Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
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Hours later, the aborted dinner at the Weasleys transitioned to an aborted reconciliation between Hermione and Ron at Malfoy Manor.

Bali swirled, agitated by his mother’s anticipatory anxiety over the coming confrontation. Harry refereed heated discussions between the principals until Draco revealed his role in the apparent non-consensual conception of his son and stated his fervent intent to be a father to the product of their coupling. Her best friends glared as Draco saw to her comfort (as if they were a couple) — Ron’s jealousy still undecided whether it most hated Draco’s wealth, looks, privilege or the fact that the Death Eater had stolen Hermione away and ruined something that had once been pledged only to him.

An emotionally disfigured and drunken Ron Weasley lashed out impulsively and triggered the blood protections in the Manor — but not before Draco and Bali cast powerful protective charms around Hermione while she implored Ron to understand that wars have casualties other than death. Fred’s fate seemed almost unfairly compassionate by comparison.

“Get off your feet, Granger,” Draco instructed as he situated Hermione himself, retrieving a drink for her from the sideboard bar.

“Leave her be, Malfoy — you’ve done enough.”

“Ron, please try to understand. Without Draco’s help, Fenrir would’ve —”

“Better a werewolf than Malfoy’s slut!”

“Ron —” Harry interjected.

“No — let him talk, Potter. Let Hermione hear how her ‘best friend’ thinks she’s a slag for not wanting to become a werewolf’s mate. I thought all you Gryffindor’s were bleeding heart buggers but it appears I was wrong. Should’ve been a Slytherin after all, eh Weaslebee?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy! You should've killed that half-breed mental case!”

Another spell flew across the room, deflected harmlessly by the Manor’s recognition of the Malfoy blood carried in Hermione’s body.

“And you —” Ron rounded on Hermione, “you’re the best of us! How is it you got caught in the first place!?”

“Because you LEFT! Harry and I were lucky to eat more than a few times a week or sleep more than every TWO DAYS. I was EXHAUSTED and SLOW setting the wards!”

“Hermione…” Harry begged, “it wasn't your doing —”

“That’s what Ron thinks! Don’t you!? I must have WANTED to be captured and RAPED, right?”

“Hermione, this isn’t your fault — it’s mine,” Draco pleaded, heartsore at the merciless sacrifice of her self-esteem.

“She’s right, Ferret! Never seen Hermione bested in a duel. How many were there? Six? Eight? You fought off more shiteheads than that at Gringotts but couldn’t manage a few Snatchers!?”

“Ron — shut up! This is Hermione you’re talking about!” Harry shouted.

“Leave it, Harry. He isn’t saying anything I hadn’t thought of myself. Ah-Ah-Ah!” she cringed, clutching her belly.

“Hermione!?”

“What’s happening, Malfoy? Is she okay?”

“My son’s upset — he’s hurting her. Hermione? Please — you’ve done nothing wrong except pick this wanker as a friend. Don’t blame yourself…”

“Serves her right…” came in a slurred mutter from the bar area.

“Malfoy’s right, luv. Isn’t your fault. Ron’s just brassed off, aren’t you Ron?”

“Fucking right I am! My girlfriend — the ‘brightest witch of her age’ — managed to get caught and fucked by Draco Malfoy and his Death Eater cronies! We were supposed to get married, have kids together! Now look at her! She’s carrying his bastard around!!”

“If I could go back, I would. I’d stop you from leaving. I’d figure out Dumbledore’s clues faster. I’d kill Voldemort myself when I walked into the Manor. But I didn’t because I couldn’t and I’m SORRY, Ron! This is NOT what I’d planned for our lives.”

“Just…,” Ron whinged, pacing aimlessly near the fireplace with his free hand running through his sweat-sticky hair, “get rid of it. No one knows except my family. Get rid of it and come home. It’ll be alright — we’ll pretend it never happened.”

“No matter how it ‘happened’, this child is half mine.”

“And half that rich rat bastard’s! He doesn’t want it or you, Hermione! You’re a ‘mudblood' whore to this pure-blood prat!”

“There’s where you’re wrong, Weasel. No one will hurt my son or his mother while I’m alive.”

