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Balaur	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 23
- 24
“Thank you all for coming. With this check, I’m proud to announce the opening of the ‘Golden Trio Pediatric Mental Health Clinic’ at Hogwarts — the ‘Granger’ for short.” the handsome philanthropist concluded as the larger-than-needed cardboard check passed to a primly smiling Poppy Pomfrey, who would oversee the new facility.

Behind Draco, at the podium, stood the George Weasleys, the Charlie Weasleys, the Ronald Weasleys, the Neville Longbottoms, the Harry Potters and Mrs. Draco Malfoy. The clinic represented the culmination of all their desires for those still fighting the war in their heads.
Draco first broached the idea with Luna, who expressed concern over the numbers of children with special needs being turned away due to inadequate facilities and insufficient beds for inpatient services. The idea spread amongst them until it became reality.

War veterans — who’d been child soldiers themselves — seldom found mundane impediments (like money) a problem.

“In addition to the people you see here on the stage, I want to thank my wife for giving me the courage to seek out professional support,” he continued, “With this addition, children attending Hogwarts will have access to quality treatment throughout their schooling. Thank you for your generous donations and enjoy the evening!”

Moving en masse, the Weasley gang (blood, married and “adopted”) huddled up around a tiny blonde witch whose wand swung in tight, quick arcs to ensure adults — not far removed from fighting — didn’t tussle for possession of the priceless artifacts.

“She’ll have my chin, amant,” the big Roma noted as the tiny picture of an unborn child frolicked in the tiny space.
“She should — you fathered her,” his husband laughed back.

Luna carried twins, one conceived at the hospital in Babadag’s Roma health clinic using fertility spells unknown to wizarding Britain. When she delivered, their surrogate would make Vlad and Charlie fathers to a little girl. The fetus’ twin, a boy, would join his brothers at the Longbottom household. Charlie planned to move in with Neville and Luna, for the first eight weeks after the birth, to care for their daughter. Thus the true reason for Luna’s application of multiple fertility boosters became clear to the group. How she’d managed to conceive by two different fathers perplexed the healers at her job to this day.

“You sure she doesn’t have Neville’s chin? Neville and Luna don’t get out much — if you take my meaning,” Ron jibed as Neville went scarlet. The ginger git was telling the truth about their intimate habits.

Harry got one in on his best friend and brother-in-law — “You should talk, Ron. You’re about to have three sprogs under five years old in your house,”
Hannah snaked an arm through Ron’s, letting a satisfied smile settle on her face. She had no complaints about their situation.

“And for your information, Ronald, I have taken that paternity potion myself. I can assure you it worked. Draco’s a more than competent potions’ master.”

Ginny, sloughing down her 15th or 30th cup of effervescent liquid to quiet son number 2’s effect on her tummy, managed a grin around her nausea before ribbing the sensitive Slytherin in their den —

“— except for that conception po—”

A seriously hacked potions master cut Harry’s ginger wife off before his own wife joined in haranguing him for the second time this evening.

“The paternal identification potion WORKS, Weaslette. JUST ASK MY WIFE,” the petulant executive defended to the barely contained laughter infecting the group.
“How would she know?" Ginny shot back, "That baby won’t be here for months. Could be Ron's or Harry's ba—”
“I know; my muggle obstetric— shite!”

The loopy expectant mother meant to keep that bit of second opinion gathering a secret and Ginny Potter knew it.

“Baby, I wasn’t checking up on your potion. Really. Draco?… Honey?…” Hermione soothed and placated with tone and expression.

It had no impact on her put-upon and shocked spouse. His look completely communicated it would be a loooong night once they returned to their suite in the Manor. Attentions drawn to the overly-sensitive prat she’d married, Hermione missed the arrival of Kreacher with Bali, Prima, Rolf, Wolf and Fred the Second.

“If I may have everyone’s attention,” a vigorous voice, behind all of them, spoke, “please take your seats. Thank you.”

A dead man’s request moved the attendees quickly to their seats. This portion of the evening, unlike the invitation-only inauguration of the new special services wing, was open to the all in the British wizarding community. While the reporters and the curious milled their way to seats in the Great Hall, the George Weasleys, the Longbottoms and the Malfoys herded themselves and their broods to the podium to join the current (living) and two former (deceased) headmasters.

