Chapter Text
August 1998
“The Wizengamot finds the defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy, guilty on the count of being a Death Eater and serving under Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Voldemort.”
Hermione watched as Draco’s long, pale fingers tightened on the chair he was sitting in, his wrists and ankles chained to the legs and arms. If she could see his face, she knew it would be blank with the effort of his Occlusion. She felt her own heart race in her chest and her stomach drop out; she could only imagine what he was feeling under his careful shielding.
“However, given the testimony the court has been presented from classmates and professors of the accused, and taking into consideration Mr. Malfoy’s status as a minor at the time of his crimes, the court has decided a lenient punishment is in order.”
Her breath caught in her throat, the feeling of a partial victory causing her magic to alight in her veins. She saw Draco’s grip loosen marginally.
“We hereby sentence the accused to three months imprisonment in Azkaban and nine months house arrest for a total sentence of one year, under which time Mr. Malfoy will not be allowed visitors, and the only other person to reside in the house be his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Given Mr. Malfoy’s previous holding in Azkaban, this court will consider it time served, and he will immediately be released into the custody of his counsel under the condition that he be relocated to his estate by the day’s end.
“For the remaining nine months of his sentence, Mr. Malfoy will be placed under a modified Trace, to track his whereabouts and the spell usage of his wand. The Trace will be lifted on the fifteenth of May, 1999. Mr. Malfoy may receive correspondence from a pre-selected list of individuals with the approval of the Wizengamot. Upon the completion of his sentence, Mr. Malfoy will be considered a free citizen.
“Head Auror Robards, please release Mr. Malfoy into the custody of his counsel.”
Across the aisle from her, Narcissa Malfoy let out one short, soft whimper of what Hermione figured was relief. The witch had been excused of all wrong-doing, mostly because of her absence of a Dark Mark, and her assistance to Harry during the Final Battle, which allowed Harry to ultimately defeat Voldemort. The older witch carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a white, silk handkerchief which she primly folded back up and placed in the sleeve of her robes. Her slate grey eyes—the same color as her son’s—met Hermione’s, and she dipped her head in a single, grateful nod.
The Wizengamot adjourned the proceedings, and Hermione was the first out of the chambers, quickly catching up to Edward Wheeler, Draco’s head counsel. She’d worked closely with the older gentleman over the last few months on this case, having taken interest in advocacy for the younger participants of the war after their arrests after the battle. Most of them were school mates from just above to just below her year, and she knew most of them had familial ties to Voldemort’s cause. Many of them, like Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode, had not actively participated in the war, but had been arrested on their familial affiliation. Hermione had found a sense of purpose in making sure they got a fair shake. The sins of the father, and all that.
Others however, most namely Marcus Flint, had taken the Mark gladly and willingly participated in the more dark aspects of the war. Hermione had mainly just been involved to ensure this new post-war Wizengamot was abiding by the laws of their world.
Admittedly, Draco had been her most grueling case, though. She knew he’d not taken the Mark willingly, but he had been responsible for letting the Death Eaters into the school during sixth year, and he led to the death of Albus Dumbledore, which were big strikes against him. However, she’d been able to help gather evidence, mostly his and his mother’s memories, that it had been under extreme duress. Threats to his and his parents’ lives were constant, both from Voldemort and his own aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione still shivered even thinking of her name. Physical scars healed and faded, but the mental ones remained.
“Counselor Wheeler!” Hermione called, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the rest of the chamber flooding the hall.
The older wizard paused, glancing over his shoulder. When he spotted Hermione, he flashed her a warm grin—he reminded her a bit of her father, with his chocolate locks and his square spectacles and crow’s feet. He beckoned her forward toward an adjacent room meant for counsel and client to be able to convene during trials outside of the official chambers. As the door closed behind the three of them, the noise of the hall was snuffed out, the Silencing charms imbedded in the walls doing their job efficiently.
“Hermione, your testimony was beautiful,” Wheeler complimented, resting a warm hand on her shoulder. “Better than we practiced.”
“Thank you, Counselor.”
“This is the last time I’ll remind you to call me Edward,” he admonished playfully.
A throat clearing from across the room drew both their gazes. Hermione’s heart stuttered as she laid eyes on him.
She’d seen him plenty in the months between his arrest and his trial, but each meeting had been in a holding room in Azkaban, and he had been Occluding so hard the entire time that it was more like talking to a robot than a human being. She knew he was more forthcoming when it was just him and Wheeler, from the memories she’d seen from the counselor in order to help prepare for trial. If being in the same room together was half as hard for him as it was for her, she understood his need for erecting his mental walls each time they were together. It sometimes made her wish she was a skilled Occlumens, as well.
