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Consequences and Complexities	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16322 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7 – Growth

Previously –

“Are you saying that you’d have rather that been the case? That you don’t want Louisa?”Narcissa pressed.

“I didn’t say that at all. Regardless of the way she was conceived, she is my flesh and blood, and I have no desire nor plan to reject her. I’m trying to figure out why she was so important to you. What are you not telling me?” Draco insisted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Draco, you must understand that we’ve had nearly three years to bond with both Hermione and Louisa. You will always be first in our hearts, but we’ve made room for two more people, one of whom is of our own flesh and blood as much as she is yours. Louisa is our family’s future, regardless of how she came to be.”

Having rarely heard his mother speak with such vehemence and passion about another person, Draco was at a loss for how to respond. What made the situation that much more unusual was his father’s unspoken confirmation and support of his mother’s position. He’d even seen the man nod in affirmation. He wondered briefly whether these were the same parents who’d raised him. He still felt there was something left unsaid, but he’d had enough stress for one day; there would be time to revisit the topic later.

“I have no doubt that you love Louisa, and that you’ve become very fond of Gran… Hermione. I have no issue with that; in fact, I think it’s a good thing. Grandparents should be thoroughly enamored of their grandchildren. It just seems to me that there’s more to the story. I’m not questioning your attachment to either of them. I do know that you don’t do much without multiple layers and reasons, and though your focus on securing the claim seems reasonable, I have no doubt that you have something more in mind.”

“Draco, I promise you that the only thing we have in mind is ensuring that the Malfoy line continues. Securing Louisa’s claim has done that. There’s nothing more to say,” Lucius assured him.

Draco peered at his father intently. He had no evidence to the contrary, so he’d accept his father’s assertion for now. “As you say, Father. I’ll speak with you later. I’d like to go spend a little time with my daughter,” he reminded them, and left the study with his shoulders squared.

Narcissa pinned her husband with a stare. “He’s not going to appreciate our meddling in his affairs, you know. He’s not the malleable boy he was eight years ago.”

Lucius smiled, not the kind expression that he wore more often these days, but one of a more predatory sort. “I beg to differ, dear, not so much on his malleability but on his level of appreciation should we be successful. I have a suspicion that he’ll be quite grateful, at least in the long run.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had found Louisa wide awake and happily playing in her bed with her charmed stuffed unicorn. She lifted the toddler, whose arms were firmly wrapped around the neck of the squirming toy, over the safety rails and onto the plush, soft pink carpeting that covered the nursery’s floor.

“Mummy! Play time now?”

“Yes, sweetheart, we can have some play time. I want you to be a very good girl for Mummy, because your Papa is going to be having play time with us too.”

“Don’t know Papa,” she replied, some trepidation obvious in the deep frown that creased her pale brow. Her coloring was so like Draco’s that Hermione still marveled that anyone recognized the child as her own.

“Not yet, no. But Papa is home from far away now, and he’s going to be spending some time to get to know you better.”

“Okay,” she replied, her obedient nature still intact. The “terrible twos” hadn’t quite manifested yet, and with parents as opinionated and volatile as hers, the likelihood of a calm transition into greater independence was slim. “Pépère said.”

“Did he?” Hermione confirmed. Now, that comes as no surprise, she mused. “What did Pépère tell you, mon chou?”

“Papa come. Pretty pictures.”

“He showed you pictures of Papa?”

“Uh huh. Pretty pictures,” she repeated.

Hermione had to chuckle. All pictures that moved were “pretty” to Louisa. The few remaining Muggle photographs that Hermione had of her deceased family members had been shared many times, but never elicited quite the same reaction as the Wizarding variety. She hoped that the child’s appreciation of the other type would grow as she matured.

“That’s nice. Do you remember that Mummy showed you some pictures too?”

“Yes. On the wall, Mummy.”

“That’s right. I showed you the pictures of Papa when he was little, and when he was growing up. He’s a big man now, like Pépère.”

“Big! Like Pépère. Look like Pépère.”

“Yes, Louisa, he does look a lot like Pépère. That’s because he’s Pépère’s son, just like you are my daughter.”

“Pépère is a Mummy too?” Louisa tested her understanding.

“No, honey, Pépère is not a Mummy. He’s a Papa. Mémère is a Mummy.”

“Mémère is Pépère’s Mummy.”

“No, Mémère is Papa’s Mummy.”

“Pépère is Papa,” Louisa asserted confidently.

“Oh, honey, I think this is still a little too complicated for you. How about we just say this? Pépère is Pépère, Mémère is Mémère, Mummy is Mummy, and Papa is Papa. We’ll worry about familial links another time,” Hermione sighed.