“Ladies and gentlemen… I cannot express my pleasure at the productivity of our most recent groups of graduates. I have no doubt that Hogwarts will thrive with so many young witches and wizards coming into our community each year.”

Chuckles rippled through the audience as the intimate meaning of Dumbledore’s “productivity” comment became clear. Magical births at St. Mungo’s for under 40-year-olds were off the charts.

“To that end, for the past four years Hogwarts has enjoined young parents in our community to provide early education services to particularly gifted young children. Our first student, Balaur Malfoy, has finished over two years of schooling. He has been joined in our experimental early learner program by his sister, Rolf and Wolf Longbottom and soon by Fred Weasley the Second.”
“I’m Fred!” George’s boy called out to a round of good-natured laughing.
“Quite true, you are. I am honored to announce that, thanks to a generous endowment by Hermione Granger-Malfoy, Hogwarts will be formalizing its commitment to talented youths through its new full-day —”

Bali!

Around them, the walls of the venerated castle melted into transparency, revealing the Scottish highlands and the burial mound for Hogwarts' fallen to the now frantic parents searching for the cause.
Hermione knew the source of the castle alterations but not the reason.

“Prima — baby, what’s wrong!?” a frightened mother asked, fearful that the remnants of war had found her children.

I see ‘em!
There’s three of them! Hurry, Bali!

“Son!? Balaur — whatever you’re doing is frightening your mother and sister, please stop!” his agitated father commanded his heir, with no clue to the basis for the child’s focused stare and rigid posture.

As the last of the room’s walls disappeared and the furniture (transfigured for the gala from the normal tables and benches) evaporated before them, three figures levitated until they floated six-feet above the ancient tile flooring.

Take off their disguises, Prima a calm, emotionless wizard directed his sister.

Polyjuiced features slammed back to their original form at lightening speed as the suspended magical beings bawled in pain from the sudden transformation.
Before them hung John Dawlish, Sanguini and Albert Runcorn, mouths agape to let loose evidence of the trauma two small children inflicted on them.
Heedless of her belly, Hermione knelt before her son, pleading for an explanation of their attack.

“Bali, sweetheart. You’re hurting them,” she spoke to calm his unexplained violence towards the three, “tell me what’s happening. Please?”
“They came to hurt us, Mummy,” Prima responded, as Bali was consumed, “They think the new school will train an army to overthrow pure-bloods. They think that Pa-pa’s a-a-a blood traitor like Aunt Ginny and Uncle George and they want to hurt — K-K-KILL — you for starting this school.”
“Minerva, if you’ll see to the families and clear the hall please?…”

The chemistry between the living headmistress and the dead headmaster made for the efficient removal of the children and their mothers. Ginny pushed Harry ahead of her, arguing that his skills were needed to protect the children. Her compassionate lie saved the auror from choices his healer, who waddled along in front of him, hadn't cleared him to make.
Reacting to the hatred he read from his captives, Bali dove none-to-gently into their minds to search for pain inducers he had no prior knowledge of — and immediately applied them to the Death Eater assassination squad.

“Sweetheart, whatever they’re thinking, your father and I can handle but you have to release them. Bali? Please let them down…”
“Young Master Malfoy?”

The voice coaxed a reply from the boy who teetered on the razor’s edge of a life-changing decision.

“Yes, Uncle Albus?”
“Aunt Molly and I have discussed the war with you. You know who Lord Voldemort —”
“Shut your fucking yapper, you mudblood-loving shite! You’re not worthy to speak his AHHH!!!”

Runcorn arched as both shoulder sockets cracked, leaving his arms to dangle like a rag dolls. Pain silenced his rebuke of the portrait.
Magic wafted between the siblings. Prima cried and sweated in equal amounts as she shored up her brother’s power over his captives. The magic ceiling drained of color as it retracted to display dusk settling over the castle under the uncontrolled magic broadcast by the little girl.

“You know who he was and what he did. Think carefully, you and Prima. Do you believe Voldemort had a right to commit all the harm he did?”

