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When she sees the lifeless form with those unmistakable round glasses and messy hair, she feels numb. Her reaction is different from those around her; Ginny covers her mouth in horror, a strangled sob escaping her lips, Neville falls to his knees in defeat. More than one person behind her retches in horror and grief. Ron tries to run forward, only to be hit with the same curse that likely ended Harry’s life. She doesn't bat an eye, and she wonders what's wrong with her. Has she grown so cold to the world that the sight of her two best friends’ corpses draws nothing from her? It disgusts her; her lack of reaction is not what would be expected from a Gryffindor. She should fight. She should scream. She should be doing anything other than what she is doing, which is standing frozen in defeat. A hand rests on her shoulder, and she's vaguely aware that it is Professor McGonagall’s. She closes her eyes. The demented voice of Lord Voldemort rings through the broken courtyard, but the words don't reach her ears. Her heart is pounding, thundering in her ribcage, and if the damned snake wasn't alive she would have run forward and tried to snap the Dark Lord’s neck with all the strength she had left.
The hand leaves her shoulder when Voldemort addresses the woman in question. “Minerva, you are a brilliant witch. You were bright when you were but a first year. Do you remember me?” Voldemort taunts. Her chest tightens when her favorite professor responds.
“I don't remember you. I remember Tom Riddle; a bright, admirable young man. You two are not the same,” she stated.
And then she waits. She waits for the wretched words and the green light, but the hand returns to her shoulder, gripping it tighter than before. Her eyes flutter open and they meet stormy grey. Standing on the other side of the courtyard is Draco Malfoy, and he looks just as bad as she imagines she does. His parents look relieved; their son is at their side and they had backed the right horse. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy couldn't care less about what happens to the young people opposite them.
“Hermione Granger.”
She looks toward the demon standing in the no man’s land between the two armies (as if her broken, downtrodden allies could be called an army anymore). His head cocks to the side, his long, bony fingers wrapped around his wand. No, not his wand. Dumbledore’s wand. The Elder wand.
The wand that killed Harry Potter.
Her knees threaten to buckle as he approaches her. “What should I do with her?” he calls back to his supporters. She hears Bellatrix Lestrange’s deranged cackling from his ranks as she calls out terrible things. Voldemort sneers at her and he turns his back on her, pointing his wand at Lucius. “Malfoy? Surely you have an idea? After all, this mudblood, this… abomination… has bested your son in marks at this school for years now. I imagine that has struck a nerve?”
Hermione stares at the older man whose son looks so very much like him and swallows hard. Lucius Malfoy is a coward, and she hopes he suggests a quick death.
“Let me take her.”
Draco’s voice is shaky, but the words were clear. Hermione’s gaze snaps to him and he meets her glance; his eyes are dark, but there's no anger or rage there. For a moment, she thinks he's… sad.
Bellatrix cheers for her nephew, probably thinking that he’ll torture her using the Cruciatus—his aunt’s specialty, she knows—or worse. Voldemort himself appears shocked, but he quickly recovers and with a flick of his wand Hermione is flown across the expanse between the Dark and the Light to stand in front of Draco. It's funny; when she had been writhing in pain on the floor of Malfoy Manor, she hadn't realized how tall he had become. He's almost taller than his father, and towers over his mother who is as small as Hermione.
“Draco, think this through,” Narcissa hisses in his ear.
“Draco…” Lucius’ voice is filled with warning as Hermione’s hand is raised against her will by Voldemort. Draco takes it, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around her forearm. Hermione isn't sure what's going on, but when Voldemort begins to recite an ancient spell, she recognizes it from somewhere. It takes her a moment, but when it hits her she almost pulls her hand away.
It was a binding spell. And she had heard it before at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. That explained Lucius and Narcissa’s disgust.
As far as the wizarding world was concerned, she was now a Malfoy.
“Don't look so distraught, Lucius,” Voldemort sneered. “Half-Bloods can be quite powerful. And it will only take… oh, three generations to purify the line again?” He chuckled darkly and Hermione stared up at Draco in shock.
He’d forced her hand. Quite literally, she might add.
He'd… saved her life.
*****
They're dismissed almost immediately after Voldemort speaks—he even goes so far as to taunt Draco and Hermione about their “wedding night”—and Hermione swears she's never been more relieved to leave Hogwarts than she is when Draco takes her hand and side-apparates her to a place she'd never wanted to see again.
Partly because of returning to Malfoy Manor and partly due to the side-effects of apparating together, Hermione lurched into the bushes and was violently sick. The contents of her stomach are few; all that's there to throw up is greenish-yellow bile. Her throat and nostrils burn and she felt tears trickle down her cheeks. She felt a hand pull her hair back, and once again she found herself somewhat grateful for Draco Malfoy.
“Thanks,” she mumbled as she wiped off her mouth and slowly straightened herself. He nodded, saying nothing more as they walked toward the foreboding manor.
“I've had the one room closed off,” Draco stated softly. “Trust me. I don't want to be here either.”
At first she thought it was just a simple statement to try and comfort her or sympathize with her, but when Hermione turned to look at Draco, she was amazed at just how somber and just… tired… he looked. It was then that she realized he was telling her the truth, and she stopped in her tracks, grabbing his hand.
“Then why don't we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?” she suggested. It's not like she wants to go anywhere with him personally, but she can tell he's hurting as much as she is.
“I… I’ll go talk to my mother,” Draco managed weakly. They make their way inside, side-by-side but not touching, and they mount the stairs and enter Narcissa Malfoy’s private sitting room. It's massive, with great big windows that nearly stretch from floor to ceiling, and elaborate carvings and moldings. Hermione vaguely realizes that if she and Draco survive the power shift and remain together that Narcissa’s rooms would someday be hers.
“Mother,” Draco greets stiffly. Narcissa smiles warmly at her son before her face melts into a more reserved facade for Hermione.
“I suppose I must get used to calling you ‘daughter,’” she sniffs.