Ron sent a sharp retort with a lopsided sneer — “No problem fixing that, Ferret.”

The situation couldn’t get more surreal: Voldemort’s reluctant Junior Death Eater unintentionally succeeded where his “master” failed; pure-bloods hanging in living portraits around the stately salon witnessed the “Golden Trio” rip itself to shreds.

“We should go, Ron, before you say something really stupid.”

“Hermione — choose. Right here; right now! That bastard you’re breeding or me. Which is it?”

“This is my CHILD, Ronald!”

“We can have another — right away if you want! We’ll get started as soon as you flush that THING you’re carrying down the crapper!”

The irate ginger threw back more of Draco’s top shelf fyrewhiskey, missing most of his mouth.

“What a HORRID request to make of me! ”

“That’s it! We’re leaving. You’re plastered, Ron,” — and Harry hustled in the direction of his best mate and the nearest floo — “Take care of her, Malfoy.”

“I mean to, Potter; BOTH of them.”

“Shut up, you dark fuck! Hermione? Just cast the spell and we can go home…”

“Ron, you don’t mean that…” she whispered.

“Fine. You made your choice — your bastard over your boyfriend.”

“C’mon, let’s go back to the Burrow.”

“What makes you think I’d let her kill my son, Queasley?” Draco jabbed at Ron’s retreating form, “He’s heir to the Malfoy fortune — and a better wizard now than your bumbling arse will ever be.”

“Malfoy, stay out of this,” Harry growled in a low voice, “— don’t make it worse,”.

“Fuck you, Ferret!” and the final spell shot away from Ron’s wand before Harry could stop it.

The intended target of Ron’s anger and hexes wasn’t clear to Hermione or Harry. Draco and Bali, however, had no doubt who a despondent and drunken Ron Weasley had aimed at.

After succumbing to the locket’s influence concerning Harry and Hermione, Ron’s angry tears confirmed that he’d again lost his sure bet — this time to his second worst enemy: his second cousin once removed.

Every war created its own twisted casualties…

…..

In an effort to push the abrupt dissolution of her friendship with Ron behind her, Hermione asked — and Draco reluctantly acquiesced — to give her space to work through this most tender war loss. He’d had no contact with her in almost two weeks; The moody father-to-be now spent his days and nights heading the family business, Malfoy Enterprises, trying to work himself to exhaustion (and succeeding admirably).

Two unanswered floo calls led to one additional floo call and a drastic change in the lives of those living in the Romanian farmhouse.

Two innocent contacts — one from Molly to confirm the final colors of the nursery and one from Narcissa asking permission to have the Malfoy heirloom rocker delivered — went unanswered. Each grandmother let concern percolate, calming their instinct to panic for an hour before contacting the other.

Upon arriving in Romania together they unleashed behavior that allowed Hell to break loose.

Mrs. Weasley and Lady Malfoy found Hermione collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain while clutching her belly and sobbing uncontrollably, begging her son to stop hurting her. Tears did not slow the elder women’s coordinated reactions to the crisis unfolding before them. Molly assisted the distressed expectant mother up from the floor and stepped through the main floor floo headed for Hermione's bedroom, supporting her adopted daughter and cooing to soothe her —

“Let’s get you back to bed, dear, then we’ll get Ivona here right away.”

— while Narcissa floo’d the Malfoy family Healer and Draco in rapid succession. To avoid being shredded by the home’s security wards, Armstrong bounced through the Manor before entering the Romanian farmhouse’s living area and taking the stairs to Hermione’s bedroom two at a time. The healer’s footsteps mingled with new noises from Ivona — the midwife — who apparated directly to her patient after the alert from Molly’s patronus. Broadcasting tranquility she manufactured for her grandson’s benefit, Narcissa ascended the steps herself, using the intervening time to lock the placid expression on her face.

In the bedroom suite, Hell sent violent kicks and punches into the vital organs of the very pregnant witch whose baby grew more and more frightened at his father’s extended absence…

*____________

Author's Note:

wudelfin: Thank you. I spent a lot of time getting the words and the sentiment written. Hope it came across as poignantly as I tried to write it.
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Balaur