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Three Conditions	By : goldhorse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 48512 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the HP universe. JK Rowling does. I just borrow her toys and put them back in reletively decent shape when I'm through. I make no money doing this, which is why I work two jobs.

Chapter List
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Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Her head hurt. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was in a vice. She made herself lie still and tried to assess her body. Foggy memories of making the potion came back to her. So much blood. No wonder her head hurt. She wondered if they gave her a replenishing potion. Or if they could. The baby!
“Easy, Granger,” Malfoy cooed and gently held her down before she could bolt up. “Everything is fine. The baby is fine.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Did it work?”
“Perfectly,” Malfoy whispered. “And you are just in time for a tongue lashing from Pothead.”
“Wonderful,” she murmured and looked around their hut. Harry looked murderous as he struggled to sit up.
“How. Could. You,” Harry rasped.
She snorted. “Ungrateful prat. I did it to save your life.”
Harry shook his head sadly. “You could have been hurt. The baby!”
“That’s why I called Malfoy,” she said, slowly moving on her side so she could look at him properly. “I needed him to sustain the baby.”
“Gee thanks,” Malfoy muttered.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I married you in that ridiculous ceremony, didn’t I?”
Malfoy smirked. “Ridiculous was it?”
She shook her head and laid back down. The room was spinning.
“Here,” Malfoy said as he handed her a vial of blood replenisher. “You’re still low on blood. And you’ll need to eat soon. You used up a lot of energy last night.”
She swallowed the vial without protest and happily took the flat bread and mangos he offered. “When do we leave?”
“About half an hour,” Malfoy said. “We’re already packed. The potion base was transported last night. And Mwinyi has offered to carry Potter to the elders’ village.”
She groaned and sat up slowly. “Is it a long walk?”
“Long enough,” Harry murmured, watching her like a hawk from his pallet on the floor. “I didn’t make it the first time.”
“Granger-“ Malfoy began when she stood and wobbled.
“Don’t even start,” she growled. “They’ll need more than my blood before they’re through.”
Malfoy sighed and shook his head. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“There is a fine line between brilliance and insanity,” she quipped, pulling on her robes before heading out to meet the day. She wanted to say goodbye and give her thanks.
“She’s right,” Harry said quietly, a look of irritation mixed with awe on his face.
Malfoy smirked. “Lucky us, eh Potter?”
Harry sighed. “She’d march into hell and drag me back out before she’d let me die in peace.”
“Do you want to die, Potter?”
“No. I just hate how much she’s sacrificed for me.”
“Then make sure it isn’t in vain.”
Hermione brushed a tear from her eye as she walked further from the hut. Neither man knew she was listening. Poor Harry. She’d sacrifice much more than a little blood and a few months in Africa for him. This just had to work.

***

Harry hadn’t been joking. The walk to the elders’ village took almost half the day. The sun beat down through the trees on the group as they made the trek through jungle like trails that were barely visible. More than once, Malfoy had needed to stop and help her over fallen logs and debris. Her belly got in the way of simple brush and threw off her balance. She longed for the ability to cast a stability spell, a cushioning charm, something that would ease her burden. But she dare not say a word. The elders were going to heal Harry. She’d walk over lava with a bolder strapped to her back if she needed to. But in the privacy of her head, she could complain all she wanted.
Surprisingly, Malfoy didn’t say a word on the journey. He provided water and food for her, privacy when she needed the loo, and even carried her a while to give her aching feet a rest. He somehow knew exactly how the tribe felt about being held up by a woman. He was doing this for her and in her pregnancy hormone fueled state, she was beginning to fall in love with more than his cock. She wondered what he was like when he wasn’t fucking her brains out or acting his part for a crowd. He’d always acted the part in the past; Stuck up pureblood, daddy’s clone, Voldemort’s puppet, the Ministry’s slave, the media’s whipping post. Who was the real Malfoy?
“We are here,” Mwinyi announced, shifting a half conscious Harry over his broad shoulder.
Poor Harry had only been able to walk a few minutes at a time and had passed out a few hours ago from the pain and exhaustion. Hermione took comfort in the fact that he could even walk at all. Before he’d visited the village healer, he could scarcely hold his own weight, let alone walk further than the walls of the hut. It gave her hope that somehow, some way, he might make it through these treatments.
“I don’t see anything,” Malfoy said, an appraising frown on his face.
He was right. All she saw was a clearing filled with soft African grasses and wild flowers. There wasn’t a hut or fire ring in sight. It was a beautiful area, enough shade to provide comfort during the hottest part of the day. If she listened closely, she could hear running water. Perhaps there was a little stream nearby. But it wasn’t really a village. Was this another test?