“No, Madam,” Hermione manages. “I wouldn't expect that of you no more than I would expect it of your husband, or would I expect Malf—Draco to call me ‘wife.’ He saved my life, nothing more.” Narcissa seems surprised by her words, but manages a slight smile.
“You never told me how practical she was, Draco,” she hums. “Intelligent, yes. Daresay you even mentioned once that she is rather pretty, but practical? Never.” Her gaze, a soft blue instead of the grey of her son’s, flits over her. “Certainly pretty enough, all things considering. But that hair! That will need to be taken care of.” Draco quite plainly rolled his eyes at his mother’s complaining and quickly cut her off.
“Mother, I was wondering if Hermione and I might be allowed to… get away from everything for a week or so?” he inquired. “I was thinking about Switzerland, staying at grandmother’s chateau, perhaps, since she left it to you.”
“There’s always the villa,” Narcissa suggested instead. “And France should be lovely at this time of the year. Especially on the Mediterranean.”
Hermione watched as the two went back and forth, discussing locations that Hermione had been to, but likely not in the manner that the Malfoys had. She knew she had been privileged growing up with two dentists for parents, but they had always been upper-middle class. They were not ridiculously wealthy by any means.
Her parents.
Her stomach clenched again at the thought of them, off in Australia with no idea she existed. It made her heart ache to remember the things she had done to try and protect them. And now… now they were better off not knowing who she was. Part of her didn't want them to know that she had been forcibly married to a Death Eater and that she… empathized with him.
She did not like Draco Malfoy. He had tormented her at school, never missing an opportunity to throw terrible slurs and hate at her, but… they had shared experiences. Shared trauma. And after tonight he would probably be the only person her age left who would understand her.
She hated to say it, but being with him was not going to necessarily be a bad thing.
Narcissa and Draco eventually agree on a location—the villa in the south of France—and Hermione finds herself being led to the fireplace. Draco explains that all their homes are connected by floo, so they would be traveling that way.
“I'll send your things along,” Narcissa tells them and Hermione blushes.
“But I haven't any… things…” she points out.
“I'll figure that out for you,” Narcissa assures her before she and Draco disappear in a burst of green fire.
*****
When Hermione had been hearing Draco and Narcissa talk about the “villa” she had not been expecting a mansion. However, she didn't know what she had been expecting, considering she was traveling with a Malfoy.
The villa was situated just a short walk from the beach, and you could see the water from the grand windows of the sitting room. The ceilings were high, and the whole room was done in a Louis XVI fashion, which Hermione found unsurprising considering. Still, the whole space was much lighter and airier than Malfoy Manor, and she felt relieved. Draco seemed to be watching her as she looked around the room, and when she gently touched the smooth silk upholstery of one of the gilded armchairs, her gaze met his and she could have sworn he blushed.
“It's wonderful,” she told him. Just as she said that, a set of trunks appeared in the marble fireplace. Draco levitated them out, and the two of them made their way further into the villa.
After mounting a fabulous staircase, they found themselves on the second floor. There were smaller, private sitting rooms, and Hermione found herself recalling how the French aristocracy would have their own suites to themselves. Draco led her into the left suite of rooms and set down a tan leather trunk with silver accents at the foot of the bed. Hermione noticed, in slight horror, that it was emblazoned with the initials “H. M.” which were, of course, now hers.
“These are typically my mother’s rooms,” Draco explained as he showed her around; there was a small sitting room of her own, and an ensuite bathroom. But her favorite feature was the balcony which gave her a private view of the ocean.
“They're lovely,” Hermione stated. “Thank you, Draco.” He nodded, and lingered awkwardly.
“You know, I never thought… I didn't think that I would ever… that-that we would ever…” he stuttered. Draco wanted to kick himself; he'd never been at a loss for words before around Hermione of all people. “The Dark Lord as a wedding officiant, who would have guessed?” he laughed weakly, obviously trying to cope with everything.
“I understand, Draco,” Hermione smiled. “You're overwhelmed, and so am I. But… if you don't mind my asking, why did you… save me?”
Years of conflict came to his mind and he felt his face grow hot. He had called her every terrible name in the book—most of it to her face, no less—and she wasn't being mean to him, wasn't trying to hurt him. He didn't want to admit it, but there had been part of his young mind that had held a torch for her; she was extremely intelligent, and he remembered being… stupefied the night of the Yule Ball at the sight of her. The image of Hermione entering the Great Hall had lasted him for weeks of… working out his frustrations. Not that he would ever admit that to her, of course.
And then there was that horrible night with Bellatrix… he had barely been able to watch as she tortured her, carved that… that same word he'd used to berate her time and time again into her arm. He remembered retching violently as soon as he was dismissed to his rooms.
“Grang—Hermione,” he sighed. “We… We’ve been through a lot. And you… you're brilliant. You're too brilliant to just be killed like a lamb to slaughter.”
“So you take it all back then? The name-calling, the bullying? All the terrible things you did to me when we were children?” she challenged. Draco nodded. “I want to hear you say it out loud, Draco.” He licked his lips nervously as she leaned back on the railing of the balcony, basking in the sun. It suited her, the sunshine. It complemented her lightness, her goodness. Draco wasn't so sure she deserved her or the sunshine.
“I do,” he replied. “I… I was bloody awful. And you… Hermione, I would take back everything and more if I could.”
Once again, she realized he was being sincere with her.
*****
When Hermione woke up the next morning, the events of yesterday hit her like a semi. Her best friends were dead, Voldemort had won, and she was married to a young man who had tormented her all through school. With that in mind, she slipped out of bed, pulling on the long, black silk robe Narcissa had sent for her, and made her way across the hall to Draco’s rooms. Much to her surprise, the lights were already on in his room. It was early—Hermione had always been an early riser—and she wondered how long Draco had been up.
When she opened the door, she realized that he must have never gone to bed.
He was sitting in an armchair with his knees pulled all the way up to his chest. His eyes were open, and they were bloodshot with dark circles under them. When he saw her, he started like a wild animal that had been cornered.