Wheeler looked between the two teenagers. If he’d ever clocked the specific type of tension between them, he’d never let on, at least to Hermione.
“I’ve got a stack of paperwork that’s got to be signed in order to get Draco out of here up in the DMLE. It will take me about forty-five minutes, if you’d be so kind as to keep him company, Hermione, I’d appreciate it. Plus, as part of the team, you’re allowed to have temporary custody of him while I step out.”
Hermione mumbled her acceptance. Wheeler clapped her on the shoulder again and left with a parting reminder to lock the door behind him.
A full minute passed after the older gentleman left where Draco and Hermione stood in silence, darting glances at each other, neither willing to let their gaze linger obviously.
Hermione took in his full appearance for the first time.
It’d been months since she’d seen him in anything other than his prison robes. He was still thin from his torment over the last two years, and the horrors of Azkaban didn’t help, but he no longer looked quite as wan. He’d been escorted to the Ministry from Azkaban two days prior, kept in a holding cell down the hall, where he’d gotten at least faux sunlight and regular, nutritious meals, and it seemed to do him some good. His cheeks and eyes were still far too sunken in for her liking, but his skin no longer had that waxy sheen to it, indicating his slow return to health. Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban still managed to suck the happiness out of its inhabitants, not matter how short a time they were there.
Draco was there long enough to have been marked by the runic symbol on the left side of his neck, just above the collar of his robes. The black ink stood stark against his ghostly skin. Prisoners, convicted or otherwise, got their tattoos at the three month mark, and Draco’s had passed only two weeks prior. They’d tried to petition for an earlier court date to avoid yet another permanent mark to his skin, but the Wizengamot had been packed with back-to-back trials. And Hermione was sure there was a bit of pettiness with the scheduling of his court date, as well.
His hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, brushing the collar of his dress shirt. It was clean, thankfully, and that wave she’d first noticed in sixth year was more prominent with the increased length. It was still just as stark blonde as ever, though. She yearned to run her fingers through it.
When her eyes finally settled on his, she nearly sobbed.
They were a clear, sparkling silver, not the dim grey they usually took on when he was Occluding. It was the first time it felt like he was actually looking at her since that fateful day this past spring that she’d ended up on his drawing room floor.
Her throat was tight, raw with the growing emotion. She had to clear it before she could get out a small, “Hi.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, prominent against his thin neck. His jaw clenched once, twice, before he rasped out, “Hi,” in response.
~*~*~*~
July 2004
It was stiflingly hot on the cobblestone street, making Hermione thankful for the absence of bystanders as she flicked her wand over herself and her companion, sighing at the instant relief of a Cooling charm. She quickly tucked her wand back into her bag and pressed her forefinger to her lips, making the boy beside her giggle and nod. She couldn’t help her own smile at the sweet chime of his little laugh.
They entered the front door of the home, Hermione immediately retrieving back her wand to stick through her ponytail as she hung her purse on the hook in the entryway. Beside her, the boy kicked off his shoes, neatly placing them on the rack beside his other pairs in a show of manners and discipline. He then took off running through the hall on his socked feed, nearly colliding with the door to the kitchen as he slid on the wood floor. A study in opposites, that one.
“Orion, please be careful,” Hermione called out, a phrase she seemed to often use around the small child.
He just giggled in response from the other room. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at her mouth. Nearly impossible to even pretend to be contrite with him.
She joined him in the kitchen, where he already had his head in the pantry, scoping out ingredients. He was always ravenous when they got back from the park.
“What will it be today, Little Dragon?” A nickname she’d not meant to use, given its association, but it had slipped out the first time she’d laid eyes on him, and she hadn’t been able to drop it. It also led her to making a quite rash decision in naming him in the hospital, but she couldn’t make herself regret that, either.
His little blonde head flopped back, looking at her upside down as she stood behind him his light grey eyes glimmering in the afternoon sun washing through the kitchen. “Are Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny coming over for dinner still?”
“Yes,” she checked her wristwatch. “In a few hours. So maybe something light.”
He hummed, his raspy little voice rumbling in his chest.
“Sandwiches and tea?” he finally suggested.
“Sounds great.” Hermione Summoned the ingredients, Orion always taking great delight in watching her use magic.
