Chapter 7
She was a married woman.
Hermione was still having difficulties trying to wrap her mind around that fact, never mind that she'd been thinking—well, more like castigating herself relentlessly for getting herself caught in the first place—about that small fact ever since Malfoy had materialized in front of her door and offered his absurd proposition. She was married, wed, joined for life to a man that she didn't and couldn't ever love.
She hadn't even had a proper wedding.
Hermione sighed darkly. She had always—fancifully—imagined her wedding (to Ron, most often, though that traitorous part of her brain certainly died down after his wedding to Luna) to be grand, resonating with love and laughter, overflowing with family and friends.
Certainly not this.
Hermione's eyes darted around the dank chamber, which no doubt appeared even smaller due to the fact that they had only risked one candle being lit. She took in the undoubtedly heavily-bribed ministry official brought to oversee their vows. It was beyond obvious that the man would have preferred to be anywhere but there, but was equally as determined not to notice anything; his eyes flickered from the floor to the walls to the ceiling—anything but Hermione or Malfoy. The register that she and Malfoy had signed just five minutes ago was still glowing faintly with the magical residue of their vows, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that Malfoy, her—she gulped—newly-wedded husband, had been glaring darkly at the book as well.
Said husband was now staring imperiously at the ministry official. "Are we finished here, then?" he demanded to know, with a crook of his eyebrow.
The man shuffled the papers on his desk. "Well," he said with a cough, "let me just verify the signatures, then, Mr. Malfoy… it looks like everything is in order. Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Why ever would you congratulate us, sir?" Malfoy asked languidly, as though he had no care in the world, but Hermione could hardly believe that. From what she knew of Malfoy, he was at his most lethal when his voice was smoother than butter and his face like stone.
The ministry official apparently was not a dense man, for he stiffened and frowned. "I congratulate every couple that I witness, Mr. Malfoy," he said finally in a tense voice.
"Surely not those who have been married for over five years?"
At those words, the ministry official locked eyes first with Malfoy, then Hermione. She shuddered inwardly then; the eyes that held hers for a second were as obsidian black as Malfoy's were steel grey, and a thought flashed into Hermione's mind: that this man was not to be trifled with. She wondered if Malfoy knew.
After sneaking a glance at the poker-straight back and rigid set of his shoulders, stiffer than pureblood requisites required, Hermione realized that Malfoy knew perfectly well that this man could only be pushed so far and no further. She didn't know why the man had consented to authorize their marriage, but bribery was surely not the reason.
The silence was almost tangible; the official's eyes had reverted back to Malfoy's, and the two were sizing each other up like lions about to lunge at each other. Hermione was just about to mention the elephant in the corner with the lips of the man behind the desk curved slowly.
"Quite right," he said finally. "My mistake."
Malfoy nodded once, sharply. "Very good."
He grabbed a hold of her hand and began to drag her out of the room. Hermione yanked her arm free of his, and turned to look at the ministry official again. He was still staring at them, and Hermione imagined she could see a frown on his face. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir," she said sweetly.
Malfoy's hand jerked her arm inadvertently, as the other man's eyes sharpened.
"Likewise, Mrs. Malfoy," he said after a pause. "I hope you will proceed with caution. You will find that the psyche of certain families differ significantly from what constitutes as the norm."
"That is enough," Malfoy snarled then, before bodily picking her up and marching out of the cave-like office, despite the attack of Hermione's nails and knees.
"What are you—stop—what is wrong with you?" Hermione demanded once they were outside the ministry. It was night, and the streets of muggle London were quite abandoned save for a patrolling policeman and a few figures off in the distance.
"Why did you speak to him? Why did you say that?" Malfoy's hands were gripping her shoulders more firmly than necessary, and Hermione was vaguely aware that she would have marks the next day. She could not, however, summon enough fury to twist free, not when the eyes gripping hers were that particular shade of molten silver. He looked furious enough to rip her to shreds, but behind the apparent anger were small shards of… fear?