“Nightmares?” she asked understandingly. He nodded. “I get them too sometimes.”
Draco twitched slightly as Hermione sat on the arm of his chair and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. It was an awkward embrace, but part of him was grateful for it. Eventually, he even found himself leaning against her slightly.
“I… I saw Dumbledore,” he mumbled. “That night in the tower. I didn't want to do it, Hermione. I couldn't… I… but I had to. And I couldn't…”
“Shh,” she soothed. “He knew you had no choice. He knew, Draco. I don't blame you. But it's all over now, and we’re far away from all of that horror. Just you and me, okay?” They were silent for a moment before she spoke up again. “You… If you need someone to stay with you at night, I… since we’re technically married, I suppose it's alright if we… you know…”
“Share a bed?” he inquired, chuckling at her. “My, Hermione, I would have never expected you to be so forward.” She bit her lip and shoved him playfully.
“You're still a little git at times, you know that?” she huffed.
“But I'm your ‘little git’ now,” he teased, pulling her down onto his lap. His arms wrapped around her and her gaze landed on his Dark Mark. Draco could see how uncomfortable it made her, so he squeezed her a bit. “He won't come here. And nothing will happen unless someone touches that. I for one won't be, because I would not like the Dark Lord interrupting our… what should we call this? Vacation? Getaway? Honeymoon?”
“Definitely not the last one,” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Getaway seems fitting.” Draco nodded in agreement and cautiously brushed his lips against the soft skin of her neck.
“Very well then. ‘Getaway’ it is,” he hummed.
They spent the rest of their day on the beach. Draco sat under a great big beach umbrella, trying not to burn too terribly, while Hermione frolicked on the sand and into the water in a white one-piece that Narcissa had sent. After a few hours of being by herself for the most part, she grew frustrated and made her way up toward Draco.
“You're blocking my sun,” he stated as she stood over him.
“You're completely covered from the sun,” she retorted, motioning to the umbrella. “Come swim with me. You can't be content hiding out just because you're scared of a little sunburn.”
“A little sunburn?” Draco scoffed. “You must not know what it's like to be as pale as I am.”
“Oh come on,” Hermione flicked her wand at him and Draco found himself lathered in muggle sunscreen. “You're not going to be a killjoy for this whole time.” She grabbed his hand, ignoring the jolt of electricity that shot up her arm at the touch. Draco begrudgingly got to his feet and followed her into the water. “See? It's not so bad!” She splashed him a bit and he grit his teeth, splashing after her into the deeper water until they both were freely treading water.
“You're going to pay for that,” he growled playfully as he wrapped an arm around her. Hermione raised a brow.
“Oh, I'm so scared,” she teased. Draco raised a brow, and she could see that his eyes were dark and stormy, but they certainly were not sad or angry. “And what are you going to do to me, Mister Big-Scary-Death-Eater?” He frowned slightly at her reference. “I'm only kidding, Draco.” The playfulness returned and he pulled her closer, and oh-so carefully let his lips brush over hers. It was just for a moment, but they both gasped in surprise when they pulled away.
Hermione remembered earlier kisses; Viktor and Cormac had always been demanding, in constant need to be in control. Her kiss with Ron in the Chamber of Secrets had been fueled by adrenaline and fear that they both wouldn't live to see another day. It had been hurried and passionate, and quite a bit sloppy, considering. But that gentle kiss with Draco… she had never imagined him to be the gentle sort. To be honest, she had never spent much time imagining how he would kiss at all, but if she would have had to assume how, she would have thought he would be like Viktor and Cormac.
“I…” For once in her life, she was admittedly at a loss for words.
“I know,” Draco agreed, knowing exactly what she meant. Unlike Hermione, he had spent plenty of time imagining what it would be like to kiss her, and she had lived up to all of his expectations.
That night, when they settled into bed, an awkward space lingered between them. Hermione took the initiative that time, closing the space between them as she nestled into his side, resting her head on his chest. Draco instinctively wrapped an arm around her, inhaling the citrusy scent of her shampoo.
Much to his surprise, the nightmares stopped.
*****
A week into their stay they had developed a routine. They would get up and Draco—who was surprisingly handy around the kitchen—would fix breakfast. Then the morning and afternoon would be spent on the beach, where they would eat their lunch. When the sun set, they would return to the villa and eat a late dinner before retiring to Draco’s bedroom together. A few kisses had been shared since the first, but nothing had gone past that. It was different, though, that morning one week into their getaway. Hermione was straddling Draco on the sofa, her fingers tangled in his hair. They were dressed to go down to the beach, but they hadn't made it there. His arms were around her waist, and they were starting to move lower when a tapping on the window drew his attention away. Hermione started to attack his neck when he turned.
“Hermione…” he sighed. She apparently didn't hear the exasperation in his voice and he was shocked—and effectively turned on—when she bit at his neck playfully. “Love, stop. We’ve got a message.”
“From who?” she asked as she climbed off of him. Draco wasn't going to tell her, but he knew because the creature carrying the message wasn't an owl but a raven.
He walked over and snatched the message from its beak before the ruddy bird could nip at his fingers. Attached to the bird’s leg was a small box, a little bit bigger than a ring box. As Draco read the message, he paled. He couldn't even imagine what the box contained.
Draco and Mudblood,
A small gift for your wedding. Don't worry; there's plenty more to come.
Lord Voldemort
Hermione had been reading over his shoulder and paled. “What could he be sending us? Check it for magic,” she ordered. Draco did, and found nothing suspicious about it. Of course, they didn't know what was inside it yet. “I don't want to open it.”
“He’ll probably know if we don't,” Draco sighed. He went to lift the lid and as soon as he did, he regretted it. Hermione gasped.
Laying inside the box was a eye plucked perfectly out of socket. It was a familiar shade of green.