“The Elders must invite you in,” Ade explained as he helped Mwinyi put Harry on the ground in a crouching position he could manage for a few minutes on his own. “Please kneel and keep your eyes towards the ground.”
Malfoy helped her kneel and shift so she wouldn’t fall over or get uncomfortable. He took the spot next to her, bowing his head in reverence. She could feel how tense he was, holding himself rigid, not even allowing his breathing to deviate. She admired his control but part of her wondered if this was a learned behavior from the days when Voldemort pulled his strings. One would have to learn perfect submission quickly in order to avoid torture. And even then, she doubted he’d been spared for being a good boy. It made her kind of nauseous to think about it.
Her knees ached after a while but she didn’t dare break posture. This was the most crucial moment for her. Logically, she knew that Harry had been accepted and he would get his healing. But she had to be by his side. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if they didn’t allow her in the tribe. And for that reason, she ignored her knees and the pain in her lower back and the crick in her neck and the blasted bugs crawling up her legs. She even managed to ignore the absolute silence of the usually boisterous jungle.
A rich voice boomed over the eerie quiet that had settled over everyone. “Ah, Harry. You’ve returned. Good, good. And these are?”
“My brother and my wi… well, um, ex-wife?” Harry stuttered.
The voice laughed. “Mwinyi, you’ve missed out again.”
The elder griped and then mumbled that he couldn’t break up blood in his native tongue. Hermione was glad she’d made it a priority to learn the language. Translation spells didn’t quite capture inflection. Mwinyi was miffed. He’d wanted her, saw the opportunity to take her, and was then foiled by a surprise visit. She wondered, not for the first time, if Snape had known the situation. Had he insisted she call Draco to keep his godson in the loop, to make sure he was there to help with the potion, or to protect her from Mwinyi’s greed? She would probably never know, but it proved her point. Snape never had just one reason to do anything.
“Well, rise, rise. Mothers should not be made to grovel.”
Hermione jumped and looked up to see someone dressed from head to toe in eye-melting orange, the traditional color of Fang healers. The sun was shining from behind the healer so there was no way she could see a face. But the rich voice came again.
“Come, no need to be shy. Come into my village.”
Malfoy rose his head in question to which the healer extended a hand of allowance. Malfoy was off the ground in an instant, helping Hermione to stand. She was glad. Even the short amount of time spent kneeling made her lower legs almost numb. Seeing how wobbly she was, he quickly scooped her off her feet and awaiting further instructions.
“Mwinyi, you’ve certainly made the best choice,” the healer said as she studied Malfoy. “A fine predecessor indeed.”
Mwinyi nodded and mumbled his thanks before picking Harry up and motioning for Malfoy to follow him through the village. Hermione quietly insisted she could walk but Malfoy ignored her and kept marching. Not wanting to push her luck in the new village, she didn’t say anything further. She doubted that women were held in different regards here even if one of the healers was female.
The village was laid out much like the one she’d become so familiar with over the last few months. She made note of where the community building was as well as the loos. She’d be running there a lot. She grimaced as the little freeloading bugger kicked her in the side. The further along she got, the more she wanted it to be over… and the more she dreaded it. Having him… it would make it all too real. She’d be a mother… and she just wasn’t sure she could handle that… not yet… not until Harry’s wellbeing was settled. Her thoughts were shattered as they ducked into the largest hut, one where she had previously never been allowed to tread. This was the elder building, the House of the Word.
“Welcome,” the healer said in a warm rich voice. “Mwinyi, please set young Harry in the back on the cot. We’ll see to him shortly. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Hermione struggled out of Malfoy’s arms and threw herself at Mwinyi’s feet, wrapping her arms tightly around his legs in thanks. She knew exactly how paramount the elder had been in helping her achieve this for Harry. He deserved her thanks, pervy greed aside. Mwinyi gave a sad sigh and patted her on the head.
“You will make a fine mother, Hermione. I wish you well.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
Mwinyi nodded and she untangled herself, slowly standing back up beside Malfoy. She gave him a grateful smile and watched as he and Ade took Harry to the back. The rest of the villagers that had come on the journey had hung back at the front of the village. She wasn’t sure if it was respect or an order and she wasn’t about to ask. She’d have to mind herself even closer now. They were so close.
“Please have a seat,” the healer said as soon as the trio was out of earshot. “We have much to discuss.”
Hermione was thankful that he pointed to a pile of soft blankets on top of a sturdy looking crate. She wasn’t sure she could sit back on the ground. Everything hurt or tingled as she lowered herself and ducked her head, the traditional sign of respect when a woman entered a house of another man. Malfoy took the spot on the floor beside it without thought or question which made her freeze. It was a breach of etiquette and hierarchy.
“Relax,” the healer said, spreading his arms wide. “It is only me, Imamu, the elder of the healing village of Fang.”
