Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Consequences and Complexities	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16346 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and canon situations belong to the Harry Potter fandom and JKRowling. Plot and OCs are mine. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2 – Birth

Draco Malfoy was bone tired. When he’d decided to take a job in a restaurant, he’d had no idea how thoroughly physical the work would be. Without the assistance of magic, he’d learned quickly that there was a reason it was called “work.” His job at The Grapevine Restaurant had changed a bit since he started in early April. The real dirty job of Kitchen Helper had lasted for about three months, but it had been more than enough. He was grateful that he’d been blessed with a reasonably good brain and that his supervisors were wise enough to recognize that his talents and skills were being wasted with sweeping floors and washing pots. His new assignment as a waiter was no less tiring, but at least he was able to interact with people beyond the confines of the hot, busy, noisy kitchen.

Now, he was thankful for all the times his parents had taken him out to dinner. He’d come to learn what patrons wanted and didn’t from those who were serving their needs. A good smile, a pleasant but quiet voice, an unobtrusive but ready presence, and a good sense of humor were critical skills and characteristics for any member of the wait-staff. He’d found that his cultured English accent was a real plus, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. He regularly received the highest tip to ticket ratio in the house, after just weeks in the position.

It was the end of an eight-hour shift, and he’d not had more than one short break for his own late afternoon meal. On his feet for the entire time, dashing back and forth from the front of the house to the kitchen with heavy trays and platters laden with food and drink, had left his arms aching and his back stiff. It had been a little more than four months since his promotion and he was still getting accustomed to how much more physical this part of the job was than he’d anticipated. His boss had teased him that he’d be building bulging biceps in no time; the man hadn’t been wrong. Draco helped a little with the late night clean-up, counted his tips – setting aside the customary ten percent for the Kitchen Helper who’d replaced him – and gathered his mid-weight coat for the long walk home. The weather was a little cool but not unpleasant, even at nearly midnight, so he decided to forego the bus to save a little cash.

The long walk allowed him to mull over the three new assignments given to him by his Mind Healer and Psychologist, David Roy. He had to agree with the man that he felt he’d made some progress, but there were still so many anxieties and issues to address. He also had his standing assignment, based on the question the therapist asked him every week: “How do you feel about Miss Granger today?” He still hadn’t been able to figure out why that question was so important to the doctor, and the man had refused to answer Draco’s curiosity about it. It was closely tied to the third new assignment which asked what he would say to the woman if he spoke with her now; he decided to put the two linked items away for future consideration. He’d tackle the question about what he wanted in his life first.

The first thing that came to mind as he walked along the maple-lined streets, the trees’ leaves having started to fall from their branches as the season shifted into late autumn, was that he wanted to be less consumed by the pain he felt over his guilt. To ask that he be free of it entirely was too much to hope for. He also wished for a little more financial security. He was not accustomed to living hand-to-mouth, and he hoped that the Ministry would hold to their promise to restore his access to the Malfoy inheritances once he’d served his sentence. He was trying to live on just his earnings, leaving the small remainder of the bequest from Grandmère Rosier for true emergencies. Thus, his near-poverty existence had given him a great deal of perspective on those who had not been as fortunate as he to be born into wealth. If it hadn’t been for the family home in which he’d been allowed to live, he doubted he’d have had enough money to afford to eat regularly. He set that thought aside; maybe there was something he could do there to fulfill his desire to make atonement. He thought that he’d like to live in England again, but whether he wanted to live in Wiltshire with his parents was up for debate. He knew he would appreciate the comfort of his childhood home, but questioned whether he’d be able to live there after being on his own for such a long time once his sentence was complete.

At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do as a career. It had always been expected that he would join the family business, which was fundamentally an import/export business dealing primarily in goods for the Wizarding world. He knew he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that his father had expanded the product categories to include goods for the Muggle world. He’d have to ask the next time they spoke. Whether he’d continue with his restaurant career was a very open question. He didn’t dislike the atmosphere or dealing with people, and Merlin knew he liked the perk of eating decent food from the kitchens, but whether he could make a career out of being a waiter was very doubtful.