“No…” Hermione mumbled. “No, no, no… he's bluffing. That's not…” she ran from the room and Draco heard retching in the first floor bathroom. He felt queasy too, but he wondered about the Dark Lord’s motivation behind sending… a piece of Harry… to them. When he joined Draco and Hermione together, she became a Malfoy. While she obviously was still a rebel, he had allowed her to become a part of one of his most trusted families. Of course, he was likely trying to scare her into submission, to make her accept the new order. But it was such a vulgar and disgusting way to do it.
Moments later, Hermione staggered out of the bathroom. Draco had his wand pointed at the box. He set it on fire.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she stood beside him.
“You're welcome,” he sighed. “Let's just pray that he was trying to get a rise out of us when he said there was more to come.” Hermione nodded and took his hand, and they left for the beach.
*****
But every week or so a box came with a new bit. First, a finger. Then a toe. Then a whole hand; the hand that Harry used to catch the snitch during his first Quidditch match against Draco as Seeker. The Dark Lord had assumed that Draco would be pleased with that one. He was wrong. It was Draco’s turn to be sick that time.
Each night, they clung to each other in bed. Narcissa had written to them, informing them that the Dark Lord was eagerly awaiting their return.
“I don't want to go back,” Hermione whispered to him. She slowly rolled on top of him and kissed him out of the blue. Draco hummed softly, his hands resting on her hips. They still hadn't slept together beyond sharing a bed. And while that normally would have driven him wild, he didn't really mind. But as Hermione started to roll her hips against him, he had a feeling that was all going to come to an end.
“You know we have to, eventually,” he sighed as he watched as she peeled off her nightgown. With a sigh, he cupped her breasts, kneading them gently until her nipples hardened. As soon as her rosy peaks had pebbled, he sat up and took one into his mouth, licking and sucking gently.
“Hmm, fine,” Hermione huffed as she worked at pulling off her panties. She grabbed Draco’s hand and led it down to her core, which was slick and warm. He groaned and his thumb circled her clit lazily as he moved his lips back to her neck after paying attention to her nipples. Her breathing became heavy, and he grinned. She was practically soaking wet, and his cock throbbed at the promise of being buried inside her pussy.
Hermione pawed at his length through his boxer shorts, and Draco snapped his fingers and his boxers were gone, neatly folded on his armoire. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him and she wrapped her hand around his length, pumping her hand up and down in cautiously.
It was then that it hit him. “Hermione… is this… is this your first time?” he whispered in her ear.
“Is it that obvious?” she blushed. Draco shrugged.
“Not really, but… let me handle things, okay?” he suggested. She nodded and they shifted so he was on top, resting in between her thighs.
Hermione had never really thought about what her first time would be like; she always imagined that it would be with Ron, but other than that… she'd never imagined the specifics. Never in a million years would she fantasize about losing her virginity in the French Riviera with Draco Malfoy of all people. Still, she trusted him, and she knew he had experience; Pansy had proudly boasted during their fourth year about how they had fucked after the Yule Ball.
“Are you ready?” he asked. Hermione nodded. “Just… Just tell me if I need to stop, okay?”
She looked down and watched curiously as his length sunk inside her cunt. He went slowly, which helped, because it felt strange to be stretched so far. The pressure was somewhat uncomfortable, but it was nowhere near as painful as her mother had once led her to believe.
“Oh,” she gasped in surprise once he was completely sheathed inside her.
Draco took a ragged breath and smirked slightly. “Merlin, Hermione,” he chuckled. “You make fucking Pansy feel like throwing a wand down the Great Hall.” She assumed that was a compliment, so she didn't complain.
“Move please…” she whimpered. He complied, pulling almost all the way out before easing himself back inside. Hermione moaned softly, nibbling on his ear as he began to set the pace. She began to whimper and thrust her hips up to meet his own; each thrust of his cock brushed a sensitive spot inside her that increased a strange… tension in her gut. “Faster… oh, please, faster…” Draco grunted in response and did as she commanded, picking up one of her legs by the knee and wrapping it around his hips. Hermione cried out as the change allowed him deeper inside her. “Draco… Oh fuck… I… Oh… yes…”
“Fuck, I'm close…” he growled. “Hermione, are you close?” She simply cried out in response and he took that for a yes. He supported himself as best he could on one elbow as his other hand dropped between them to rub at her clit. Hermione screamed in pleasure and he felt her tighten around his member, forcing him to spill inside her.
When he rolled off of her, she turned onto her side and smiled at him blissfully. “Is it always that wonderful?” she breathed. Draco laughed and kissed her forehead.
“It gets even better,” he promised.
“Mm, good,” she sighed drowsily. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly at how sweaty and sticky they both were, but she was far too tired to complain. “I love you, Draco Malfoy…”
He froze slightly. She was tired and everyone said interesting things after sex, so he wasn't sure what to do. But when he looked down at her sleeping peacefully with her head on his chest, a small smile appeared on his face.
“I love you too, Hermione Granger.”
*****
They both were afraid to open the newest box. It was small and rectangular, and they weren't at all sure about what it could contain. There had been almost a month between it and the last “gift.”
“I can't do this,” Draco muttered. “Not anymore.” He pointed his wand at it.
“I'll open it,” Hermione interjected. “I can do it.” Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out and slowly lifted the lid again. A small cry escaped her lips, and she picked up the object tenderly.
The round glasses were so easily recognizable that Draco felt tears well up as well. He held her close, tucking her head under his chin.
“I'm keeping these,” she whispered.
He understood.
*****
Draco was summoned a few days later. It was in the middle of the night, after a rather heated romp between the sheets, and he groaned. Hermione woke up to the sound of him hissing at the pain from his Mark. She got up and threw on a sundress and sandals, and reached out to take his hand. “I'll go with you. No doubt he’ll be curious as to what you've done with me,” she sighed. He got dressed in his usual all black. It wasn't as striking as usual, since his typically Chantilly pale complexion had a bit of a tan to it. They apparated to Malfoy Manor, where Voldemort was waiting for the both of them, as Hermione had expected. She squeezed his hand, and they walked into the same room where Bellatrix had tortured her months before.