Hermione's instincts told her not to question him about the ministry official. Not yet, not while Malfoy was acting so strangely. So she sniffed instead, breaking eye contact with a fair about of difficultly. "My mother taught me my manners," she said haughtily, all the while burning with curiosity.
He didn't look convinced, but the emotions she could see wafting about him abated somewhat. "I suppose your muggle mother is lying in bed somewhere, tickled to death about the woman you've become," he muttered, releasing her abruptly, as though he had just realized what he was doing.
"She is lying somewhere, but it's underground," Hermione said shortly, turning away. As was her father. She still had trouble remembering that her parents had been targets of Voldemort's Death Eaters, before he himself had been defeated. She had been called by the Order to help a muggle family, and had had to sit down suddenly when she realized just why the street had looked so familiar.
Malfoy's legs were longer than hers, and so he caught up to her in a few long strides. His hand descended onto her shoulder again, but this time not as tenacious. He did not say anything, though, and Hermione glanced up at his face. His face, unguarded for once, was a myriad of expressions: confusion, skepticism, agitation, and something that looked surprisingly like remorse.
He cleared his throat and looked away. "I… I regret your loss," he said stiffly, and Hermione couldn't stop her left eyebrow from flaring. Was he offering her condolences? Surely, he wouldn't care that a muggle woman had died in the duration of the war. After all, so many others had.
"It's all right," she said instead, a little thickly. "It wasn't your fault."
Right after she rattled off her customary response, her forehead gathered in a frown as she replayed her words. Wasn't it? She wondered with a gulp, and eyed him suspiciously. Malfoy had come to the Order some time before the downfall of Voldemort, but he had never seen fit to inform anybody about his doings before coming to the Order.
Seeing her furtive look, Malfoy sighed impatiently and shoved up the left sleeve of his robe clear up to his elbow. "No mark," he snapped. "Satisfied?"
Hermione flushed darkly. "Quite," she said sharply. "I have to get back to Cyan. I left Ginny with him, but he has trouble getting back to sleep if he wakes up in the middle of the night and I'm not there."
Malfoy blinked. "Are you gone often during the middle of the night?"
Hermione blinked back. "Well, things come up," she said uncertainly, wondering if she was skating on thin ice. And why.
He scowled then. "Granger, as my wife, I expect you to keep your robes shut," he said, the breath from his mouth crackling like icicles.
She gaped, her mouth falling open in surprise and indignation, before she snapped it shut. "I—I don't—you—I was talking about work, you prat!" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
He looked sheepish for a second, and despite her desperate attempts to freeze her facial expression, she couldn't help but giggle at the look on his face. She shut up immediately, appalled, but Malfoy had already let out an undignified snort of laughter before taking a hold of her arm again.
They apparated.
x
Draco landed in a box.
He stumbled immediately; when he landed, the sole of his right foot was most definitely higher than that of his left, and his body tried to overcompensate—thus resulting in his fall.
He heard Granger's chortle of laughter as he dropped to his hands and knees, before managing to kick his foot free from whatever was in the cardboard. He stood quickly, smoothing his robes down with one hand and his hair with another. No doubt his robes would be wrinkled from that unpleasant venture; how in the world had he managed to apparate inside a box? And why had Granger had a half-filled box in her flat anyhow?
As he regained his senses, which had been just a tad jolted by the unexpected fall, he realized that his box was not the only one littering Granger's floor. Rather, the flat looked bare, as all of her furnishings and books had been thrown into the other myriad of boxes.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously. What had happened in the last four hours since he had been here? Why had she decided to tear apart her belongings?
She looked at him as though he was stupid, and Draco stared blankly back. "I'm packing," she said finally, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, right up there with "My hair is brown" and "I am smart, yes."
He wasn't sure how to reply to that at first. "Are you a muggle, or a witch?" he said after a while, blinking again. With a shake of his head—would she ever grow fully accustomed to his world?—he quickly tossed in everything still on the bookcases and the occasional something into the boxes with a wave of his wand.