He thought it was too much at this stage to hope that he might someday have a family. His reputation was in the toilet, and there were few who would easily accept that he was truly under compulsion and Imperius spells for so long, regardless of the evidence presented at his trial. The Wizarding world’s citizenry had long memories and limited capacity for forgiveness, particularly among the purebloods that had formerly been his own social strata. It was doubtful that he’d ever be accepted in those circles again. His last thought as he reached his cottage’s doorstep some twenty minutes after leaving The Grapevine was about sex. Someday, he’d like to feel that he might want to have sex with a woman again. His libido had been sorely lacking, and other than his typical early morning tumescence, he’d just not been interested, regardless of the number of pretty young things who had winked and smiled at their handsome young waiter.

Tomorrow was Wednesday, his day off, so he didn’t worry too much about being up late. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower, a glass of butterbeer (which he’d thankfully been able to procure in a nearby Wizarding market), an hour or so of reading a book he’d found in the cottage’s small library, then the sweet bliss of sleep. He’d not had one of those troubling nightmares in almost a week and was hopeful that he’d have another uninterrupted night of rest. A quick stop in the study revealed the post that had been sent through the Floo; it could only be from one of his parents, so he bent to pick up the note, shaking off the soot that had settled on the surface.

He read his mother’s elegant, careful script:

Dearest Draco,

You and I haven’t had the opportunity to speak in the last couple of days, as I’ve been tied up with a little project, but I did want to let you know that I’m thinking of you and hoping that all is well. Since you didn’t answer when I called earlier, I must assume that you are probably at work this evening.

Your father tells me that you’ve had some welcome success working with your Mind Healer, and I’m most happy to hear that. I have faith in you, dear. He also mentioned that the promotion you received at work a few months ago has been going well and that you’ve earned some additional money through gratuities for your good service. I do so wish that I could send you a little something, but you know how carefully they monitor your receipts. I’m glad that the extra earnings have lightened your burden a bit. It just proves our faith in you was not misplaced; you’ve already achieved two major coups, first in getting the job and then in earning a promotion so quickly. Your father and I are both so proud of you, dearest.

There is not much news from here that I can tell you. I’ve done a little redecorating in one of the rooms on the third floor, in the East Wing. Your father seemed to be pleased with the results. I’m most anxious for you to see it when you return home.

We are still planning to come for a visit early next month, once a few little things settle down here. Your father has arranged an international Portkey for the 7^th, to arrive in Boston. We will Apparate to the cottage from there, so do not worry about collecting us. We plan to stay for three days. I’m giving you this early notice in the hopes that you will be able to arrange your work schedule so that we can have at least one full day together. If you cannot, we will understand and accept any time you are able to spend with us.

I am looking forward to speaking with you in the next couple of days, darling, and seeing you in a couple of weeks.

With much love,

Mother

Draco dropped the note on the desk, thinking to send a short reply after he was done with his shower. He ran up the steps into the master bedroom that he’d claimed as his own. It was not even a quarter the size of his own room at Malfoy Manor, but it was easily twice the size of the larger bedroom in the cottage he and Hermione had shared so many months ago. The adjoining bath was quite old-fashioned and probably hadn’t been remodeled in at least forty years. The addition of a shower head over the old claw-footed tub was the only major concession to modernity.

The porcelain surface was terribly cold until heated by the warmth of the falling water, so Draco pushed aside the curtain to get the taps started. He mentally corrected himself: Faucets, that’s what they call them here. Only when the water was flowing did he begin to strip out of his clothes. He’d managed to juggle a patron’s unfinished plate of linguini with red clam sauce just enough that it hadn’t hit the floor but had indeed stained his formerly crisp white shirt. Thankfully, it had been at the end of his shift. Oh, for a Scourgify spell! Instead, he’d have to soak the garment overnight in cold water and a little bleach. He had only four shirts, supplied to staff by the restaurant’s owners, so he couldn’t afford to lose one.

He looked in the full length mirror that hung against the back of the door, not exactly admiring himself, but not displeased with what he saw. His boss hadn’t been kidding about building muscles as a waiter. His chest and arms had gained a fair degree of definition and just the smallest hint of bulk during the months he’d been at this new assignment. He resisted the tiny urge to flex. What would be the point, after all?

Draco untied and toed off his black oxford shoes, then stripped off his simple black trousers, black socks, and white cotton boxers, tossing the dirty clothing into a pile for the next day’s laundry chores. He pulled back the curtain and stepped over the edge of the tub into the stream of water. He screamed like a little girl when he was hit by liquid that he’d expected to be hot but most definitely wasn’t. He jumped back out of the tub, shivering from the blast of cold. It brought him back in time to the last time he’d taken a cold shower, months ago and thousands of miles away. It was not a happy memory. He shivered this time not from the cold but from the horror in that recollection.