He’d been prone to his own bouts of accidental magic since he was about a year old. The first time had been a spot of terrifying levitation when he’d giggled so hard at a game of peek-a-boo with Ginny. Hermione had shrieked and grabbed him before he could float above her head, but Orion had been nonplussed, still giggling his little head off, his body still trying to float out of her arms until she’d been able to clam him slightly.
He’d been able to control it better as he got a little older and was able to use words to express his emotions. He was still prone to the occasional burst when he got really angry—which thankfully was incredibly seldom—and magical creatures, mostly fairies, seemed to be attracted to him generally. Luckily, the Muggles couldn’t see those, so it wasn’t a problem when they played at the park and her son was suddenly covered in these shimmering little bodies, playing with his hair and trying to hitch a ride in his pockets. Hermione had to banish them before they left, otherwise they’d follow them home.
“Mummy?” Orion called from his perch at the kitchen table, the sound of his crayons against paper a constant scratch.
“Yes, my love?” She left her back to him as she finished cutting the cucumbers for their sandwiches.
“When do I start school?”
“The sixth of September, remember?” They’d been counting down the days together since he’d turned five in May. He was incredibly excited to start primary with some of the friends he’d made at the park over the last year or so. “We’ll mark another day off the calendar tonight.”
“No, I meant magic school.” The sounds of his coloring didn’t stop, but Hermione had to pause in her slicing. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she replied, “Not until you’re eleven, Little Dragon. That’s six more years.” Thankfully, she added to herself. Six years should be plenty of time for me to figure out how to do this. Hopefully.
“Will I go to the same school you went to?”
He’d been becoming more curious about the magical world in recent months. He’d always been exposed to magic, Hermione and her friends never hiding it from him, but he’d always been warned that he could only talk about it with a few people. The town where they lived was not full of magical people, and Muggles didn’t know about magic, so they could only do it inside the home.
The questions about the magical world had become more frequent. He wanted to know everything he could, a trait he most certainly got from her, and she’d taken to asking Harry and Ginny to get her wizarding children’s books for him when they stopped in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. So far, they were making their way through a children’s book about magical creatures, which he was fascinated by, but he was growing more curious about the general goings-on of wizarding society. She’d been explaining as best she could in his five-year-old terms.
“Probably, as long as we decide that’s where you want to go.” She finished putting together their sandwiches just as the kettle whistled.
“Where else is there?”
And so Hermione told him briefly about Beauxbaton and Drumstrang while she fixed their tea and brought everything to the table. She cleared away his coloring, and helped him wash his hands, smudges of waxy color all over his left hand. She wasn’t sure how he always got so messy, but he was a pro. She’d have to bathe him before Ginny and Harry arrived.
They ate and chatted, Orion regaling her with his adventures on the playground with his friend Jamie that day. Hermione had been there with Jamie’s mum, Claire, to witness it all, but she was still enthralled to hear his descriptions of their adventures. He chattered on all the way up to the bathroom before slipping into another bout of imagination as he splashed in the bath. Hermione mostly left him to it these days, as he’d mastered successfully washing his own hair and body shortly after his fifth birthday. She really only drew it for him and peeked in on him every ten minutes or so to check he was still doing well. He’d call for her as the water grew cold, and she’d wash his back for him—the only place he really couldn’t reach—before rinsing him and wrapping him in a towel.
They returned to his astronomy themed room, where Hermione had already laid out an outfit for him for their dinner with the Potters.
It was only an hour later when Harry and Ginny arrived via the Floo. Orion was curled up on the couch watching Finding Nemo, and Hermione was in the kitchen checking on her dinner—a proper Sunday roast, despite it being a Saturday—when she heard the whoosh of the flames.
“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!”
Hermione chuckled as she heard Harry’s dramatic oomph as her son jumped into his arms.
“Guess I’m just chopped liver then, huh?” Ginny drawled teasingly.
She rounded into the living room as Harry passed Orion to his wife, who pressed smacking kisses to his round little cheeks. His giggles were nonstop, filling Hermione’s chest with the familiar warmth of his happiness. He truly was a happy child, since the time he’d first entered the world. When she’d first found out she was pregnant, she’d worried incessantly about how the absence of some key figures in his life would affect him, but that worry had not come to pass. At least not yet. He was still young, but he seemed well-adjusted, all things considered. He had plenty of aunts and uncles and pseudo-family members to more than make up for the lack of blood relatives.
