a change, just a nuisance to scourgify out of the bedsheets.”
Theodore laughed, a sweet, melodic sound, “I wish you the best of luck with that.”
“Thank you,” she placed a hand on the cabinet, ensuring it would be taken with her when she touched the portkey again, “I expect that Draco will want her to come straight away? No matter the time?”
“I expect Draco will be desperate to see her the very moment she steps foot in England,” Theodore confirmed, “Young love.”
“Young love, indeed,” Luna tucked a lock of blonde behind her ear, “I’ll be seeing you, Theodore.”
"Sooner rather than later, I hope," Theodore agreed, before apparating away, leaving Luna to use her portkey to return herself and the cabinet to Norfolk.
Hermione couldn’t sleep.
The stylish blue and white linens of Ron’s room, previously Bill and Fleur’s guest room, were cosy and warm, but she tossed and turned like she was in a frying pan.
Lyra wasn’t helping. The baby seemingly kicked her every time she managed to get into a reasonably comfortable position.
She placed her hand over her stomach, feeling a foot, perhaps, push into her from the inside. It was still a strange sensation, but one Hermione had become accustomed to. It was a comfort to know that she was never on her own.
When she looked up at the clock and saw the small hand on the two, she decided there was no point pretending she was going to rest any longer.
It was another half hour before the house began to stir. Harry had to shake Ron by the shoulders until he mumbled something like, “Leave me alone.”
The two boys had been sharing the living room. Harry slept on the floor and Ron took the couch. By the time Ron was fully awake, everyone else was dressed, ready to go.
Hermione felt her palms become clammy. Nerves through the roof. It was a fine line between her fear of being caught re-entering England, and her desperate need to see Draco.
She wore a mauve dress, perhaps a little impractical, but nothing was quite as impractical as having a seven-months-pregnant stomach in the way of everything. If they ran into any danger, the dress would hardly be the thing that made the difference.
Their departure point was from Le Havre this time, a port Hermione probably never would have visited if not for this moment. All going well they were to arrive in Bracklesham Bay four hours after departure.
Bill and Fleur stayed behind, but Ron and Harry were both making the return journey to England. Peter captained the same boat she had arrived in some weeks earlier, a similar crew of Aurors joining him, though there was the addition of six others.
It made sense given the heightened risk.
Boarding the boat made Hermione instantly tired, as if she had been hard wired to get back to the boat, and now that she had made it, she could finally relax. She fell asleep on Ron’s shoulder, the rocking of the boat and the white noise of the waves outside a perfect conduit to sleep.
She jolted awake unexpectedly, the boat’s engine cut out. Hermione braced herself for frantic movements and hysteria, but it didn’t come.
“Hermione,” Harry whispered, “We’re here.”
Here.
Her eyes flew open, blinking away the tiredness.
“We’re to meet Charlie in a moment, he’ll take us from there.”
Hermione nodded, not quite yet conscious enough to formulate words.
She could be in Draco’s arms within the hour.
Maintaining a white knuckled grip of the hem of her dress, she turned to look out one of the foggy windows. The boat was bobbing, at the mercy of the waves, carrying it silently with the tide, toward the shore.
There was no trouble in sight, and the moment she heard Peter call for disembarkment, she turned to Harry, requesting he cast a glamour once more.
It almost seemed silly, given the number of people that had seen her in France, but she had felt obligated to tell them why they had attempted such a risky mission. Even more so when she’d requested that they return her to England.
For the Order, however, there was a far higher likelihood of captivity. No one could withstand the level of torture that Voldemort and his cohort were capable of.
Incidentally, it was odd that there were no Death Eaters stationed at the dock. No hooded figures keenly awaited their arrival. The level of disinterest was unprecedented. Hermione might have found it a little insulting if she weren’t so relieved.
There had to be a larger scheme at play.
Peter had been giving instructions to the crew when the boat jolted from a wave and he held out his arm to steady her.