“Draco,” Voldemort greeted, paying no mind to Hermione. She noticed Narcissa off in the corner and moved to join her. “Oh no, Mudblood. You're not done yet.”
“My Lord,” Draco bowed and Hermione curtsied like her grandmother had taught her once upon a time. She echoed Draco’s sentiment, though it felt bitter in her mouth. Voldemort chuckled and she felt his gaze on her.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes flitted up and she tried not to wince. Draco had advised her to clear her mind of anything he could use against her, so she tried her best to keep it blank and void.
“My, for a Mudblood she is a pretty little thing,” he purred. “I can see why you wanted her, Draco. I imagine it has been a wonderful… oh, month? in France?” She watched as his eyes glanced to Narcissa in her corner. “I imagine you'll be having a grandchild in no time, Narcissa. Will you still love it even though it will be a half-blood?” The blonde nodded.
“Of course, My Lord,” she replied. “After all, it will be Draco’s child first and foremost. And it will be a child borne of a union bound by you, My Lord.”
“And what about you, Mudblood?” his interest returned to Hermione.
“I would be honored to bear a child for such a noble and ancient family, My Lord. It is far more than I could have ever hoped for. I… I have moved far above my station and I am indebted to your wisdom for allowing Draco to take me as his wife,” Hermione told him with as much sincerity as she could muster. She knew Draco and she would have a good laugh over it later.
Voldemort nodded. “You are a bright witch. If things had been different, perhaps I would have taken you for myself,” he mused. “My younger self was much more… appealing than this form, I must admit. The price of immortality and power, I suppose.”
“It would have been an honor, My Lord,” Hermione mumbled.
“Yes, yes, I'm bored of you. Go off to your mother-in-law,” he waved a dismissive hand and Hermione scurried over to Narcissa. The blonde regarded her icily, but Hermione smiled to herself when she took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
The rest of the meeting was uninteresting, and Hermione was relieved to be left alone.
When the meeting was over, Bellatrix sauntered over to her sister and Hermione. She sneered at both of them. “Sad to see you go soft for a Mudblood, Cissy,” she remarked. “I expected better from Draco. But I suppose he's just as spineless as his father.” Hermione noticed how Narcissa tensed slightly at her comment about Lucius, and watched as the blonde raised a brow.
“She's your family now too, Bella. Her child will be related to you by blood,” she taunted.
“Well she's not pregnant yet,” Bellatrix growled. “And there are plenty of ways to force a miscarriage.” Her gaze landed on Hermione’s flat belly before apparating away.
Once the Death Eaters were gone, Draco was at her side immediately.
“You did well,” he sighed as he embraced her. “What did Aunt Bella say to you?” Hermione winced but she hid it well.
“Oh, just that she hopes I have a miscarriage if you knock me up,” she sighed.
“Well she would know every way to cause one,” Narcissa muttered. Draco and Hermione both looked at her in shock. “What? Do you really think in all these years Rudolphus hasn't gotten her pregnant at least once? Honestly, thank Merlin. She wouldn't know what to do with a child.”
“Mother, with your permission, I think Hermione and I would like to return to France,” Draco looked at her and Hermione nodded in agreement.
“I'm not sure if HE would allow it,” Narcissa sighed. “But you both are welcome here.”
They settled in Draco’s bedroom, and Hermione smiled slightly at the very old photographs he had on his desk. Most of them were from his childhood before Hogwarts, and she began to understand him even better. As an only child too, she imagined he had been lonely, and since none of the photos showed him with the friends he would later have at Hogwarts, she imagined he had been lonely too.
“Draco… if we have a child… well, what I mean is, how many children do you want?” she asked. “We both were only children, after all…”
He had been laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling when she asked. Slowly, he sat up and shrugged slightly. “I've never given it much thought. Though I must say my childhood was a bit lonely,” he admitted. “Perhaps two? With a year or so between them so they can be playmates?” Hermione smiled slightly and nodded in agreement.
“Two it is, then,” she agreed.
*****
The sickness started a few weeks later. Draco would wake up to the sound of Hermione retching in the bathroom, and he would always get out of bed and hold her hair back. Narcissa was immediately concerned and called for a healer from St. Mungo’s. Hermione was bundled up in bed—which was Draco’s doing—and was absolutely miserable when the older, matronly witch arrived at the Manor.
“A new wife,” she hummed. “Three guesses as to what it is…” She waved her wand over her and the tip of it shone golden when it passed over Hermione’s lower abdomen. “Just what I thought.”
“What is it?” Narcissa inquired. Hermione took Draco’s hand as she began to count back weeks in her head.
“The new Mrs. Malfoy here is pregnant,” she informed. “Almost two months along, which explains the morning sickness. I'll give you some potions for the nausea, along with a few for your general prenatal health.” She placed the vials on the bedside table before leaving. Hermione looked at Draco, who was staring in shock at her stomach.
“Say something,” Hermione sighed.
“Our baby is in there,” he mumbled. “Hermione, we made that!” She laughed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Yes, we did. And at the first go around at that,” she chuckled.
Part of her was happy; she really did love Draco and they did complement each other extremely well. But she knew that the Dark Lord would take credit for the conception of their child as well, and she did not want him to get to take credit for their baby. And then there was the issue of Draco’s father. If it hadn't been for Draco himself, Hermione was certain that Lucius Malfoy would have raised a hand to her. How would he react when he learned that she, a Mudblood, was carrying his grandchild?
As she expected, Lucius did not react well.
“Merlin’s beard! Do they not teach Mudbloods about contraception charms?! Draco, how… how could you even touch her let alone impregnate that filthy little whore?” he shouted. Draco absentmindedly sipped from his goblet of wine at the dinner table.
“Well father there are books that can tell you all about how I got Hermione pregnant,” he stated. Hermione was surprised to hear him talk back.