He wrapped a large bath towel around his waist and reached in to shut off the water. With no idea what had caused the hot water to fail, he also had no clue how to fix it. He turned on the faucet in the sink to see if he’d have a different result. To his distress, the water there was just as frigid. This was a magical house; he’d never heard of a failure of this sort. He’d have to contact someone for help. His father was the logical choice, since he was not allowed to initiate contact with anyone else in Great Britain, and he knew no magical people in Salem save for a couple of shopkeepers.

He mentally calculated the time difference; it would be about 6:30 in the morning in Wiltshire. A bit uncivilized for normal calling hours, but his father was usually an early riser. He’d take the risk. Noting his rather obvious state of undress, Draco pulled on a pair of cotton sleep pants and a t-shirt before activating the Floo connection.

“Father,” he called. “Are you available?” He was a bit surprised that the reply from Lucius Malfoy was nearly instantaneous.

“Draco! What are you doing here?” The question was a bit ungracious, Draco thought, but not entirely undue after such an early morning invasion.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, Father, but I’ve a bit of a problem that I don’t know how to handle,” he explained. Draco was surprised to hear some noise and shuffling along with some muffled voices in the background. Had he interrupted an early business meeting?

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Son. I just need to take care of something here. Won’t be but a minute,” he promised, then disconnected the Floo link.

Draco was left a bit dumbfounded. He’d clearly interrupted something at Malfoy Manor. He had no choice but to wait for his father to return his call. He paced around the room for a few minutes, trying to think about what he could do to solve his hot water problem, but without a wand in this magical building, he was truly stumped. He was most grateful when he heard the Floo re-engage and his father’s voice come through the connection.

“Draco, I’m back,” he announced. “What is your problem, Son?”

“I apologize, Father, for disturbing you so early, but I really had no one else to call. It seems that I have a magical plumbing problem. There’s no hot water here at the cottage.”

“Oh, I see. And of course, you can’t fix anything without your wand,” Lucius confirmed.

“Exactly. Is there a way to fix this without magic?” Draco wondered.

“No, I’m afraid not. There are charms that need to be periodically renewed on magical systems. The house-elves typically take care of them, but you don’t have any there with you, obviously. If you give me a moment, I’ll need to place a couple of calls to see if I can secure permission to send a house-elf to help you. Failing that, I’ll try to get an emergency international Portkey arranged so that I can come by to renew the charm myself. Either option will probably take an hour or so to accomplish. I’ll contact you over the Floo as soon as I have an answer, Draco. Just sit tight,” his father instructed.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He rather hoped that the latter option would be approved; it would be nice to have a visit, however brief, with his father. “Yes, Father. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He disconnected from the Floo and went to the sitting room to retrieve the book he’d been reading. He’d just do the things he’d originally planned, but in a different order.

Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor

“Merlin, I can’t believe he called right now, of all times!” Hermione gasped. A new contraction had begun and she was unable to speak for a moment. They had been just about to place a call to Healer Glouzgal, Hermione’s obstetrical caregiver, at the same moment Draco had made his connection. Hermione had gone into labor, almost exactly as the Healer had predicted, one week from her last visit, but about two weeks before her original due date. Louisa was ready to join the family.

“Narcissa, I’m going to need you to stay with Hermione and get her to St. Mungo’s while I deal with Draco’s problem. If I don’t help him with his request, he’ll be suspicious. I just hope that he didn’t hear anything that was going on here in the background. Regardless of how much I think he should be aware of what’s happening, right this minute is not the time to tell him. I’ve bought an hour’s time, but you should really be going now,” Lucius instructed, taking charge of the situation.

“Yes, dear, I think you’re right. Hermione and I will be fine. She won’t be ready to deliver for several hours yet. You do what you need to and I’ll place the call to St. Mungo’s. I’ve already called for the carriage, so we’ll be ready to leave momentarily.”

“I’ll use the Floo in the library so you can do what you need to here,” Lucius confirmed as he left the two women. It was the work of minutes to send an urgent message to their solicitor, Barrister Phillips, to start the petitioning process for specific aid for Draco’s little problem. Twenty minutes later, he’d received permission to secure an international Portkey. The house-elf solution had been denied due to a prohibition on cross-continental transport of non-quarantined magical creatures. He sent an owl to Narcissa to notify her that he’d be away for a couple of hours, then gathered a small hamper full of gifts and treats that had been approved for delivery. He opened the Floo connection once more to notify Draco of his impending arrival.