“Well done, Granger. Now even I’m confused,” Draco said as he watched the two females from the spot he’d claimed, leaning against the doorframe.

Resolving not to take offense in his teasing, Hermione turned to face her daughter’s father. “I’d be happy to let you clarify all of that, Papa. Be my guest, if you wish,” she invited, keeping her tone as light and teasing as his had been.

“Ohhh, nooo. Not ready for that, by a long shot,” he admitted. “May I join you?”

“Of course. I was just telling Louisa that her Papa was coming to spend some time, and we just discovered that Pépère has been showing her pictures of you in anticipation of your arrival.”

“Ah. Good to know that I wasn’t completely forgotten,” Draco noted.

“Hey, that’s not entirely fair. I showed her pictures of you, too. Just not the same ones that your father showed her, apparently.”

“I was wondering why he insisted on taking pictures of me whenever he and Mother came to visit. Here’s the explanation.”

“I had no idea that he’d done that. I’m not upset by it, but I honestly didn’t know. I suppose it was a good idea – helped to pave the way, so to say.”

“I’m sure that’s all he had in mind,” Draco drawled, certain he’d discovered another tiny link in the mystery about whatever scheme his parents were attempting to execute. “Whatever his motivation, at least I’m not entirely unfamiliar to her. I’ll take that as a positive step.”

“I will as well; in fact, I wish I’d thought of it.”

Draco nodded but said nothing more for the moment. His attention was now diverted to the toddler sitting on the floor, looking at both of her parents with rapt interest. He met her wide grey eyes with a smile. “Hi, Louisa. My name is Draco, and I’m your Papa. Would it be okay with you if I sat on the floor next to you?”

“Drake Opapa can sit.” At her invitation, Draco lowered himself into a cross-legged position and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to get as close to the child’s level as he could.

“You can just call him ‘Papa’ if you like, Louisa,” Hermione suggested.

A head of blonde curls shook back and forth. “No. Drake Opapa. He said.” A tiny pink finger pointed at the man who was nearly three times her height.

“Pointing is not polite, Louisa. But since ‘he said,’ I guess it should be his decision,” Hermione relented. “What will it be, sir?” she asked with an amused grin.

“I think that Louisa can call me anything she wishes. But how about we turn it around the other way? Can you say ‘Papa Draco?’” he asked the tyke.

This time, the blonde curls bobbed up and down. “Papa Drake.”

“Close enough for me,” he confirmed.

Hermione shrugged. “Do you want some time alone with her?” Though they’d agreed to have joint visits at the outset, she recognized the import of Draco wanting to bond with the girl.

“I don’t know that any of us are ready for that yet. Stick around, and we’ll see how it goes,” he offered.

Hermione accepted Draco’s invitation by sitting on the floor with the man and their daughter. “Probably a wise decision,” she agreed.

Draco gave her a tight smile and turned his attention back to Louisa. “So who’s this little guy?” he asked, indicating the stuffed unicorn that was galloping in circles around her.

“Girl! It’s Pennalopy.”

Draco glanced at Hermione for translation.

“It’s her way of saying ‘Penelope,’ though I have no earthly idea where she ever heard it,” she shared, sotto voce, raising her brow to mark another moment of the toddler’s precociousness.

“Ah. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t notice the pink collar, which so clearly indicates that she’s a girl,” he apologized solemnly to the child. “Is she your best friend?”

“No. Best toy. James my best friend.”

Draco nodded and said, “That’s great.” To Hermione, he whispered, “Who’s James?”

“Harry and Luna’s little boy. He’s about eight months younger than Louisa.”

“Potter and Lovegood? No shit!”

“Bad word, Papa Drake,” Louisa scolded, her lower lip protruding in a tiny pout.

“I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t say it again,” he pledged, flushing with amusement and the tiniest bit of embarrassment at having been called out by the girl.

“What did I tell you? She’ll push you,” Hermione reminded him.

“You weren’t shi…uh, kidding me, were you?” he agreed.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Nope.”

Turning his attention back to the toddler, Draco asked, “What else is Louisa’s favorite?”

“Carrots and chocolate.”

“Merlin, not together, I hope.” He grimaced at the thought.

“No!” Louisa chirped. “Yucky!”

Draco laughed at the facial expression that had mimicked his own. “Yes, definitely yucky.” His face clouded over for a moment, recalling a time when he would have identified the latter item as his own food passion. He hadn’t had a single taste of the confection in three years, and had no desire to resume that practice. The very thought turned his intestines to jelly and caused his hands to shake. The reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Everything okay?” Hermione probed.