“Don't get smart with me,” Lucius snarled. “You're lucky you're still in this house.”
“Oh, because I'm so happy to be here,” Draco sneered. “Honestly, father. Would I want to be here since you treat my wife like shit? Like it or not, she… she's going to have your grandchild. Your grandchild is going to be a half-blood, just like… like Harry Potter, and just like the Dark Lord himself. And if mother can accept that, you can too!”
Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes. She blamed her hormones, partly, but also because she truly was touched by how Draco was defending her.
After supper, she took his hand as they made their way up to their bedroom.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
*****
The Death Eaters return when she starts to show. Hermione feels she's showing too early (at just three months she already has a noticeable bump), so she calls the Healer back when the Death Eaters are off terrorizing some remainder of the Order. The Healer performed a spell that looked a lot like a muggle ultrasound, and she watched as the healer pointed out a little blob on the screen.
“There's your baby,” she said. The woman waved the wand around and Hermione’s jaw dropped at the sight of another little blob. “And your other baby. Congratulations, Mrs. Malfoy. You're carrying twins.”
Hermione felt like she was going to faint. If Bellatrix hadn't wanted to murder her before, the thought that she was bringing not only one but two little Malfoys into the world would drive her over the edge. She thanked the Healer, though, and waited cautiously for Draco to return.
When he did, he was covered in blood. He set down his mask on his armoire and staggered into the bathroom. She heard the shower turn on and she followed him in cautiously.
“So I saw the Healer today,” she whispered, her hand on her belly.
“What did she have to say?” Draco mumbled. She heard him scrubbing furiously at his skin and Hermione bit her lip, peeling off her clothes before stepping into the shower with him. She took the sponge from him and began to gently wash his arms and his chest for him. His hands hovered over her belly.
“Well, you know how I was worried because I was showing so early?” she murmured. “It turns out it's because we’ve got two little Malfoys in there.”
“Really?” his eyebrows raised incredulously. Hermione nodded. “Merlin… I feel like I can't touch them. They're too… too good… and I'm… bad.” Hermione cupped his chin and forced him to look her in the eyes.
“Draco, they're your children too,” she reminded. “What… What happened today?”
He turned off the shower and shook his head, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around himself. Hermione grabbed her own and followed him into the bedroom.
“Please don't ignore me,” she huffed, sitting down on their bed. “Don't shut me out.”
“Hermione, if you knew what I did today you would not want to share a bed with me,” he groaned. “I… There was a raid. At the Burrow. It… It was terrible. The Dark Lord had Fenrir go, and Ginny was there, and… and…” he choked on a sob and Hermione wrapped her arms around him. “If… If we have a daughter, that… that monster will not be allowed in Malfoy Manor. I don't care if I have to face the Cruciatus curse from the Dark Lord himself. I will protect you. I will protect them. Even if I don't know how I am going to.” His hand found her belly and he rubbed it tenderly.
“I know you will,” she swore fiercely. “You're a good man, Draco Malfoy.”
They made love, then; partly because Hermione was constantly horny from her hormones, and partly because it was their way back to each other. It was hurried, because they had to be ready for supper, but they were sated well enough to make it until they could be alone again.
Hermione purposefully wore a green dress that displayed her already swollen belly, and when she entered the dining room on Draco’s arm she could feel Bellatrix glaring daggers at her.
“You're glowing, dear,” Narcissa whispered to her as they sat together. Strangely enough, the promise of a grandchild had completed their bond as mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. “Did you have good news today from the Healer?” Everyone, including the Dark Lord himself, watched her as she smiled and nodded.
“Draco, shall I tell everyone, or do you want to share the good news?” she asked.
“You may, darling,” he smiled and brought his drink to his lips. Hermione nodded and returned his grin as she placed her hands on her belly.
“Well, I had the Healer come this morning because I was worried that I was showing too soon and wanted to make sure everything was alright, and… everything is more than alright,” she stated as calmly as she could. “Draco and I are going to have twins.” Most reactions were reserved, considering the Dark Lord was present, but Hermione could see the excitement in Narcissa’s eyes. Everyone expected Voldemort to say something, but he just stared at the young couple everyone was congratulating.
“What a… joyous occasion,” he mused. “Two children. And to think! None of this would have happened if Potter hadn't died.” Hermione swallowed hard and sat up straighter in her chair. “No matter. Congratulations to the both of you. I hope they inherit the Malfoy look.”
Hermione knew this was a subtle dig at her blood status, but didn't react. She had learned a lot from living with Narcissa Malfoy, and most of it involved restraining herself around the monsters that often invaded their home. They were the unattached ones, the ones without a Mark, but they were the eyes and ears of the place.
Draco realized Hermione’s goblet was filled with wine and he frowned. Their shared house-elf brought her a glass of water instead, and she took it with a smile.
The rest of dinner was uneventful, which she was grateful for. Bellatrix had looked at her murderously throughout the whole thing, but Hermione took solace in the fact that as long as the Dark Lord was satisfied with her and Draco, she couldn't touch them. It was a sickening thought; her survival relied on the good favor of a madman who hated people of her blood status, but it was the one thing that kept Bellatrix from stabbing her in her sleep and leaving her there for her nephew to find.
That night in bed, Draco couldn't keep his hands off her belly. He talked to the twins, telling them how happy he was that they were on their way, and how much he loved them. Hermione noticed a book on his nightstand, and she smiled slightly. It was entitled “A First-Time Father’s Guide to Magical Children.”
“You're brushing up your parenting skills,” she noted, nodding toward the book.
“I'm going to be a different parent than my father,” he stated. “I'm going to be there for as much as I can, and I'm going to help you. Merlin knows my father was next to useless. I don't want to be like that.”
“That… is the hottest thing I have ever heard,” Hermione giggled before she moved to straddle him.