“Thank you, Father,” Draco breathed in relief, “I look forward to seeing you in a short while.”

“I should be there in about thirty minutes, Son,” Lucius confirmed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the delivery room at St. Mungo’s, Hermione Granger had been in labor for several hours and her baby’s arrival was imminent. Her hair and skin were damp with perspiration from the pain of the contractions and the effort of pushing. Magical potions and pain-relief spells had lessened her discomfort to some degree, but could not completely eliminate the travail of childbirth; she had to be sufficiently aware of her body to do her part in the delivery process.

“We’re almost there, Hermione,” Healer Glouzgal encouraged. “Two more ought to do the trick.”

Narcissa stood at Hermione’s shoulder, squeezing her hand and giving her moral support along with the ice chips that kept her mouth from turning to cotton. “You’re doing beautifully, dear. Our little Louisa will be with us in no time at all. I can’t wait to meet her,” the grandmother-to-be whispered.

“Now, let’s have another good push, Hermione,” Healer Glouzgal instructed. “I can see her head crowning perfectly.”

The young witch groaned with the effort, squeezing her abdominal muscles with every ounce of energy in her exhausted body. Even with the pain relievers and numbing agents, Hermione could feel the unyielding stretch of the birth canal. Thoroughly spent, she collapsed back against the immense stack of pillows and Narcissa’s welcoming arms.

“Perfect, Hermione. You can rest for a quick minute, then we’ll have one more push,” the Healer told her.

She nodded, too exhausted to speak. It was almost over. A tiny part of her lamented that she did not have the love and support of a willing and overjoyed father for her little girl. For the foreseeable future, she would need to play both parental roles. The Malfoys’ roles were less well-defined, but she did feel certain they would be active participants in their granddaughter’s life. Hermione’s woolgathering was interrupted by her Healer’s demands that she push – hard – for the final time.

“Bear down, Hermione, as hard as you can.”

With the most intense effort she’d ever mustered, Hermione pushed again, assisting the expulsion of her baby from its gestational home. Healer Glouzgal held the infant’s head as it emerged and guided her shoulders out of the birth canal. The baby’s chest, hips, and legs followed in quick succession. She was covered in blood and placental fluid, but her tiny hands and feet flailed as she tasted her first breath of air. The mediwitch assisting the Healer cut the umbilical cord, and then used a gentle cleaning spell to clear away the mucus in the newborn’s eyes, nose, and mouth. She removed the residue of amniotic fluid from Louisa’s tiny pink body while Hermione was assisted in expelling the afterbirth with one final effort. The new mother wept with exhaustion, relief, and immeasurable joy as she heard her little one’s lungs emit their first trembling wail. It was a matter of seconds before the infant was wrapped in a warm blanket and returned to her mother’s waiting arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had rarely been so happy to see anyone as he was to see his father appear via Apparation on the cottage’s back portico. Lucius was carrying a hamper, which he quickly set aside to take Draco into an embrace as the younger man greeted him at the open door.

“Father, I’m so glad to see you,” Draco said, an unmistakable quiver in his voice.

“And I, you, Son,” Lucius replied, tightening the embrace and adding a kiss on the boy’s forehead. Knowing what was happening back at St. Mungo’s had upped the ante on emotional output, and Lucius felt like he was struggling to hold back tears. Since he could count on three fingers the number of times he’d wept in the last thirty years, it would be inadvisable to show that level of emotion to his son now. He cleared his throat and grasped the back of Draco’s neck. “Now, let’s see about solving your problem. Bring that hamper in, won’t you?”

Draco stepped out of his father’s path and allowed him entry into the mudroom that connected the portico to the kitchen. He lifted the deceptively heavy hamper from where Lucius had set it down and moved it inside the back door, closing it behind him. He walked through the kitchen to join his father who had moved into the sitting room and was staring wordlessly into the fire.

“Is everything all right, Father?” Draco inquired, seeing the man’s distracted countenance.

“Hmmm? Oh, yes, Draco. Everything’s fine. Just feeling a bit travel-weary. International Portkeys have always taken a lot out of me,” Lucius assured him.

Having no evidence to the contrary, Draco accepted his father’s explanation and offered him a refreshment after his trip. “Can I make a cup of tea for you, Father? Or perhaps a butterbeer? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any firewhisky.”