“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Hermione greeted one of her oldest friends, hugging him to her and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you guys could make it.” She pulled Ginny into a hug as well, who still had Orion in her arms.
“Any excuse to come see you guys, ‘Mi,” Ginny assured, squishing her cheek to the boy’s.
The adults caught up since they’d last seen each other in-person the month previous for Arthur’s birthday while Orion went around the table, setting out utensils. He’d had an itch to be helpful around the house lately, insisting on setting the table and helping Hermione dry dishes after meals. She didn’t know where the urge had come from, but she was thankful for the assistance and was glad that her son didn’t shun the responsibility of housework.
When they finally sat for dinner, Orion chattered about getting to start school in September, excited to get to spend all day with his friends and learn new things. They all knew he’d be a bit more advanced than most of his peers, given who his parents were and Hermione’s dedication to his learning since he was very small, but she was mostly glad for the social aspect of it. Form her own experience, growing up an only child was not always easy on her social aptitude, and she’d struggled making friends when she started primary and up until she’d attended Hogwarts. She didn’t want the same for her son if she could help it.
As they finished eating, Harry and Ginny shared a loaded look that Hermione clocked immediately. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and looked between the two of them with scrutiny. Something was up, and she had a feeling she knew what it was, but she wanted to hear it from them.
“What are you two hiding?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.
The mention of a secret piqued Orion’s interest, his tawny brows raising on his forehead and disappearing behind his blonde curls. They weren’t as coiled and unruly as her own, but they were definitely more distinctive than his father’s soft waves. He looked between the adults with quiet anticipation, sliced potato still poised on the end of his fork.
Harry’s grin broadened across his face, his cheeks catching the bottom edge of his spectacles. Ginny leaned back in her chair with a great sigh, a small, mischievous smile pulling at her lips.
“I’m pregnant.”
Suspicions confirmed, Hermione squealed, lunging across the table to pull her friends into a hug, kissing them both on the cheek. She knew they’d been passively trying for the last six or so months, letting things happen as they may. They’d gotten married shortly after Ginny had finished Hogwarts in the summer of 1999, having a small wedding at the Burrow that fall. Though they’d married young, they’d been content to wait on expanding their family. Harry was just starting as an Auror with the DMLE, and Ginny had just been picked up by the Holyhead Harpies as a relief Chaser, and both had been more than happy to focus on each other and their careers for awhile. It wasn’t until the past Christmas that they’d admitted they’d discussed finally trying in the most passive sense of the word. Ginny had gone off the potion a couple months into the new year and was just letting things take their natural course, neither appearing miffed when she hadn’t gotten pregnant right away.
Evidently, things had changed.
“When are you due?” Hermione asked, her smile hurting her cheeks.
“Healers reckon around Christmas,” Harry said, settling himself back into his seat.
“But…that’s only five months away.” Hermione’s eyes darted to Ginny’s figure. She wasn’t wearing anything overly flowy, just a regular blouse and a light cardigan to ward off the evening chill. She definitely didn’t look like she was over four months pregnant. She knew every witch carried differently—she hadn’t been very noticeably pregnant until she’d hit about the 22 week mark—, but the Weasleys were not known for their small babies. It was obvious Fleur was pregnant before the end of her first trimester, and Percy’s wife, Audrey, had a similar experience. Ginny was athletic, but she was still a smaller woman, her build thin.
Ginny pulled her wand from her sweater pocket and with a muttered, “Finite,” the glamor she’d cast fell away, revealing an obvious baby bump. Small but very apparently a baby and not just a large meal.
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. “You sneaky b—witch.” She glanced at her son, relieved to see he hadn’t heard her near-slip, but was instead looking on, very confused.
“Only popped like that just last week,” Ginny admitted, rubbing a hand over the swell. “Mum noticed it first, of course. Screeched so loud the gnomes in the garden ran into a tizzy. Teddy and Victoire had a field day chasing after them.”
Hermione could imagine it. Molly so excited over another grandchild, she just couldn’t hold it in, and sending the rest of the house into chaos. She truly missed those Sunday afternoons sometimes, but her schedule very rarely allowed for a Sunday off.
“What is happening?” Orion finally interjected, his confusion winning out over his politeness of letting the adults talk. “What is ‘pregnant’?”
“Sorry, Little Dragon,” Hermione apologized, realizing they’d left out some crucial information for his five-year-old brain. “Pregnancy is how mummies and daddies make babies. Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry are going to have a baby. You’ll have a new cousin by the end of the year.”