"Malfoy!" she cried out at seeing her beloved books thrown around haphazardly, but he was relieved to note that she finally took a leaf from his book and waved her own wand to settle everything in with more care.
She huffed. "Don't touch my things, you idiot. I have to go check on Cyan and Ginny. I'll be right back." She whirled and headed off to the hallway that he'd seen the kid walk off to before.
"Is Weasley so inept that she doesn't even come out to check when she hears voices in the flat?" Draco asked, dogging her steps. "If that's the case, I'm not sure I trust her to watch my heir, Granger."
"Hermione," she said, throwing him a quick frown. "You really must get accustomed to using my name."
"Sure, er, Hermione," he said, because he didn't have anything else to say.
She threw a scornful glance at him over her shoulder. "And Cyan." Granger—no, Hermione narrowed her eyes. "His name is Cyan, Malfoy, and he is a person, not just an heir for the illustrious Malfoy family."
He didn't know why she cared so. Their deal hadn't included anything about his being a father— Draco scoffed to himself at the thought. Did Granger—Hermione; he really had to get into the habit of calling her by her name— did Hermione expect him to take little Cyan out to the Quidditch field to play keeper to his chaser? Did— Draco coughed, but the name did come easier now— Hermione think that he would pull the boy into his arms at night for a bedtime story?
He wondered what charm she'd cast on herself. He simply wasn't father material, and Hermione of all people ought to have known that. If it hadn't been for the family, he didn't think he would ever even have had any—
"Draco! Come in here, please," Hermione's voice called him from another room, and Draco started, both at hearing his name— his given name— on her lips, and hearing the words "please" from Hermione Bloody-Golden-Trio Granger directed at him, Evil Malfoy Slytherin. "Draco!"
Now, he thought, her voice was tensed with annoyance and irritation, thinly veiled. He wondered briefly why she even bothered to hide her feelings toward him— Merlin knew she hadn't had any qualms before about telling him exactly how she felt—before remembering that she'd gone to check on the kid. No doubt he was in there with her now.
He didn't know why he was so apprehensive about seeing the kid again. After all, he'd already spoken to him before, on more than one occasion.
It came to him in a flash that it might have been because this was the first time he would face the boy as a father. The kid would look at him, Draco Malfoy, and see the same austere features, so hard they were almost cut from stone, that he himself had seen in Lucius. He would feel the same cold emancipating from him, as he had felt from Lucius.
He frowned at the niggling feeling at the pit of his stomach.
"Draco!"
Granger, he thought, sounded infuriated enough to just about burst a blood vessel. With a heavy sigh, he trudged into the room to see Granger standing, hands on her hips, shooting lighting bolts at him with her eyes. The kid, on the other hand, was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, a well-thumbed copy of The Little Niffler That Could perched open on his lap. He was peering curiously at Draco, with not a trace of the fear or dread that Draco himself had felt upon hearing Lucius's footsteps in the corridor.
Never mind his great epiphany, then.
"Hi again," he said finally, hastily glancing at, then away from Granger's extremely irritated visage. "I'm, uh…"
"You're my daddy," the boy interjected into the pause.
"I am," Draco was at a loss as to what he ought to have said. The boy's glamour had been dissipated, and he looked eerily like Draco had at four years of age.
That was, his features were identical to his own, Draco amended upon seeing the tiny smile gracing his lips. He certainly hadn't smiled so much when he was a child.
They stared blankly at each other for a second, until the boy—Cyan, Draco reminded himself firmly—glanced down at the book open in front of him. The Little Niffler That Could was dozing by his friend, the Hippogriff, and Cyan poked at the two to wake them up.
"I could read to you," Draco heard himself offer, and saw to some surprise that though his face perked up, his eyes remained wary. He was learning to dissemble already; already thoroughly a Malfoy.
"Thank you," he said politely, "but Mummy's already wead this story to me loads of times before."
She would have. No surprise that Hermione Granger, Gryffindor extraordinaire, would pick the drippiest of the children's books to read—no, lecture—to her child.
This was clearly an emergency. Had Granger had just a little more time with the kid, she could have turned him into a Gryffindor. A Malfoy! In Gryffindor!