“Don’t forget, Draco, it’s only about 7:30 in the morning for me. Just a touch early for libations, don’t you think?” he teased. “A cup of tea would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. Just give me a moment and I’ll set a kettle to boil,” he stated, leaving his father alone once more.

Lucius was horribly tempted to place a quick call while his son was occupied, but had no confidence that he’d be able to complete his business before his son returned. He felt fairly sure that Miss Granger would only have been at St. Mungo’s for a very short time; it might be hours more before the baby was delivered. He’d wait.

A few moments later, Draco returned with a tray laden with a china pot filled with near-boiling water and just the right amount of Earl Grey tea leaves, two earthenware mugs, and a small pitcher of milk. Neither Malfoy man took sugar in their brew. He’d found a small tin of biscuits to offer and had divided them up equally on two small plates.

“I’m sorry, Father, but I don’t really have a great selection of continental breakfast items on hand. I don’t get paid until the day after tomorrow, so I’ll not make a trip to the market until then,” he explained, embarrassed that he didn’t have more to offer.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. I’ve already had breakfast anyway, so I’m perfectly satisfied with just a lovely cup of tea. By the way, your mother sent along a number of treats for you in the hamper I asked you to retrieve. We obtained permission to give you a small selection of English delicacies that you might find it difficult to procure here in Salem. We do hope you’ll enjoy it as a little reminder of home.”

“Oh, thank you, Father. I wasn’t expecting anything, but I must say I’m most grateful. I do hope she included some crumpets. They are absolutely impossible to find here,” Draco noted.

“I do think that she included crumpets. I also saw a selection of scones, and at least one container of clotted cream. There is a good selection of tea blends, as well. I didn’t really dig through the package, but I’m sure you’ll find other items to your liking.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll be sure to call her in the next day or so to give her my thanks,” Draco said.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from you,” Lucius started. He then remembered the excitement occurring back in Wiltshire and offered a little excuse. “I do know that she has several commitments in the next few days, so you may want to wait until the weekend to contact her directly. Of course, you are always welcome to send her a note through the Floo connection. She treasures those almost as much as the moments you can actually speak to her.”

“Well, I’ll send her a note, then call her on Sunday morning. That’s my next day off after tomorrow,” he offered.

“That sounds perfect. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with both,” he agreed, noting mentally that it would buy them some time to ensure that things had settled down with Hermione and the baby.

Draco sipped his tea and leaned forward in his seat, looking at the floor between his feet. He wanted to ask questions about things in England, but was reluctant to probe too much. He wasn’t really certain what he wanted to know. Before he could edit himself, he blurted out a question, “How is everyone back home?”

“Everyone?”

“Uh, yes, you know, people from school, old friends. Everyone,” Draco hedged.

“Everyone is fine, I suppose,” Lucius needled, lifting a blond eyebrow in amusement. He hadn’t been born yesterday; if Draco wanted to know about someone in particular, he’d have to come out and ask.

“Good. That’s… good,” Draco replied, nodding his head in a pretty good imitation of a Muggle bobblehead doll. “How’s business?”

“Fine. We added a couple of new accounts last month.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Draco fell silent.

“Draco, if there’s something you want to know, you need to ask it. I’ll not be using Legilimency on you today,” Lucius stated.

The younger wizard sighed and sat back in his chair. “It annoys me that you know me so well, Father,” he groused.

“It’s easy; you’re so like your mother,” he observed, chuckling.

“Fine. I’ve been thinking a lot about Granger lately. Wondering how she was doing. Have you heard from her?”

Ooh, that was going to be a complicated answer, Lucius winced internally. “As far as I know, she’s been well. I know your mother has been in contact with her somewhat often.” That was the truth, mostly. “Is there a reason that you ask?”

Draco shrugged. “My therapist often asks me questions about how I feel about her and what happened. I think it’s because she’s the only one of my victims that I really knew, and the only attack about which I have very clear memories, at least of the aftermath. Since she comes up so often in those discussions, I wonder about her now and again,” he answered, not unreasonably.

“I suppose that’s normal.” Lucius wanted to talk about almost anything but Hermione Granger. He needed to steer this conversation away from this track quickly, but not so abruptly that it piqued his son’s curiosity. “If you like, I’ll see if I can arrange to have her contact you with a letter.” That ought to do it.

“No! I mean, that won’t be necessary, Father. I was just a little curious.”

“Whatever you wish, Son.” Phew, Stunner dodged.

“How long do you have before you need to go back?” Draco wondered.