“Thank you,” she graciously took hold of his arm for balance, easing herself up the stairs. Something about seeing England again stirred a well of emotions she had tried to ignore.
Don’t cry, she told herself, you’re not home yet.
The sky still bore the heavy colour of darkness. That alone was enough to force the cold feeling of anxiety to twist into a knot at the pit of her stomach.
The plumes of dark smoke approaching, however, forced Hermione to ignore it.
The Death Eaters were coming after all, they were just … late?
Definitely a larger scheme at play.
As she looked out onto the dock, familiar faces awaited her. Charlie. Tonks. Remus. Even Kingsley.
Charlie stepped forward to lend her his hand, bracing her as she stepped onto the dock. “Alright, Hermione?” he offered her a cautious smile.
“Yes, thank you, Charlie,” she nodded, exhaling.
She felt too exposed standing out on the dock; without magic and, although it wasn’t visible to onlookers, far too pregnant to be agile.
Charlie didn’t loosen his hold on her hand, though he did wait for Harry to disembark.
The moment he had a hold of them both, Charlie apparated them into the Norfolk house she knew so well. It was early, but the light in the kitchen was on.
Her heart was still racing from the beginnings of adrenaline. Her vision blurred with tears.
Luna was at the front door, beckoning them both in. The sky was grey, but there were no tell-tale black plumes to speak of. They hadn’t been followed.
As Hermione walked briskly toward Luna, she was embraced by a tight hug and Hermione bit her tongue, not daring ask how any of this had been able to be pulled off in such a short amount of time.
Nothing beyond this point was clear, she hadn’t received any further instruction, but Anaïs had told her to make her way back to Luna.
And she had.
Luna looked beyond Hermione, smiling at her company, “Hello Harry, it’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you too, Luna,” Harry agreed, forcing a genuine smile and a quick hug.
“Great to see you all alive,” Charlie confirmed, “I’d love it if you could all get inside so I could ensure you remain that way.”
Hermione nodded, wiping away at tears she had barely noticed, “Is he here? Draco?” She couldn’t keep the blind hope from her voice, following Luna into the living room.
Luna shook her head, “You’re going to him.”
“Now?” Hermione prompted.
“Just as soon as you’d like,” Luna assured her.
“Now,” Hermione confirmed, nodding her head firmly, “I’d like to go now.”
Luna gestured for her to come inside, greeting Harry once Hermione had passed through the doorway.
Charlie stopped in the doorway, “If you’re all set here, I’ve got to go and provide a bit of backup - can’t let my brother have all the fun with Death Eaters,” he winked at them. Hermione hoped desperately that they all lived.
It was clear that the house was going to become a lot more crowded. Was it too much to hope that they would be crowded with visitors and not patients?
“Be careful, Charlie,” Hermione nodded, “And thank you.” It went unsaid that she had meant for everything.
He gave her a cocky half smile and nodded, “Careful is my middle name.”
Hermione barely waited for the door to close before she began looking to Luna for an explanation. The blonde witch lead her upstairs then, to the bedroom they had shared.
The great cabinet stuck out like a sore thumb to her, rich and ornate in a way that clashed with the rest of the house. She knew immediately what it was. And where it had come from.
“Where will it take me?” Hermione’s brows furrowed in thought. The Manor was out of the question, but the Malfoy’s owned a vast real estate portfolio.
“The Nott Estate, I believe,” Luna responded in kind.
Hermione nodded, “So it was Theo after all?”
Luna tilted her head in question.
“Our mystery patient,” Hermione reminded her.
Luna shook her head, “Neville, actually. Seems he’s grown quite close with Pansy Parkinson. It’s all worked out for the best.”
“Neville’s friends with Pansy ?” Hermione tried not to be too judgmental, after all, the girl could have changed drastically since school. And Hermione sincerely hoped that she had.
Hermione stretched her hand out, her fingers brushing the rich mahogany. Turning back, she made eye contact with Harry, suddenly feeling self conscious “Do I look alright?”
“You look great for having two hours sleep,” he offered.