*****
Narcissa offered them a gift when Hermione was around six months pregnant and was beginning to feel like a slow-moving target. It was a handsome manor home in Ireland, and it was all theirs if they wanted it. Naturally, they agreed instantly and were gone within a weekend. Hermione was surprised to find it fully furnished, but in a fashion that better suited her and Draco. It reminded her of the villa back in France, but in a less… gaudy manner. Draco set the wards on the home, purposefully keeping out all his fellow Death Eaters save for his father.
“If they need to see me, I can go home,” he grumbled. “They are not coming here.”
“Good,” Hermione hummed as she waddled her way up the stairs to go see the bedrooms. There were five on the second floor, and three more on the third. Narcissa had known to set up a main master bedroom for the both of them instead of separate rooms, and right next door to their room was a finished nursery. “Draco!” she shouted. He ran up the stairs in a panic, and when he saw she was fine and smiling happily at the room, he scowled.
“Don't scare me like that!” he scowled. “I thought something was wrong!” She blushed slightly and motioned for him to look around the room. Everything was bright and airy; just what she had wanted for a nursery. She laughed a bit at the sight of the mobiles over the cribs; they had the symbols of each Hogwarts house, but in the cribs she noted that a stuffed snake and a stuffed lion were present.
“Your mother did wonderfully,” she smiled. “Only… three months to go.”
“Thank Merlin,” Draco sighed as he pulled her as close as her belly would allow.
*****
It was a beautiful April morning when the twins were brought into the world. The labor had been difficult, and Hermione was fairly sure she never wanted to go through something so miserable ever again, but it was worth it as soon as the newborns were placed in her arms. She felt tears threaten to fall when she saw the little light blue hats on their tiny heads. Twin boys. Draco would be both relieved and distressed; relieved because Greyback wouldn't be half as interested, and distressed because the Dark Lord certainly would.
And when he was allowed in, she could read the conflict on his face like a book. To try and make him feel a bit better, she pushed back the little hats on their heads to show him the wisps of silvery-blond hair on their heads.
“Sons?” he asked softly as he sat on the edge of the bed. She nodded. The Healer picked one up from Hermione’s arms and placed him in Draco’s arms. “Merlin, Hermione… they're ours…”
“I know,” she smiled. “What do you want to call them? I know your mother named you Draco because of the Black family tradition of naming sons after constellations or stars, but I wanted to give you the option to try something else.” Draco sat there in thought, staring down at his son.
“The name thing has been done to death,” he decided. “I… Would you be alright if we named one of them after Professor Snape?” Hermione remembered what Harry had told her about the memories Snape had shared, and nodded. “Alright. Then this is Severus. You can name him.” He motioned to the baby in Hermione’s arms, who already had a small smirk on his face. Hermione chuckled; there was a Black Family name that she knew would suit him quite well, even though the man she was planning on naming him after was probably throwing a fit in the afterlife about it.
“Sirius,” she decided. “Look at that smirk. He's going to terrorize his brother. I can tell already.”
Narcissa was around later in the afternoon, and she eagerly held both her grandsons with a big smile. “Bellatrix won't react well to this one,” she nodded to Sirius, who now had a little Gryffindor cap on, while Severus had a Slytherin one. “But I doubt she’ll get to see much of them?”
“I don't plan on them really knowing their Aunt Bella,” Draco frowned. Sirius began to fuss, and Hermione took him back and adjusted until she could nurse him. Of course, Severus soon started to cry too, and she took him.
“I hope this gets easier,” she grumbled. The Healer had explained to her that she could breastfeed both of them at the same time, but it was difficult and would take practice. Thankfully, Sirius was already good at nursing, so as long as she supported him well she could try to get little Severus to take as well.
“You just need practice,” Draco assured. “I'm sure you'll be a pro at this in no time.”
Narcissa smiled, a wave of nostalgia hitting her. “Oh, Draco was a good baby when it came to feeding,” she noted. “Never had any trouble with him. If they take after him, it will be a breeze. Until they start to teethe and then it's a nightmare. I switched to bottles then. And you have the advantage of pumping being popular now, so there's that.”
“You've been reading up, haven't you mom?” Draco sat down beside her. Her eyes twinkled.
“Of course I have! I'm a modern grandmother! I need to help as much as I can.”
Hermione smiled brightly at her. “That's very kind of you, Narcissa,” she remarked.
When the twins were done, Draco took Sirius to burp him while Hermione took care of Severus. The Healer informed Hermione that she believed she was good to get up and walk around, so she quickly changed into a better nightgown and carried the babies into the nursery. She stood in the doorway, watching them sleep when Draco wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“They're wonderful,” he murmured.
“They're perfect,” she corrected.
*****
The Dark Lord summoned them—all four of them—to Malfoy Manor when the twins were around six months old. Hermione was hesitant to go, but Draco knew they couldn't avoid him much longer before he became very angry with them. They traveled by floo, which was the safest option for the twins, and arrived just before the little “meeting” was to begin. When Hermione entered with two very alert, wide-eyed twins, all eyes were on her. Sirius squealed in recognition at the sight of his grandma, and babbled away at her.
“Shh, darling,” Hermione murmured, stroking his cheek. Severus, on the other hand, took after his namesake. He observed everything, but was very quiet, mostly babbling for “dada” when he would talk.
“The new Malfoy twins,” Voldemort acknowledged. “I see the Malfoy genes won out again.”
“We are very proud, My Lord,” Draco stated, bowing to him. Hermione tried, but it was difficult with two infants in her arms. “They are rather bright, or so the children’s Healer tells us.” He didn't mention that Sirius was especially bright.
“And such charming names you gave them! What are they again?” he inquired. “Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione was somewhat relieved he had stopped calling her Mudblood all the time.
“This is Sirius,” she moved her head toward the baby who was actively reaching for Narcissa, “and this… is Severus.” Bellatrix cackled aloud at the mere mention of the two men, and Voldemort silenced her with a severe look.
“Interesting decisions. After Sirius Black and Severus Snape, no doubt? Very interesting indeed. Far too sentimental for my tastes,” he frowned deeply.