“Sure. I’ll, uh, fill you in later,” he hedged. He turned back to Louisa, whose attention had been captured by a second toy unicorn interacting with her favorite “Pennalopy” by seemingly challenging it to a galloping race around the girl’s rocking chair.

“Combien de français comprend-elle vraiment?” Draco asked Hermione.

“Elle est aussi à l'aise en français tout qu'elle est en anglais,” she replied. “Pourquoi?”

“Se demandant combien nous pouvons discuter en privé, si il est nécessaire.”

“Personally, I’d recommend either speaking away from her or speaking English. If we speak too much French, she gets curious and asks a million questions.”

“So she is like her mother, then,” Draco noted, though not unkindly.

“Well, since she favors you in her appearance, it’s probably good that she takes after me in the brains department.” Hermione could give back as good as she got.

“Not a complaint, Granger, simply an observation. I recall telling you once before that I respected your intellect. That certainly hasn’t changed.”

“I thought you were going to call me by my name,” she reminded him.

“And since when is your name not ‘Granger?’” he wondered, needling her.

“You know very well what I mean. It annoys me to be called by my surname.”

“I hate to tell you this, but since I’ve been calling you ‘Granger’ for at least a dozen years, it’s going to be really hard to break the habit. The best I can do is promise to try… when I think of it.” He smirked at her to let her know that those times would be rare and far between.

She sighed. “I suppose I can’t ask for more than that. But do try when we’re with Louisa. She’s very impressionable, and it wouldn’t surprise me that she’d pick up the practice from you. That, I will not abide.”

“Fair enough, I promise that I’ll be extra vigilant in my form of address for you in front of our daughter.” Now he was just mocking her purposely.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you’re twenty-four? You sound more like seventeen.”

“I’m still practicing my girl-annoying skills. I haven’t had much opportunity to hone them in the last several years, and since you’re the only female other than my mother and daughter who will voluntarily speak to me, you’re an easy target. Forgive me if they irritate you. I’ll stop, if you wish.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you weren’t dating and annoying the witch population of Salem for the last three years?” she asked in disbelief.

“That would be, uh, relatively accurate. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss that at the moment,” he stated, his once-affable mood slightly fading once again. He watched Louisa as she reached for one of galloping unicorns, causing both of them to tumble over and eliciting peals of laughter from the girl. “She’s a lovely child. And before you call me on a conceit, I’m not talking about her looks. She seems to have a very sweet disposition, and there’s no doubt that she’s a happy, well-loved child.”

“Thank you, Draco. I’ve done the best I can with her, and your parents have been wonderful influences in both of our lives. They’ve done as much for me as they have for her, and we’ve become very close.” She hesitated briefly. “I hope that doesn’t cause any conflict or difficulty for you.”

“I told them and I’ll tell you the same. I have no problem whatsoever with the relationship between you and my parents. You are all adults and free to make your own associations. If you and I have any… difficulties in reconciling our own relationship, it might make things a bit awkward at times, but I am very willing to do my part to ensure that we forget any animosity between us and raise Louisa together in as civil a partnership as we can.”

“I’m committed to doing the same, Draco. While I agree that it may be awkward between us at times, I was very serious in my forgiveness of you. I am not angry about what happened, and while the final product was not expected, I love Louisa as much as if we had planned to bring her into the world. I hold no resentment there, Draco. I do hope that you can take that to heart, and I hope that someday you can find a way to forgive me for not telling you about her from the beginning.”

“Hermione, we’ve both hurt each other, but among the many things I learned in more than two and a half years of therapy is that holding on to anger and resentment damages the angry person infinitely more than the target of their ire. It won’t do either of us any good for me to continue to be angry with you, so I’ll choose to let it go. I’ll always regret that I couldn’t share in her infancy, but I won’t let it damage the way we work together to ensure her best future.”

“Oh, Draco, I have something to tell you. I’m so sorry that I forgot to mention it earlier.” She put her hands over her face, blushing in embarrassment, then leapt to her feet.

“Is this something else that you’ll want me to forgive?” he wondered aloud.

“Merlin, no. I think you’ll actually like this,” she called over her shoulder. “Wait just a moment. I have something for you.”

She disappeared out of the room, leaving Draco to watch his daughter adding dolls to the backs of the prancing stuffed unicorns. She returned only a few moments later, levitating a large wooden box behind her.

“Your parents and I have been storing memories of all of Louisa’s important milestones and even many day-to-day events so that you’d have the opportunity to see her first two years.” She set the box on the top of the dresser so that the delicate vials would be out of reach of tiny hands.