“Splendid,” Luna corrected, “if a little tired.”
Hermione tried to pat her under eyes with her finger tips, it was a terribly vain thing to do, but she couldn’t help herself. She was stalling, she realised. For no reason other than her own bloody nerves.
“I should go,” Hermione inhaled, unsure of how to ask Luna to abandon her patients to escort her, but it seemed to make the most sense. Hermione wasn’t about to step into the Estate of someone she barely knew, at her most vulnerable.
Harry certainly couldn’t come with her. Hermione tried to reason that it would only be a few hours. It hardly helped her guilt.
“I’ll come with you,” Luna seemingly read her mind, taking her hand and taking the first step into the wardrobe.
Hermione held tightly to the handle once more, “Be safe,” she turned to Harry, “I love you dearly. ”
With that, she closed the door, and not a moment later, opened a new one.
She wasn’t at all as hesitant as she should have been. Stepping down onto plush carpet, the purple hue of the room made her feel a little too much like a piece of the furniture. She couldn’t bring herself to let go of Luna’s hand.
The room was inexplicably expensive, the perfectly pressed curtains, the velvet lounges, the fact that it seemed to be a parlour was a dead giveaway, really. She had landed exactly where she had expected to.
Though they might be expecting her, Hermione knew better than to run down the halls proclaiming news of their arrival. Danger might still have been lurking, that much was evident by the cautious manner in which Luna held her hand.
As stealthily as they could, the pair followed the curve of the room. It opened out to a long hallway. Seemingly at the lower level of the house.
She could hear jovial voices and cautiously followed the sound. Grateful for the dual purpose of her white sneakers; providing both comfort and covertness.
Rounding the corner, she caught a glimpse of two people sharing a rather extensive brunch. Her stomach growled in response. Cringing at the loud noise, she surveyed the room quickly. It was just the two of them.
The man had his back to her, but she assumed that it was Theo, and the woman was unmistakably Pansy Parkinson. Her houndstooth cigarette pants and stiletto heels putting the outfit Hermione had on herself to shame.
Luna stepped into the doorway first, knocking softly on the door frame, “Hello Theo,” she called softly, “Pansy.”
“Merlin’s ball sack,” Pansy gaped, her coffee cup clattering to the floor.
Hermione was at a loss for words.
Theo turned to face them, a look of bemused shock written all over his face, “Should we stick a great big bow on you Granger? Draco is going to go absolutely wild.”
Hermione took another few steps forward, her voice shaky “Where is he?”
She was hoping that they would tell her he’d just ducked to the loo and would be out in a moment. Or down the hall to fetch some more butter for their toast.
“He’s working,” Pansy answered without hesitation, Hermione didn't want to think about what that might entail, “Won’t be home ‘til late, but we can entertain you, Granger.”
“Oh,” Hermione nodded tentatively, “thanks.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be pregnant?” Pansy nodded towards her stomach, and Hermione self-consciously smoothed her hand over the bump.
“Uh yes, I am rather,” Hermione averted her eyes from theirs, “I suppose there’s no use for the glamour anymore - do you mind, Luna?”
Luna looked apprehensive, but Hermione nodded once more. Pansy and Theo already knew, there was no point in hiding it.
“You look like a Drooble’s Gum Drop,” Pansy scoffed, snapping her fingers to clean the spilt coffee and summon the coffee cup back to the table.
“You’re being rude to our guest,” Theo rolled his eyes, “You look a picture, Granger. Draco is going to cum in his pants just from the sight of you.”
Pansy eyed her off, “I will concede, your tits are looking rather fantastic, Granger.”
Hesitating, Hermione took up a seat that Theo had stood to pull out for her, unsure if their ‘compliments’ were worth expressing gratitude over. So far it had only served to turn her cheeks bright red.
Luna sat opposite Theo.
“Hungry?” Theo offered.
Hermione bit her lip, looking at the smorgasbord of breakfast food, the jams alone took up half the table, “ Starved.”