Dumbledore had no doubt the child processed a very polysyllabic sentence.

“No…”

With the merest tilting of his head, Bali considered where his favorite teacher (who let him have all the lemon drops he could hold when he worked really hard at his studies) was going with this line of reasoning.

“I know these… individuals — we won’t call them ‘men’ — intended to hurt your family. What do you think should happen to them?”

An image, plucked from Sanguini’s head, juxtaposed his sister with the vampire’s teeth sunk into her neck while she screamed.

“You won’t hurt my family…” Bali gutted out through gritted teeth.

Fingertips snapped and bone poked through the tips of the vampire's dangling appendages. This technique had been a favorite of Sanguini’s when “turning” a victim into an undead. The bleeding digits served as straws.

“Draco? Some assistance, please?” the old professor requested of his student.

The man-child shielded his pregnant mother from any harm with his own body; their enemies still held contemptuous opinions of her and planned to heap debauched abuses on her — all visible in their thoughts.

“Draco, please!,” Hermione begged, “Please, stop him!”

Leaning over, Draco confessed to his son his kinship with the Death Eaters writhing in mid-air.

“Înainte de nașterea ta, am fost unul dintre ei. Am bruscat și urât pe mama ta, pentru că părinții ei erau Încuiați, nu vrăjitori. Am rănit-o, Bali. Și ea ma iertat. Pe brațul meu este dovada lucrurilor îngrozitoare le-am făcut. Pe brațul ei este o dovadă a rănit am cauzat-o. Dar tu, fiule ... Tu trăiești pentru că ea ma iertat și ma iubit. Tu o dovada vie a dragostei ei pentru mine, ceea ce ma învățat despre dragoste. Te rog, Bali. Să fie mai inteligent decât mine; lasa Unchiul Harry să le ia la închisoare - nu devin ceea ce sunt… ceea ce am folosit pentru a fi. [Before your birth, I was one of them. I bullied and hated your mother because her parents were muggles, not wizards. I hurt her, Bali. And she forgave me. On my arm is proof of the awful things I did. On her arm is proof of the hurt I caused her. But you, son... You live because she forgave me and loved me. You are living proof of her love for me, what she taught me about love. Please, Bali. Be smarter than me; let Uncle Harry take them to prison - don't become what they are…. what I used to be.]”
“Te vor face rău, tată - vor răni mama dacă am lăsat să plece! [They’ll hurt you, Pa-pa — they’ll hurt Mum if I let them go!]”

Bali, I’m scared! They’ll hurt us!

Heartbreak and fear ran down the boy’s face in a torrent while the choice laid before him crashed through his mind.

“Nu, fiule. Ei vor face dreptate. Vă promit nu o voi lăsa pe mama ta ORICINE rănit sau tu și Prima. Vă promit,, copil-balaur. Lasă-i sa plece. [No, son. They will get justice. I promise you I will NEVER let ANYONE hurt your mother or you and Prima. I promise you, Dragon-child. Let them go.]”

In the end, the world returned to them quietly as the boy with his mother’s heart made a decision.

Bali???
It’s okay, Prima. I’ll protect you.

The supremacists landed hard on the floor. The crowds cheered as they stepped over the returning walls (quickly, to avoided being crushed) and placed themselves in the returning furniture. Still hardened by the war, most had not retreated; instead, they’d stayed to witness the most impressive display of magic used on Death Eaters since Dumbledore died.
Their only daughter sought out her father’s arms for safety and their young dragon snuggled against his mother’s belly, leaving a huge wet spot.

“I’m not a monster, Mummy! I’m not — I’m NOT!”
“Shhh… You’re not a monster, sweetheart. My sweet boy…” his sobbing mother agreed.

In the end, Dumbledore — never one to waste an opportunity — brought the families back to the dais (after Harry and Ron secured the Death Eaters), yanked pensieve memories (painfully) from the prisoners and dragged them to the Main Hall for transfer to a determined Auror Zabini and an angry Auror MacMillan.

“Just a moment more of your time and we’ll all have some wine — we’ve certainly earned it.”

