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In Fond Remembrance	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 22794 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the very witty and very rich JK Rowling. I do not make any make any money - from this story. I do own the computer this was typed on.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Thanks to the pensieve:
- For the first time Draco genuinely understood the pressure Hermione felt to discover a solution to Draco’s infertility — she meant to be the only surrogate in his life.
- For the first time Hermione really acknowledged the impact of their search for a solution to prevent the Malfoys from becoming homeless and penniless on Draco’s sexual needs.
So their first step off the cliff together, the discussion of dinner with his parents, became emotional rather fast.

“Are you out of your Slytherin mind!? I’m not taking my daughter to Malfoy Manor!”
“I didn’t say Lyra was coming — I said I’d bring help sorting out this bequest business and my inability to produce a male heir.”

His paramour’s eyes narrowed before her brain kicked in.

“You’re using Lyra to keep from telling them you’re sterile!”
“Infertile, not sterile. There is Lyra.”
“And none since!”
“I need your help, Lioness. I’d give it all to you and Lyra but I’ll be damned if Astoria deserves one knut from me!”
“Hard to disagree with you there. Draco, think about what you’re doing; your parents won’t be pleased to see Lyra once they know her mother’s a mudblood.”

Enraged at the classist insult, even when Hermione used it, Draco shot off the bed, pacing and fuming in equal measure.

“Don’t EVER call yourself that — DO YOU HEAR ME!?”

Calmer than her lover, Hermione cast a quick outbound Silencio spell to block the argument from waking their daughter.

“My daughter’s mother is NOT a mudblood! You nor Lyra are inferior in ANY WAY and I will THROTTLE ANYONE who dares to say you are!!”
“Dragon… Come here…”

Opening her arms, Hermione leaned back onto the bed as Draco draped himself over her. Agitated as he was, they’d be making love until dawn before he calmed and fell asleep. She made a note to send Rachel a patronus to get Lyra and take her back to the guest house.

“You need my help?”

Giggling overcame her as his chin dug into her neck with his affirming nod.

“You promise to keep Lyra safe —”
“With my life, Hermione.”
“I’m not worried your parents will harm her physically; I’m worried they’ll mistreat her and make her feel awful about who she is.”

Scooting the rest of her onto the bed required effort as the long, lean man who’d collapsed on top of her made no effort to help. Some wandless magic lifted them up and onto the middle of the bed. Once they’d landed, Draco lifted his head. The face floating in front of her held sadness and self-contempt.

“I’ve always been a disappointment. Second at Hogwarts. Couldn’t kill Dumbledore — and didn’t want to; had to be rescued by Snape. Couldn’t be a real Death Eater, not that Father was any better at it. I’m exhausted with failure… Couldn’t get my wife pregnant with a male Malfoy in almost 3 years of trying. Lyra’s the only thing I’ve ever gotten right…”
“You’re great at your job, aren’t you?”
“I’m just taking over for Father. It’s not like I built the business on my own.”
“You’re still quite good at it. And Lyra adores you, Draco; being a good father is your greatest accomplishment in my book.”

Any chance Hermione might have had of escaping the storm named Draco Malfoy disappeared as his tears ran down her cheeks.

“Help me, please… I don’t want to go down in wizarding history as the Malfoy that lost it all… I don’t want to disappoint you and Lyra…”
“Alright, Dragon…” Hermione sighed through her own tears, “let’s see if we can rewrite your future.”

Hermione considered how positively ridiculous her position was: the “mudblood" who helped topple Voldemort — and her illegitimate half-blood daughter — would save a 1900-year-old pure-blood aristocratic dynasty.

Un-fucking-believable…

Hours of foreplay, love-making and butt-naked, screaming monkey sex later, Draco exited the floo in Malfoy Manor’s sitting room with Lyra in his arms and Hermione holding his hand and her wand. The introductions did not proceed as expected.

“Draco??? Who’s the young lady in your — stars above! She could be your twin sister!”

“Understandable as she is my daughter.”

From the safety of Draco’s arms (and surrounded by 28 protection and shielding spells cast by her mother), Lyra evidenced her best manners.

“Bonjour. Je suis heureux de vous rencontrer. Je m’appelle Lyra [Hello. I am pleased to meet you. My name is Lyra].”

“Do you mean you have a DAUGHTER!? With HER!!??” Narcissa shrieked.

Lucius caught his wife before she hit the floor in a swoon.

“Well done, Draco! I haven’t seen your mother this upset since the Dark Lord ruined her Persian carpets with those torture sessions.”