“Ready to get rid of me so soon?” Lucius teased.

“Not at all, Father. I just didn’t want to create any problems.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I have about another hour before I need to be ready for the return Portkey. It will only take about five minutes to renew the systems spells. If you like, I’ll check all the wards and protections as well.”

“That would be great. I’ll be able to handle those things once I get my wand back in three months, but as you well know, I’m basically useless right now.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Draco. You’re learning some important lessons about responsibility, and maturity, and self-reliance. These will be very useful to you in life. It’s just as important, though, to know when to ask for help. You’ve done well there, too. I may not say it often, but I’m very proud of you, Draco. You will get through this, and you will build a good life for yourself someday, I’m quite certain.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, Father, but I have a long way to go and an awful lot to learn,” Draco observed.

“Your acknowledgement of that is proof of the progress you’ve already made,” Lucius asserted.

“It’s just that… sometimes I still feel like I’m so…young in my head, but my soul feels ancient,” he explained.

Lucius didn’t really know how to respond to that statement. He could understand it, particularly knowing how much of his son’s life had been co-opted by two people with such twisted agendas. He watched the young man’s eyes, searching for something that would give him a clue to the wisdom his son needed to hear. He found pain there, and sadness, and the faintest glimmer of hope. That, he could grasp.

“The wonderful thing about being young, Draco, is that you are allowed to grow up. Your soul will wait for you to catch up, I promise. When you find more equilibrium between the two, you’ll be able to create the life you want. Don’t rush it; you’ve got two more years here, and that time will help you to heal and to grow. In many ways, it’s a great gift. My hope for you is that you’ll exploit it to its fullest.”

“I’m trying, Father. I suppose that’s the best I can do for now.”

“Of course it is. You’re working with a Healer that you trust, right?” Lucius found the confirmation he’d hoped for in Draco’s affirmative nod. “Then take full advantage of the ways he can help you. I’d hate to see the fees I’m paying him go for naught,” he needled, allowing a slight grin to appear as he cuffed his son on the shoulder.

“Trust me, Father, I’ve fully learned the lesson of not wasting anything, especially money,” Draco affirmed. He rose from his seat as his father had done.

“Let’s see to getting all the systems put to rights, then we can finish our visit. I want to be sure everything is functioning properly before I take my leave,” Lucius recommended.

“Is there somewhere in the building that you have to be in order to perform the reinforcing spells correctly?” Draco wondered.

“Not particularly, but I generally would recommend the kitchen or a bath, because it allows you to quickly confirm that everything is in order.”

“May I accompany you? I’d like to learn what the spells are so that should I need to update them at some point, I’ll be able,” Draco noted.

“Certainly. But it’s unlikely that you’ll need to do anything during your remaining time here. Most of these systems spells last for up to ten years. It’s apparently been that long since this property was used, that’s why they failed you.”

“Still, I’d like to learn. You never know where else the knowledge might be useful.”

“Quite so,” Lucius agreed. “Let’s get to the kitchen and get you set to rights.”

Ten minutes and seven spells later, Draco thanked his father for both his assistance and his instruction. The time had come, however, for Lucius to leave. His Portkey would activate in less than five minutes.

“It was so good to see you, Father, even for such a brief time. It can get a little lonesome here,” he noted.

“I’m sure that’s true, and your mother and I miss you as well. Let’s be certain to continue calling each other through the Floo, even if it’s only a five-minute conversation. I know it sets your mother’s mind easy, and I’ll confess that it does me no harm, either,” he admitted, squeezing his son’s shoulders affectionately. “We’ll both see you in just a couple of weeks. I know your mother is most anxious to see you again. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t release you from her embrace for an hour or two.”

“I’d welcome it, Father. I look forward to your visit.” He hesitated a moment before speaking again. “If you do happen to see Miss Granger, please do tell her that I was asking after her health, and that I wish her well.”

“I’ll be sure to do that for you, Draco. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that you were considering her.” Lucius checked his pocket watch; he had less than a minute before the Portkey would whisk him away. “It’s time, Draco. I’ll speak with you no later than tomorrow.”

Draco raised his hand in farewell, and watched as his father disappeared before his eyes. Turning back into the cottage, he headed to the bathroom to finally take the hot shower he’d been craving. As he looked at the grandfather clock in the hallway, he noted that it was nearly 3:00 in the morning. It had been a very long day; he had no doubt that he’d be sleeping in well past noon.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Consequences and Complexities

Chapter 2 – Birth