When the families chuckled at the painting’s humorous quip, albeit nervously, the audience wholeheartedly join them.

“I was about to announce that Hogwarts will be starting a day school program for children who show prodigious magical talent. As you all can now attest, never has there been a greater need to teach our best young witches and wizards to have compassion and practice forgiveness — and to learn control of the many talents they’ve been born with. And with that, I hope you’ll all stay for refreshments…”

“You’re quiet, Princess…”

In the huge four-poster bed lay Bali and Prima, centered between their father and the empty space their mother should have occupied.
Moonlight and dimmed candles kept the room from darkness. Each of them feared what murkiness would force into their dreams.

“He’s powerful… More so than I suspected. Molly tried to —”
“Don’t go there, Lioness. He made the right choice. That’s what’s important. Scared shiteless — both of them — and he made the right choice. You’ve raised him well.”
“He’s six, Dragon, not seventeen. We’re not done yet. And I’m not his only parent.”
“At his age, I would have tortured Dawlish and the others. Possibly killed them.”
“No… I don’t believe you would —”
“At barely seventeen I raped you because Voldemort SAID to. Didn’t try to help you escape. Didn’t try to get you help… I know what I am, Hermione.”
“Were. What you were. I heard what you told Bali. Admitting your mistakes to the son who worships you… That’s brave, Dragon. That takes courage.”

Sliding behind her allowed him to embrace his wife and her ripe belly.

“You taught me, Lioness.”
“Harry said the same thing. Should I open a school for gits and prats after the baby comes?”
“Isn’t endowing one school enough?”
“I’m not certain… I got an owl from Minerva.”
“Yeah? What’s the old crone want?”
“Be nice. She wants me to resign from running our potions business to teach at the day school.”

That kind of job would co-locate her with their children every day and get her home for dinner every night.

“When did you receive it?”
“This morning. I tossed it. Imagine me giving up my business. That would be positively un-Malfoy.”
“Father would certainly disown you — after he collected a penalty fee for lost profits. You’ve clearly changed your mind.”
“What happened tonight… What Dumbledore said — not tonight, but in some of our private meetings. He’s trying to spot and re-educate the next Voldemort before our grandchildren have to go through this again. I-I-I didn’t believe him until I watched Bali.…”
“Hermione —”
“No, Draco — hear me out. In that bed are two children capable of continuing or destroying what you and I fought to save.”
“You fought…”
“I won’t argue the point. Molly and Minerva have been mothering him since infancy. They’re as much the reason he heard you as we are. They knew he would be dangerous without a gentle heart. Bali and Prima have this large extended family to guide them. How many other Balis are out there, struggling because the problems from the war aren’t really over for them? How many of them need help to make the right decisions?”

She’d made up her mind.

“Before or after?”
“As you like to say — ‘Speak English’, husband.”
“Before or after you have the baby? And will this be our last?”

She sighed before answering.

“I’ll speak to Minerva tomorrow when I drop the children off for school. I’d like to teach two classes a day — no more than three. That will give me time with you and the children.”
“Glad you remembered me.”
“You’re the lynchpin. You’re the best example I have of turning one’s life around for the good. I’m so proud of you —”

Lips descended on her neck while the Gryffindor Princess figured out how they’d make love with their son and daughter nearby; leaving the room was not an option tonight.

“— and I’m lucky you married me. I love you, Dragon.”
“George and I will handle the business. Go and keep another Dark Lord from growing up to ruin other people’s carpets — and dining room tables.”
“Your a prat, Malfoy.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Will this be our last?”
“Depends. If I can get my old rooms back, do you mind living at Hogwarts during the week?”
“Three bedrooms — one for boys, one for girls and a silenced one with a swinging bar over the bed for us. That will work.”
“You're a pervert, Malfoy!”
“Yeah, I know…” and he charmed her nightgown onto the floor.
________________________
AN:
Inverclacky: I ALWAYS want to hear how I can improve. I write without a betamostly so feedback really helps. If you leave a detailed review -or- email me at two-ff at hotmail dot com, I'm happy to discuss my inent and listen to where I failed. Thanks for caring enough to review.
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Balaur