“Thank you, Father. I’m sure that brings back fond memories of Malfoy Manor for Hermione,” the irritated Slytherin snapped back, snaking a supporting arm around Hermione.
“Pa-pa, estzce que c'est mon grand-père? Il te ressemble [Is that my grandfather? He look likes you].
“Oui, chou, ces gens sont mes parents; [Yes, luv, these people are my parents;]” Draco replied with a huge sigh, “Je suis désolé, princesse, mais ils sont le meilleur que je peux faire [I’m sorry, princess, but they’re the best I have].”

Silent, wandless magic slid three salon chaises to the group in a triangular formation. Lucius assisted his bewildered wife onto the nearest chaise before taking a seat. Having calculated the shortest path back through the floo, Hermione tugged Draco away from his intended destination, the nearest sofa, and towards the one sitting next to the fireplace.

“Ms. Granger — or is it Mrs. Malfoy? No… any attempt to marry my son would have rendered Draco impotent, which he clearly is not.”

With a “pop”, Jabber and Wocky (the house elf Draco routinely snuck into Hermione’s house to help with his “chores”) appeared with refreshments set upon separate rolling trays.

“I thought the separate trolleys would encourage you to partake,” Lucius explained as he administered a healthy dose of restorative fyrewhiskey to Narcissa, “as I couldn’t very well poison them with you observing.”

“I appreciate your efforts, Lucius,” Hermione replied without touching a thing on the trolley Wocky wheeled next to them.
“Maman, puis-je avoir un peu de jus de citrouille, s'il vous plaît [Mummy, may I have some pumpkin juice, please]?”

The moment of truth had arrived. Lyra asked for juice from the trolley only inches from her little hand.

“Yes, Lyra, you may have as much as you like.”

Three stunned faces turned to confirm those words from Narcissa Malfoy’s pale lips.

“Wocky, please serve my g-g-granddaughter,” the elegant witch stuttered out.

“Wocky is happy to serves the little Lady Malfoy,” the elf offered, accompanied by the weirdest grimace-meant-to-be-a-smile Hermione had ever seen. Wocky clearly knew Lyra from his “helpful” visits to the cottage on the Isle of Man.

The elf extended the glass to the youngster, who now sat on Draco’s knees, as her mother cast over 50 charms in rapid, silent succession to detect poisons, detoxify any foreign agents, protect her baby’s stomach and add a touch of sweetness as she usually served it at home (in deference to Draco’s horrid sweet tooth).

“Thank you, Wocky,” the little girl offered up as she took the tumbler and sipped at her juice.

“You have excellent manners, Lyra, and your French is impeccable. Your mother has trained you well.” Narcissa continued, regaining her poise with each compliment.
“Thank you” from Hermione collided with “Merci” from Lyra.
“Bonjour, jeune dame. Je crois que je suis votre grand-père [Hello, young lady. I believe I am your grandfather].”

Lyra hesitated, unsure of what to call Lucius Malfoy (but absolutely certain she could not use the names she’d heard her mother scream at her father).

“You may call me Pépé Lucius,” Lucius offered, correctly discerning the child’s dilemma.

So taken was Lyra by this man whose face mimicked her beloved Pa-pa’s that she jumped down from the safety of Draco’s lap and hurled herself into Lucius’ arms, hugging him without restraint or hesitation. Hermione and Draco shouted the child’s name, both wands drawn and aimed at Draco’s father and mother.

“Je t'aime, Pépé Lucius [I love you, Pépé Lucius].”

It would be Narcissa’s recall that declared Lucius the loser in the War of Not-My-Half-Blood-Grandchild. Draco would concur; Hermione remained staunchly convinced that both needed their pensieves cleaned and calibrated.

“Ms. Granger, may I hold her?”

Mouth agape in shock, Hermione nodded after minutes of standing like a statue (and an elbow shot to her ribs from Draco).

“Come sit with me, Lyra. You are such a beautiful little girl — the prettiest half-blood in a century, I would say. I see your great-grandmother in you — those rosy cheeks and that lovely smile.”

“Come now, Cissa — I have a beautiful smile.”
“Lucius, don’t confuse the child; you only smile that way when you’re into mischief —”
“— or we’re into mischief together —”
“LUCIUS!” two shocked witches shouted in warning.
“We have a proper young lady in the Manor and you will behave yourself or you will be sent to your room for the duration of the visit. Am I clear?”

For the first — but not the last — time, Hermione recognized why Lucius Malfoy had abandoned his service to the Dark Lord. There was someone Lucius feared far more than Voldemort and she sat next to him with their granddaughter in her lap.

“You may call me Mémé Narcissa or Nana Cissa. I will answer to either from you and you alone.”

This gained Narcissa a hug of her own.

“Shall we move to the Nursery? I am sure we can find something fun for you to play with. I kept your father’s toys — including the dolls I bought him when I was convinced I’d have the first female Malfoy in half a millennia,” Nana Cissa suggested, as if Lyra were the only one in the room.