Thank Merlin he'd found Cyan when he had.
"Didn't your Mummy tell you that everybody brings different perspectives to a story?" he asked finally.
Cyan looked thoughtful. "What's a persperective, um…" his nose—Grecian, Draco noted rather proudly, from the illustrious Malfoy line—wrinkled.
"Cyan, he is your father," Granger pointed out when the pause dragged on. "Why don't you just call him that?"
He squirmed. "Wobert doesn't call Uncle Won 'father.' He says 'daddy'. And I call you mummy, Mummy. And Scotty—"
"You can call me Daddy," Draco interrupted. "I don't mind."
Cyan nodded agreeably. "Okay. What is persperective?"
He still had to get accustomed to being somebody's father, Draco thought, because his stomach gave a funny jolt.
Perhaps it had been the dinner.
"Well," Draco began, "it's like… look at your book. What do you see?"
"I see Nat the Niffler, and Hawold the Haiwy Hippogwiff. They're sitting under the twee because it's weally sunny outside and Nat is asleep and Hawold is looking at the twee and there are one, two, thwee, four, five, six red apples and one, two thwee, four gween apples and one has a worm and the worm is pink and Nat is bwown with black spots and Hawold is black with bwown spots and—"
"Okay," Draco said hastily. "Well, when I look at your book, I see the big tree and, uh, Harold the Hairy Hippogriff, but I can't see the sun or Nat the Niffler or any of the apples or the worm—"
Cyan fiddled with the corner of the page. "I made up the worms," he admitted unabashedly. "The apples were lonely. Like houses with no people inside."
"Oh." Draco was startled. "I'm sure the apples appreciate your thoughtfulness. In any case, what I can see of the book and what you can see of the book is different because where we are and the angle we're looking at is different. And that's called perspective. Does that make sense?"
"No."
Granger snorted. With a harried look thrown in her direction, Draco took a cautious step toward Cyan. "Oh," he thought for a second. "Well, I could read you the story. And then we could talk about it."
"Talk about persperective?"
"If you want."
"Okay."
Draco pulled a child-sized chair to the side of the bed and took the book from Cyan's lap. Narcissa had loved to read him books when he was younger, though she'd had an aversion to this particular book-- she had said that it was a horribly Hufflepuff sort of story.
"All right," he said, opening the book to the first page and propping it up where Cyan could see the illustrations.
"Once upon a time, there was a herd of hippogriffs raised in a paddock," he began, pointing out the stamping herd on the page.
"Like Buckbeak!" Cyan chimed in.
He had to hold back a snort, remembering that particular hippogriff. Good riddance.
"Yes, like Buckbeak," he said patiently instead. "Anyway, one day, the Keeper of the Hippogriffs—"
"Like Hagweed!"
"Yes, like Hagrid. The Keeper fell off a hippogriff while training them and broke his leg. Because he was hurt, he couldn't lead his herd to the river so that they could drink water."
"But why didn't he just magic it good? When I get hurt, Mummy makes me better real fast. How come the Keeper didn't do that?"
"Well, Cyan, when the Keeper got hurt, he was outside, in the forest. Where do you suppose his wand was?" Draco didn't notice Granger's small smile, or her silent exit from the room.
Cyan, on the other hand, was obviously thinking furiously, his face screwed up for a minute. "In his house?" he hazarded after a moment.
"Yes. That's why he couldn't heal it. So the Keeper asked his pet nifflers to help get the hippogriffs to water. But the biggest niffler said, 'But the hippogriffs are so much bigger than me! They could chew me up in one bite!'"
"He's a coward," Cyan said, a gleeful smile on his face.
Oh, holy Slytherin. The boy was a Gryffindor. He had to fix the damage that Granger had done already. "Well, Cyan, sometimes, it is better to be a coward and live, than be brave and die."
The boy looked skeptical. "Weally?"