Imamu laughed deeply seeing the incredulous looks on the couple sitting before him and promptly sat down on another nearby crate.
“Mwinyi has done well in teaching you the ways, Hermione.”
Hermione blinked and cocked her head in silent question.
Imamu grinned, pearly white teeth gleaming in the sun that filtered through the hut. “This village is reserved for only the most desperate of cases. And our young Harry certainly qualifies. Your Master of potions speaks highly of him. I was most interested in seeing him.”
Hermione frowned and cleared her throat. “You spoke with Professor Snape?”
Imamu nodded. “Indeed. You see, my grandmother is the one that healed his young wife, another special young girl who I am told is moving on to great things. Young Harry, on the other hand, has already saved the world I am told, though he has no wish to dwell in the past or revel in his accomplishments.”
Hermione nodded with a small smile. “Harry has always been modest. He maintains that his success was always luck and the help of loved ones.”
Imamu nodded. “And he loves you very much. Just not the way of a husband.”
Hermione froze and tried her hardest to keep an unreadable expression on her face.
Imamu chuckled. “You need not hide from me, young one. I will let you in on a secret. I am not a healer, not in the way of medicine. I am a Spirit Guide, much like your Seers. I see what others do not. I see that young Harry has a true heart, worthy of saving. And you, young one, have a heart just as true. You wish for nothing more than to see him well, as any best friend would. You have no secrets between you.”
“Pardon,” Malfoy cut in, seeing the red creeping on Hermione’s face. “But if you are not a medicine healer, then how are you going to help Po-Harry?”
Imamu cocked his head. “Your heart, pale one, is perhaps one of the hardest to read. I’ve only seen one more conflicted, that of your Master. You will do well by your son, as you have already stepped in to help his mother. Yes, a troubled heart, but still true. To answer your question, it is not I who will heal Harry. Alas, my grandmother passed some time ago. My daughter, Nia, will be bearing that task. She has inherited the gift; one we had feared had been stricken from the line. But through your Master’s potions, my Nia was conceived. I owe your Master much, as he owes me.” He laughed heartily. “I believe our debts will go to our graves.”
Malfoy sighed. “So we will owe a debt.”
Imamu quit laughing and nodded his head somberly. “I am afraid there is always a debt, pale one. This is a concept you are familiar with?”
“I’ll pay it,” Hermione spoke up. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”
Imamu smiled softly. “Yes you will always put yourself first. Which is why your payment will consist of three conditions.”
Hermione laughed sadly. “Why is it always three?”
Imamu grinned. “Three is a great spiritual number.”
“So what is the payment?” Malfoy asked.
Imamu nodded, understanding their eagerness to talk business. “First, you must never speak of Nia. As young Harry has no doubt told you, she wears the robes of men and presents herself as such. This is to protect her gift. Could you imagine the greed of those who might find out?”
Hermione shuddered. “Gifts like hers would be exploited in England, touted and praised and ultimately used until she burned out.”
Imamu nodded. “You agree to my first request.”
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
“Thank you,” Imamu said earnestly. “There are those whose hearts were not so true. I had to call on my gift to remove the memory from their minds.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You can obliviate people?”
Imamu nodded again. “Our powers have different names but Master Snape has explained this spell to me. It is similar, though I do not use the wand so favored in your culture. And my memory charms cannot be recovered.”
“Well, no need to worry about that,” Malfoy said softly. “We’ll keep your silence.”
“I know,” Imamu said quietly. “My second request is for your child. You will have a son, though I can see you already know that. He is special. Can you sense it?”
Hermione rubbed her stomach in thought. “If Harry sleeps on my stomach, he always feels better.”
Imamu nodded. “Your son is already a very talented soul, a soothing presence. I have not seen another like him, not a healer of medicine or spirit, but a bringer of peace. What name do you have for those that bring peace to the mind?”
“A mind healer?” Malfoy asked inquisitively. “They can heal certain mental issues through spells, though they aren’t very effective.”
Hermione hummed. “Muggles have an occupation called a psychiatrist or a therapist. They provide healing by talking through issues, allowing their patients to find their own ways, and providing guidance and medication to correct certain mind diseases if necessary.”
Imamu rubbed his lip in thought and then shook his head. “This is a different gift, though I can see similarities. He’ll be able to help people sort out illnesses of the mind through touch. It is a rare gift, one you must protect at all costs. He will be valued… and like my Nia, he will be in danger always.”
Malfoy quickly gathered a shaking Hermione in his arms. “What do you want with him?”
Imamu raised his hands. “I merely wish to train him, to be an influence in his life, to help him control his power. I do not ask that you stay in the village forever, merely that you visit regularly and let us work. I believe your Master calls it an apprenticeship. But be warned. This will be a lifelong commitment. I sense a danger to his wellbeing should this not be carried out.”