Still looking a little lost, Orion took a few moments to process, looking between Ginny’s stomach, his uncle and his mother, before finally shrugging and returning back to his food. Alright, then.
~*~*~*~
Later that night, as Hermione and Orion sat in his bed, reading his book about magical creatures, Hermione noticed his attention elsewhere, not oohing over the moving pictures as he usually did or posting out details he found interesting.
Harry and Ginny had left around 8pm after dessert and gifts from the hosts. Ginny was understandably tired, but promised to try to pop by more often now that she wasn’t tied to a rigorous training schedule this season.
“Where’s your head, Orion?” Hermione asked, closing the book.
He blinked a few times before letting his eyes find hers, a small furrow between his fine brows. She let him mull over his thoughts, as she saw them flickering in his eyes. She knew Harry and Ginny’s announcement had thrown him. He’d been much too young to understand the last time one of the Weasley clan had had a baby; he’d only been about a year old when Audrey and Percy’s daughter, Molly, was born, and Roxanne, Fred and Angelina’s daughter had been born the year after. He had no real concept of pregnancy and babies up until that point.
“Do you always need a mummy and daddy to have a baby?” he finally asked.
Hermione knew this conversation was a long time coming. It had only been a matter of time before his intellect would catch up with his reality, and she’d long prepared herself for this conversation. It wouldn’t be pleasant, she knew, but she had steeled herself for it long ago.
“To make one, yes,” she supplied. “But not to raise one. You know Teddy lives with his grandmother, Andromeda. His mummy and daddy died when he was a baby. And Uncle Harry was raised by his aunt and uncle when he was young, because his parents died when he was a baby, too.”
He was quiet again for several long moments, his eyes darting around his room, pondering and trying to puzzle pieces of information together.
Finally, he asked, “So that means I have a daddy?” The earnestness in his eyes nearly broke his heart.
He’d never expressed missing out on having another parent. He knew his friends had two parents, knew that sometimes their mums or dads brought them to the park together or separately depending on the day. It seemed to be a fact he had just taken in stride, never really considering that he didn’t have another parent around himself. Now, though, she could see the realization he was making, that a baby came from two parents, but he never knew a father. So where was he? What happened to him?
“Of course,” she answered matter-of-factly, trying not to relay her own turmoil given the topic. “You just don’t know him, and that’s okay. Not all families look the same.”
“Is he dead? Like Uncle Harry’s parents? And Teddy’s?”
Hermione cleared her throat, the sudden swell of emotions nearly choking her.
No, but he may as well be.
“No, he’s alive.” I think. Last I heard. “He just wasn’t able to be a daddy when I had you. But I was more than happy to be your mummy all on my own.”
There was another strain of silence as Hermione waited with bated breath for anymore questions. Her son was nothing if not curious and eager to learn, much like herself, and she knew this wouldn’t be the end of this topic, even if he dropped it for now.
His silence lasted this time, but the pondering look never left his face. He looked so much like his father, sometimes, it physically stole the breath from her lungs. If the rest of the wizarding world ever found out about him, there’d be no secret as to who had sired him. It was one of the biggest reasons she had left when she did, escaping to Cambridge to pursue a more Muggle-aligned life. She hadn’t abandoned witchcraft entirely—she didn’t think she ever could—, but she needed to be out of the public eye for a long while, and her status as war heroine did not afford a lot of privacy in wizarding London. The Weasleys and her friends who knew about Orion’s parentage had been sworn to secrecy. It had been a big relief when Neville, a pureblood with ties to active practices, had assured her that Orion wouldn’t show up on an ancestral tree unless there was an already-established marriage or he’d been magically claimed by the family. No risk of anyone stumbling upon documents in the Ministry or the like and finding out her secret.
“You can ask me anymore questions at any time,” she finally told him. There was a lot for him to process, and she didn’t want him to try doing it on his own.
He nodded, quiet and a little solemn.
Hermione tucked him into bed, and with a flick of her wand, the constellation on his ceiling came to life. A bit of illusion magic, like that in the Great Hall, provided just enough light to see by if he woke up needing the toilet or a glass of water in the middle of the night. And he prided himself in seeking out and identifying the different constellations that floated by, though there were no searching gazes tonight.
She turned out his lights after pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks. His parting “goodnight” echoed hers just before she closed the door.
Hermione drained half a bottle of wine by herself that night as she sat in her tub, willing the warm water and bubbles to ease away the guilt and agony in her chest.