Hermione looked at Draco out of the corner of her eye, trying to read how he was gauging the situation. He didn't look nervous, but he didn't look quite at ease either. She felt her own nerves heighten as Sirius began to cry. A futile attempt at gently bouncing her in his arms only spurred on more miserable tears, and she and Draco made eye contact.
“Mother,” Draco looked back at Narcissa. “Could you take Sirius?” She hurriedly came forward and took the baby out of the room.
Severus, however, simply stared at Voldemort with an eerily knowing expression. Hermione handed him to Draco, since she knew he was a daddy’s boy, and felt relieved when he nestled his little head against his shoulder and babbled away.
“Dadadadada,” he giggled.
They were dismissed after a few more words were exchanged. When they returned home, Hermione put the twins down for their naps before going to the study where she knew she would find Draco. “Someone just needs to kill him!” he shouted as soon as she entered. “He… He’s horrid! He's a monster! And… bloody hell if he ever touches my children? I'll kill him and that fucking snake myself!”
“Draco, you can't—“
“But I would,” he grabbed her arms, his eyes flaring passionately. “I… I would kill the whole lot of them, save for my mother and maybe my father, if it meant I could protect our boys. If it meant they would never have to go through the same things I did. I mean it, Hermione.” She gently cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch.
“I know you would, but the world isn't ready for that.”
“It wasn't ready for him.”
*****
He sends them away when he decides to do it. It's not that he doesn't trust the wards around their home (he’s always been good at keeping people out), but he doesn't want to risk anything. Draco recruits a house-elf to poison the snake with Basilisk venom, and he feels his heart race when he hears that the disgusting serpent is dead in the entry hall. Voldemort has requested his presence at the manor, but not Hermione’s, so no one is the wiser when she isn't there. She and the twins are back in France, at the villa where it all began. He hopes he’ll be joining them soon, but his heart pounds in his chest when he sees the Elder wand in Voldemort’s bony hands.
His mind echoes with Hermione’s theory. That the Elder wand is not loyal to Voldemort. The Dark Lord believed that it went to the wizard that killed its previous owner, and through that by killing Severus Snape he was the owner of the wand since it had been in Dumbledore’s possession. But he forgot a major point: Dumbledore had not needed to kill Grindelwald in order to get the Elder wand. He simply needed to disarm him.
And Snape hadn't been the one to disarm Dumbledore in the astronomy tower that night. Draco had.
Therefore, if he focused, the Elder wand would likely answer to its true master and not the man who was using it. Voldemort wouldn't know what the bloody hell was going on, but with any luck he would be dead before he could figure it out.
“Ah, Draco,” the demon sneered from his seat at the head of the dining room table. “So wonderful to see you. And the little wife is off on holiday with the children? I'm sure you miss them terribly.” Draco nodded tensely in confirmation. “I wouldn't understand, of course, but I'm sure that is difficult. Now, the reason I summoned you. I have a task. As you know, the eldest Weasley and his wife have been very difficult to capture, but I have received a tip as to where I might find them…”
The Dark Lord stopped talking as the Elder wand began to tremble in his hand. He watched in alarm as it flew through the air and into Draco’s hand. He shouted in anger, demanding to know how the wand had betrayed him.
“It's quite simple, really,” Draco purred coldly. “It was never yours to begin with. Avada Kedavra!” The bolt of green light was so powerful that Draco nearly fell backward. It hit its target straight and true, and he watched in slight amazement as Voldemort’s very being disintegrated into nothing. He'd never seen a killing curse cause such a thing, but Draco imagined it was a side effect of having split one’s soul too many times.
He calculated that he had about thirty seconds between exiting the dining room and his Aunt Bella finding that the Dark Lord was dead for him to make it to the fireplace to escape to the villa. Like a spy from one of those muggle films Hermione had made him watch, he coolly made his way out of the room and down the hall. His mother glanced at him, and he had a strange feeling that she knew what he had just done. The room had been silenced, of course, so no one had heard him utter the words, but it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from the air as soon as he had. The seconds ticked by in his head and he was halfway to his target when his aunt made her way toward the room, eying him suspiciously. Draco knew he couldn't pick up his pace now, but as soon as he heard her scream he would run.
A few other Death Eaters glanced his way, but he refused to make eye contact, sticking his nose in the air like the arrogant prick they all thought he was. He knew he only had a few seconds, then—
“YOU TRAITOR!”
The screech came from the dining room and Draco picked up his pace. The other Death Eaters, as powerful as they were, were confused and made their way toward the dining room to understand what Bellatrix was shouting about.
“HE KILLED THE DARK LORD! HE HAS THE ELDER WAND! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” she ran out of the room and threw a curse at him that Draco managed to dodge before sending a few her way. The other Death Eaters tried to get him, but most of them just zoomed past his head, as if they didn't really have the heart to try and kill him. He ran into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder and muttered his destination, hoping it would be clear enough.
*****
Hermione is pacing her private sitting room with the twins on the floor when she hears the familiar sound of someone arriving by floo. She's quick to grab her wand and put herself between whoever arrived and her children if need be. She understood the power of a mother’s sacrifice; after all, she had known Harry Potter. Hermione was more than willing to lay down her life for her sons, just like Lily had done all those years ago.
The footsteps from downstairs are heavy, and her heart fills with dread about who may have come for her. Images of Draco laying dead on the floor of Malfoy Manor flash through her head and she crouches down to the twins, kissing their little heads. “Mama loves you, darlings,” she whispers. “Dada loves you… We love you very much.”
The door flies open and she's ready to fight, but at the sight of the disheveled figure before her, Hermione breaks down and sobs.
Draco is standing in the doorway, Elder wand in hand.
He moves into the room, wrapping his arms around her as she cries into his shirt, effectively ruining it. “It’s done,” he murmurs as he runs his hands through her hair as best he can without catching it on any snags. “He's gone. And no one will cross us as long as I have this. We’re safe.”
“You're a good man, Draco Malfoy.”