"Yes," Draco said firmly. "When Harry Potter was fighting the Dark Lord—"
"Who's the Dark Lord?" he interrupted curiously. "How come he's a lord? Can I be a lord? Can I be the lord of bwoomsticks? Then I would be like the king of bwoomsticks. Even Wobert's!"
"Wo—no, Robert Weasley?" Draco demanded. "He has a better broomstick than you?"
Cyan looked mutinous. "Yes," he said with a pout. "Mummy says my bwoomstick is perfectly good. But I don't want good! I want the best!"
Draco smiled smugly. "I'll buy you the best broomstick, kiddo. Better than any Weasley's."
He looked surprised. "Weally?"
"Yes, of course," he said with a blink. "No Malfoy is ever overtaken by a Weasley!"
Cyan smiled beatifically. "Thank you," he said. "I've never had a pwesent fwom a daddy before."
"You're welcome," Draco said, and wondered briefly if he and his son had just… had a moment. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Let's get back to the story, shall we?
"Then the Keeper asked the next biggest niffler to lead the hippogriffs to water, but that niffler had the same excuse. Then, the Keeper in desperation, asked the littlest niffler to lead the hippogriffs to water. 'I think I can,' he squeaked as he hopped over to the front of the herd. And as he half-dragged them to the river—for the hippogriffs were unruly and overexcited, and not at all impressed at being led by such a small creature—he kept reminding himself, 'I think I can! I think I can! I think I can!'"
"And then," Cyan continued, "the hippogwiffs saw the apples in the twee and they wanted to eat it all!"
"Yes, that's right," Draco said approvingly. "The hippogriffs decided they were hungry and tried to go to the apple trees. But the littlest niffler continued to drag the herd to the river, puffing all the while, "I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can!"
"And finally, they made it to the river. And the littlest niffler dropped the reigns as the hippogriffs all rushed to the water, and crowed to himself gleefully, "I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could!"
"The end!" Cyan added.
"Did you like the story?" Draco asked curiously. He hadn't thought much of the smallest niffler himself.
"I like the pictures," he informed Draco. "But the little niffler was kind of stupid to do something that could have killed him. If Hawold the Hippogwiff didn't make the other hippogwiffs listen to him then the other hippogwiffs could have eated Nat the niffler and then he would be dead."
Wouldn't Granger have a coronary upon hearing this? Draco grinned. "Excellent point," he praised enthusiastically. "Always look out for yourself before others, Cyan. Now, it's late and you'd better get to sleep."
"I don't wanna," he said unhappily. "You're going to disappear again, I know it."
Startled, Draco stared at Cyan, who was frowning back at him. "No, I'm not," he said after a second.
"Pwomise," Cyan demanded, his voice quivering just the tiniest bit.
"I promise," Draco nodded, unknowingly repeating Hermione and Cyan's exchange from the night before. "And besides, little man, you need to go to sleep. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
"What?" Cyan looked interested. "What are we doing tomorrow?"
"Now, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
He thought. "I like surpwises," he admitted. "But only good ones."
"You'll love it," Draco said, confident. "It'll come faster if you sleep now."
Cyan obligingly burrowing himself into his covers, which Draco tucked under his chin. "Um, good night," he said, a little awkward. Lucius hadn't ever tucked him into bed, and he certainly couldn't emulate Narcissa, who was… a woman.
The boy looked up at him expectantly. "Mummy always kisses me good night," he pointed out.
"Oh." Draco leaned down, suddenly unsure, and brushed his lips against Cyan's forehead. "Night."
"Night, daddy," Cyan said softly, and as the lights magic'ed themselves dark, Draco didn't miss the cautious glance in his face.
"But where are we going?" Cyan asked for the millionth time, clutching onto Hermione's hand with his right hand and Draco's with his left.
Hermione smoothed down his hair, slightly mussed and in his natural blindingly-blond state. It was to be their first outing as a family, and Hermione and Draco were both understandingly nervous. Cyan, however, didn't seem to be afflicted by this problem at all, as he had been chattering on all morning about new broomsticks and Quidditch and candy.