Draco unfurled his long legs and stretched as he rose, brushing pink carpet fibers from his charcoal grey trousers. He was stunned with what he saw as Hermione lifted the lid. There were easily two hundred tiny vials in velvet-lined layers, each one labeled with a date and a set of initials: LM, NM, or HG. He lifted out each tray, inspecting the contents as the additional layers were stacked in reverse chronological order. The earliest date was two and a half years ago. The most recent was just the previous day. He was speechless, and he felt a large lump gathering in his throat.

“I know it’s not everything that’s ever happened with her, but we hoped that it would give you some greater sense of connection to her,” Hermione explained. “Obviously, the ones labeled ‘HG’ are my memories, and some of them are very… personal. I’ve labeled those with a little heart. I have no objection to you seeing them, if you wish. You should just know that they may include things like me during the pregnancy or breastfeeding her, and there’s one of her delivery. Just, uh, don’t share them with anyone else, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded, still a bit dumbstruck. He ran his hand over the glass containers, touching them almost as if they were labeled in Braille and he was absorbing their meaning through his fingertips. He saw one labeled with a date he recognized: November 27, 2003. It had been the date that he’d called his father for help when the Salem cottage’s heating system had failed. “What’s this one?” he asked in a whisper.

“That’s my memory of Louisa’s birth.”

“I remembered that date, because I had to call my father for help with the heating system. In an eerie coincidence of when you and I were in the cottage in Surrey, I had no hot water and I couldn’t fix it without a wand. She was born on the same day?” he questioned.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, when you called that morning, we were all in your father’s study preparing to use the Floo to call St. Mungo’s because I’d gone into labor.”

“No wonder he was so distracted when he came to see me,” Draco recalled.

“She was born about seven hours after Lucius returned from visiting you.”

“Please, Hermione, I’d really like to see that memory,” he asked, his tone and gaze beseeching her for permission to view her most personal moment. His eyes shone with gathering tears.

She reached for the vial and handed it to him, grasping his hand in both of hers in a gesture of comfort. “Of course, Draco. The pensieve is in your father’s study.”

“Would you, I mean, uh, could you… watch it with me? In case I have any questions?” he asked hoarsely. He sounded so vulnerable that she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

“Um, sure. Let me just get a house-elf to keep an eye on Louisa for a little bit. Why don’t you head over to the study and I’ll just make sure she’s settled.”

He nodded in agreement and left the room, the memory clenched tightly in his hand.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. What an idiot! I should have never agreed to watch it with him, she chastised. “What’s done is done,” she mumbled, recognizing that she’d cause more grief between them if she backed out now. Sighing once more, she called for a house-elf and gave instructions for Louisa’s remaining play time before supper.

“Missy Hermione, I’s been taking care of Malfoy babies for seven families. I thinks I knows whats to do,” the tiny creature squeaked, arms akimbo.

Hermione felt properly rebuked. “I’m sorry, Anjie. You know how I am; I can’t help giving orders.”

Anjie shooed her away with a wave of her arms. “You tends to your busyness and I’s tends to mine.”

“Thank you, Anjie. I’m going now.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Draco arrived in his father’s study, he found that his parents had left for locations unknown. It was a massive property, so they could be just about anywhere. He hoped that they would give him and Hermione a few minutes of privacy so that he could view her memory without interruption or interference. After she arrived, he would seal the door. For good measure, he’d add the magical equivalent of a “Do Not Disturb” sign. He didn’t have to wait long; she knocked once and entered at his reply.

“Are you sure you want to do this together?” she asked. “I would understand if you wanted privacy.”

“No. I’d rather we do it together. We are her parents; we should start behaving as such, and this seems as good a beginning point as I could hope to find.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. Let’s do this before we’re disturbed.” He sealed the door as he’d planned while Hermione retrieved the pensieve from the shelf behind Lucius’ desk. She set the heavy vessel on the oak surface and nodded to Draco. He uncorked the vial and released the swirling mist into the carrier medium.

Standing side by side, they both dipped into the memory and were transported back through time via Hermione’s recollection of the day Louisa entered the world.

Hermione’s face was scrunched in a grimace of pain and effort, her hair and face damp with perspiration. She was pushing, encouragement provided by her Healer and… his mother, at her shoulder, their hands gripped in a tight squeeze. The Healer was telling her that the baby’s head was crowning and one or two more pushes would complete the delivery. From Hermione’s perspective, he could see her upraised and parted knees, but not much more. The beauty – or horror – of magical memory, however, would allow him to see the captured scene from the viewpoint of anyone who’d been present in the room. Within the tableau, he stepped away from the present-day Hermione who’d accompanied him and with a glance that might have been apologetic, moved to stand beside the memory-Healer with a full view of the memory-Hermione’s labor progress.

