I'm My Own Grandpa Part 2
By Marmalade Fever
A.N.: So I decided to make it a two-shot, so sue me. Lol
Her head was spinning from the vast amount of new information that had been dropped into her brain much the same way one might drop a stone down a well. She was asleep, asleep, asleep. But no, she was not. She was awake. She was standing alongside Draco Malfoy, in the past, in a kitchen, of a seaside cottage. She was destined to be his wife, his grandmother, his great-great grandmother, his grand-daughter in-law… the mother of his own father. It was a cycle. A never-ending cycle. She was caught. It was destiny. It was…
Professor Trelawney had annoyed her to no end. What would the old bat say now?
Biology, she thought to herself. Genetics. This was impossible. This was an impossibility. One cannot be one's own grandparent. It does not work that way.
Malfoy had moved to hold her hand. She shook him away.
Her precious facts, her figures, her numbers, her knowledge… all gone to sea, whoosh! Into a tide pool to live with the starfish and anemones.
She took hold of his hand again.
"You're shaking," he said, moving their hands under his nose for inspection.
"I'm not," she said. "I am," she admitted.
"Granger," he said, looking at her with pleading eyes, "you look nothing like me."
"Should I?"
"You're my grandmother… more than that…" he said, folding and unfolding the photo he held in his hands.
"Maybe not, no, maybe not…" Genetics, genetics, genetics.
"Your middle name…?" he asked.
"Jane," she said.
"Jane Malfoy…" he whispered, a hint of fear trickling through his voice. "Hermione Jane Malfoy," he said.
"I'm not!" she shouted, tearing the photo away from him and staring into the depths. Two people. Two people their own age, with their own features… A girl with a freckle on her right arm, just about the wrist… Them. Them. "Tell me about your family, Malfoy, please?"
He stopped. "My father… my father was raised by friends of the family. My mother… is of no consequence. My grandfather, on my father's side, Draco Malfoy the first, the only, I suppose. It's just me, Granger. Just me. And you. You are Jane Malfoy, my grandmother, mother of my father. My… my…" He was shaking. "If my father's never born, I'm never born. Do you understand that?" He sat down, dropped down, onto the ground, pale, pasty, and shaking.
"Shh," she cooed, stroking his hair, "shh."
…
They walked along the side of the road. It was their house. They'd found the documentation. Before, it had belonged to Atticus Malfoy, and before him… Malfoy after Malfoy after Malfoy. It made no sense. None. How had Draco Malfoy come to be?
The cycle.
Wife, grandmother, wife, grandmother, mother, daughter-in-law, circle circle circle.
He squeezed her hand.
…
"I'm not a pureblood, am I?" he asked, as they sat at the bar of the sparkling and newly-opened Leaky Cauldron.
"I suppose not. Through your mother only… and yourself," she said, sipping her drink.
"How can I be related to myself?" he asked. "How can I pass on my own lineage to myself?"
"You're inbred," she said. "Very."
"You kids and your philosophical discussions," the bartender said, chuckling. They stared.
…
Draco hurried along, clutching the tiny parcel to him. Hurrying, scurrying, through the snow drifts. He'd known it was coming as soon as he realized she had bought the dress… the dress from the photograph. As soon as she admitted she liked it here… with him.
He liked her too.
…
"Marry me?" he asked.
Her breath hitched as she took the gold band from him. "You had to ask?"
They kissed.
…
"It's a boy," the healer announced, displaying a very pale child with straight, blond hair.
"Lucius," they said in unison. No use getting attached. No, no use at all.
"He's his own grandpa," Draco whispered into Hermione's ear. She giggled.
…
"Hermione!" a middle-aged man called, coming into the room with a newspaper.
"Yes?" a woman answered.
"I was born today," he announced. They smiled down at the photograph of the baby.
"Just nineteen more years, then?" she asked.
"Spot on," he answered, kissing her brow.
The End