"I'll give you a hint," Draco offered as he rummaged around Hermione's mantle for floo powder. "We're going to meet your friends, Nat the Niffler and Harold the Hippogriff."
Cyan's already-big eyes widened, and his little mouth dropped open. "They're weal?" he gasped. "Is evewything in books weal? Can I meet the dwagon in 'Duffy's Big Tail'? Can I? Pwease?"
"We'll see," Hermione said helplessly, glaring at Draco over Cyan's head. He shrugged in response.
Finally finding the Floo powder, Draco tossed in a pinch as the three stepped closer to the fire. "Carmichael's!" he called out.
They whirled out to a bustling platform filled parents chasing after bounding children, looking hassled. The din in the platform was almost unbearable, with the shrieking of the children and the adults calling helplessly after their progeny.
"Wow!" Cyan exclaimed.
"Hardly a Death Eaters Convention," Draco murmured to Hermione as she gaped.
Recovering, she quirked her lips and whispered back, "Where are we, anyway?"
"Jack Carmichael's Menagerie for Magical Creatures," he explained. "Very popular with the children. We came here every year when I was young. This is just the Floo exit—they get a lot of traffic, as you can imagine."
"It doesn't look horribly popular with the adults," Hermione noted. "Not too excited about seeing hippogriffs, are they?" The people around them were paying absolutely no attention to them, the Malfoy family, Hermione remembered with a snort. They were too busy trying to subdue their own children, who were very obviously excited – understatement of the year – about seeing the magical creatures.
"Excellent choice of outing, I know," Draco whispered to her with a smug smile.
Hermione stared back. "How did you—"
"Your face," he reminded her. "Shall we?" He gestured to the entrance, brimming with more people.
"Yes, lets," Hermione looked down at Cyan, who was gazing around wondrously.
"Look, Mummy!" he exclaimed, tugging at her hand. "There's a picture of a hippogwiff right there! And it says, um, 'hi-hippogwiffs this way'!" He danced. "Let's go!"
She chuckled.
X
She wasn't, Hermione thought, smiling anymore. She was just scraping the bottom of her stored supply of energy, just managing to stay upright. Draco's eyelids were dropping and he looked as though he was ready to lay down for a nap, but Cyan was still going strong.
"And I want to see the cobwas, Mummy, and the king! Hey, Daddy, weren't the hippogwiffs so amazing? Hawold waved at me, didn't he! With his wing! And then the dwagons, I've never seen a dwagon before and then Mummy are there gwiffins here? Because the snakes are so bwilliant but maybe that's because my daddy is a Slythewin and you're a Gwiffindor so I want to see a gwiffin, Mummy. And then can I have some everwasting sugar pops, Mummy? And some of the—"
"No more candy," Hermione said firmly, glaring at Draco, who had brought a bag full of sugar for Cyan.
He stared helplessly back, quite obviously out of his depths with the child. His hair was messy, looking more like Cyan's than ever, the collar on his shirt was askew, and he had a smear of chocolate on his arm where Cyan had brushed after gobbling up some of Honeyduke's best.
With a giggle, Hermione stood from where they had been recovering. "The cobras, you said?" she asked Cyan, who nodded enthusiastically. Draco looked slightly more interested, no doubt because they were going to see his house mascot, and so he stood when Cyan grabbed his hand.
They were ready to march off to the snake house when a feminine voice called his name.
"Draco Malfoy, is that you?"
A/N: Hi! I want to thank you all for your lovely responses from the last chapter. Yes, I'm back (dances), and yes, I will continue writing this. I write fanfiction for you, so I'm always gratified to see that people are enjoying my writing!
After finding numerous notes scribbled on my physics homework pages about Cyan and Draco and Hermione, I've decided to use a journal purely for the purpose of jotting notes and adding chapters for my fanfics (well, fanfic). It is amoreau at and a link is in my profile (under website). Don't worry, you aren't at all obliged to friend it or anything like that.
If you've asked any questions regarding the story, I will answer them on my journal as to not clutter up the actual chapters. So please check that out if you are so inclined.