“And you wish to use his gifts,” Malfoy said knowingly.
Imamu nodded. “From time to time, only when he is ready, only on the worthy, and always in secret. I would not risk his safety for my own gain.”
“And who would you deem worthy?” Hermione asked quietly.
Imamu smiled. “Those who are pure of heart. You forget, I can look into the future of a spirit.”
“Is it subjective?” Malfoy asked, his brow furrowed in thought. “Can one change the fate you see?”
Imamu rubbed his lips in thought. “Let me see if I can explain. When I look into a heart, I see a multitude of potential, the good, the bad, the middle. If I concentrate, I can follow a path of choices, but not all choices. I can’t account for outside influence beyond choices. Your son, when I look into his heart, I see three paths, the three choices I can give to you now. The first is to take him to your home, decline payment. The second choice is to stay here, never leave, acclimate to the tribe. The third is to do as I request, live your life, bring him here for training. I can see that the last choice is the best for him mentally, spiritually, physically. I can see all aspects of his path. But I cannot see beyond any choice he would be forced to make.”
“So you can see him as a child,” Malfoy said quietly. “And as an adult if not forced into a decision.”
“Correct.”
Malfoy swallowed hard. “Can you see the past?”
Imamu nodded. “Your past troubles you pale one. You were once forced into a choice, a fate impressed upon you against your will. You wonder what your life would have been like without the choice. But you see, you were made to choose much earlier than that. Your faith was decided for you. Your thoughts dictated and guided through iron hands. Your opinions, your life has never been your own… until now. No one can bring you peace, not even your son, until you accept that your past belongs to you and your future can be chosen.”
Malfoy nodded slowly, considering the words of the healer. Then he sighed, shook his head, and cleared his throat. “What is the third condition?”
Imamu rubbed his hands together. “In the past, it was tradition to give your first daughter to the tribal elder as a future wife. However, I have no need or want of another wife, especially one who will be so talented.”
“A daughter?” Hermione squeaked.
Imamu laughed heartily. “Yes. Yes I think so. But I believe I will let you discover her future for yourselves. It is much more fun to watch the journey. Therefore, my final payment from you, will be to learn.”
“Learn?” Malfoy asked.
Imamu nodded. “Our tribe is immersed in the old ways but we have learned. History will always repeat itself unless you learn from it. Change is good. Tradition is good. If you combine both, the village will prosper. Your Master has been most gracious in gifting me with a bowl you call a pensieve. I have viewed his most personal memories and spoken with him at length about things he has learned from his studies. I ask the same of you both. I wish to see your memories from your perspective. Not to take, but to view and return. I wish to have conversations with you about your pursuits of knowledge, your triumphs and tribulations. I cannot leave my village. So I wish for the next best thing.”
“To see the world through the eyes of others,” Hermione said quietly.
Imamu nodded. “It would be a most precious gift and a fitting final payment to heal your friend.”
“What does your daughter get from it?” Malfoy asked.
“I will share the knowledge with her to. I wish for her to have a rich knowledge as well. One day, she will leave me. I have foreseen it and I know that any resistance will create resentment. As much as I want to gather her to me like a precious stone, I want to give her the best chance for a happy life. I want her to know exactly what it is she will see when she opens her eyes to the world beyond the village.”
“When will she leave?” Hermione asked curiously.
“Not for some time,” Imamu said softly. “She is still very young, her curiosity not yet full. But when she does, I may ask a favor in the future.”
Malfoy laughed softly. “You want to keep an eye on her.”
“If possible. Do you blame me?”
Malfoy reached out to rub Hermione’s stomach. “Not at all.”
“Do you wish to think about your answer?” Imamu asked after a few minutes.
“I’ll do it,” Hermione said before Malfoy could even open his mouth. “I’ll keep Nia a secret. I’ll bring my son back to the village for training. I’ll give you access to whatever memory you want. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll research anything you ever wanted to know. Just heal Harry.”
Imamu nodded. “And your husband?”
Malfoy swallowed. “I don’t like it… my son… I don’t want… but I can’t afford…”
“Take time to gather your thoughts,” Imamu said quietly. “I shall go retrieve my Nia.”
Ta-Daa!!! I'm baaa-aaak. I finished Junkies (*cough*goreadit*cough*) so now I can concentrate on this story. And for those of you who wrote such kind words, I thought I'd give you an update. My mom is officially cancer free! *happy dance* We still have more treatments to go through but it's precautionary at this point. Watching her fight, even knowing what we were getting into, was heart wrenching. And it's made me decide to take a slightly different path on this story, but no spoilers. I hope you approve. Anyway, as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed. It might not seem like it, but I appreciate each and every syllable. Keep them coming and until next time... love you guys!
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Three Conditions