The Healer had described the situation accurately; he could see the top of the child’s head, coated with blood and amniotic fluid, breaching the gap and making its unrelenting trek toward the world. He heard the Healer call for another push and he subconsciously reached for memory-Hermione’s knee, desperate, it seemed, for some kind of human contact. He was disappointed but only momentarily surprised when his hand passed through air. He was torn between looking at the real woman who’d entered the memory with him and the impending arrival of his daughter. The Healer’s commentary made the decision for him and he watched, agape and intent, as his daughter’s head, shoulders, chest, hips, feet emerged one by one from their nine-month cocoon. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the Healer’s assistant cleaned the newborn, and he heard the babe’s first wail. Only when she was firmly tucked into her mother’s arms did Draco note that this vision had gone blurry, and he shifted his attention to the present-Hermione who accepted the hand he’d unknowingly extended to her. Together, they left the memory and came to awareness in Lucius Malfoy’s study.

Draco’s face was wet with tears and, unable to utter a sound save a single sob, he enfolded his daughter’s mother in an embrace. After a long moment, he muttered two words, barely audible, and escaped from the room.

“Thank you?” Hermione repeated, wondering exactly what Draco had had in mind. The answer to her unheard question would not come today.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Lucius Malfoy returned to his study to find that it had been sealed against entry, he knew immediately who’d done it. Only another Malfoy could cast that specific charm, and since his wife was less than three meters from his side, it could only be his son. The question was, why he’d done it and whether he was alone. A quick check with a house-elf had confirmed that Hermione Granger was not anywhere else on the property, so it was highly likely that the two were locked in there together.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Narcissa mused, her expression warring between hopeful and horrified.

Lucius smirked. “Don’t get your hopes up, wife. I’ll lay odds that she’s finally told him about the memories we stored. They’re probably neck-deep in the pensieve right now.”

His amusement was short-lived as the door burst open and an obviously overwrought Draco sped past them, headed for the staircase. Lucius met his wife’s eyes and placed a hand on her arm. “Let him go. You know he needs to work things out on his own.”

Narcissa tugged away and decided to see in what state Hermione had been left. She found the younger woman staring at the doorway that Draco had just exited, looking slightly stunned. “Is everything all right?” Narcissa inquired.

“Uh, yes. I think so,” she replied distantly.

“What happened?”

“I told Draco about the memories, and he asked to see the one of Louisa’s delivery. I don’t think he was upset, just overwhelmed. He said ‘thank you,’” she trailed off.

“He thanked you? For what?” Lucius interjected, stepping into the room behind his wife.

“I’m not entirely certain. My best guess is that he was thanking me for sharing the memory with him. When we emerged from the pensieve, he was, uh, very emotional and he, uh, hugged me. Then he left.”

“Did he say where he was headed?” Narcissa asked.

Hermione shook her head. “He didn’t. But I’d say that the two strongest possibilities would be Louisa’s nursery or his own room.”

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other and spoke simultaneously, “Louisa.”

“We shouldn’t intrude,” Hermione stated.

Lucius replied, “We shouldn’t,” he indicated himself and his wife with a gesture, “but it would be entirely appropriate for you to be with them.”

“I don’t know…”

Narcissa nodded her head in agreement with her husband. “You should be with them. It’s only natural.”

Hermione hesitated, but something was tugging at her to see what was happening upstairs in the nursery. What if Louisa was upset or confused? Maybe she needed her mother. But she’s with her father, a little voice prodded. And they barely know each other, her rational mind argued. When love and responsibility were at war, both led to the same conclusion. She’d go.

Climbing the steps slowly and silently, Hermione thought about what she and Draco had witnessed together. For her, it was a wonderful moment of her past. For him, it was a visceral reminder of the consequences of his actions, but also the first view of his own flesh and blood renewing the promise of an untainted life. Hermione reached the end of the hall and quietly opened the nursery’s double doors. She couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes behind him, so she wouldn’t have missed much.

She saw a peacefully sleeping child, who had obviously been lifted just seconds earlier from her supine position on the bed, being cradled gently against the chest of a young father, who was blessing her with his first kiss on her forehead and dampening her flaxen hair with his silent tears.

French Translations:

Mon chou – my sweet

Combien de français comprend-elle vraiment? – How much French does she really understand?

Elle est aussi à l'aise en français tout qu'elle est en anglais. – She’s as fluent in French as she is in English.

Pourquoi – Why

Se demandant combien nous pouvons discuter en privé, si il est nécessaire. – Wondering how much we can discuss privately, should it be necessary.
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Consequences and Complexities