Extending her hand for the child, Grandmother Malfoy rose and swept towards the door to the main foyer and staircase.

“I suppose you all should come too,” the Lady of the house added, “it might make explanations easier.”

”Is nothing ever simple with you, Draco!? Hippogriffs! Magical cabinets! Assassination attempts and that b-witch you married!”
“YOU picked Astoria! You negotiated my contract!” Draco defended himself.
“Not I, Draco, your father — and I have yet to forgive him for that ridiculous error. I’m not sure Astoria isn’t the worst of your disasters.”
“By far,” Hermione muttered under her breath in agreement with Narcissa.
“So let me understand this,” Lucius recapitulated, “you and your estranged wife spent almost three years trying to conceive a male heir to no avail — despite seeking out medical assistance.”
“Yes,” Draco concurred.
“After your separation — but before your divorce, because you’re still married to the legacy-grabbing wench — you and Ms. Granger here spent time producing a ‘special’ project for the Ministry which included Lyra.”
“Y-es,” Draco drawled out.
“While you were trying to produce your own “special project” on Astoria, Ms. Granger discovered she was with child and — without notifying you — gave birth to Lyra.”
“Yes…” Draco sighed.
“Thank you, by the way, for continuing the Black naming tradition. ‘Lyra Carina’ is so melodic; it suits her well. Is she musical?” Narcissa interjected as her granddaughter picked out a tune on Draco’s old magical xylophone; the toy provided orchestral accompaniment to any melody the child created.
“As a matter of fact,” Hermione answered with enthusiasm, “I’ve made arrangement for her to start Suzuki piano at school this —”
“FOR MERLIN’S SAKE! Will you witches PLEASE stay ON TOPIC!?” Lucius bellowed, “Or do you wish to live at the Leaky until they EVICT us for NON-PAYMENT!?”
“We’ll talk later, dear,” Narcissa whispered to Hermione behind a carefully placed hand at her mouth, “I apologize, Lucius. Please continue.”
“And you’ve been unable to get a child on any other witch, correct?”
“Obviously,” Draco growled in frustration at the flaying open of his reproductive inadequacies.
“Why?”
“DON’T YOU THINK I’VE —”
“Lucius! That’s a rather personal question to be —”
“NOT WHEN I AM ABOUT TO LOSE MY HOUSE AND MY MONEY!”
“Dragon… Let me assist you here.”

All eyes turned to Hermione who felt like a goose in a pen the day before Christmas — about to be slaughtered.

“Draco’s asked me to help him find out why I conceived so readily — in about two weeks — when Astoria didn’t. We’ve discussed some unusual… differences…” Hermione dragged out, desperately trying to find the words that would keep Draco from requiring her as a sedative in their shared bed for the next month, “in Draco’s interactions with Astoria and with me.”

“Such as?” Lucius poked, unwilling to leave any fact private if it kept him luxuriously housed and wealthy.
“Such as his ability to stay… ” Hermione continued, inhaling a big breath, “engaged… throughout.”
“You couldn’t get an ERECTION with YOUR WIFE!?”
“Pépé Lucius, c’est quoi une érection? [Pa-pa Lucius, what is an ‘erection’?]”
“That’s IT! My daughter shouldn’t KNOW that word in FRENCH or ENGLISH. HERMIONE — GET MY DAUGHTER! WE’RE LEAVING!”
“YOU STAND READY TO LOSE OVER A MILLENNIA OF INHERITED WEALTH AND YOU’RE UPSET ABOUT A CHILD SPEAKING A WORD SHE DOESN”T EVEN UNDERSTAND!? WELL, YOU CERTAINLY HAVE YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT, DON’T YOU, SON!?”
“I DON”T SEE YOU PRODUCING ANY MORE ‘MALE HEIRS’! SINCE I’M SUCH A DISAPPOINTMENT, WHY DON’T YOU AND MOTHER SOLVE THE PROBLEM YOURSELVES!”
“TRUST ME — IF IT WERE AT ALL POSSIBLE, I’D REPLACE YOU BEFORE YOU LEFT THIS ROOM!”

A piercing whistle brought the argument volleys to silence.

“I’ve been speaking with Lady Malfoy and we’ve decided how to proceed; so both of you please sit down and be quiet!” Hermione instructed.

Draco flopped back in his chair immediately, huffing in frustration.

“I’LL NOT BE ORDERED AROUND IN MY OWN HOME BY A MU—”

A quiet voice joined Hermione’s glare.

“Sit DOWN, Lucius, and LISTEN.”

Surly but obedient, Lord Malfoy dropped back into his own chair, muttering inaudible complaints.

“Draco has eight months to meet the terms of the legacy trust. In that time he and I have to determine why he’s not producing children, find a suitable surrogate — and he may require more than one to ensure a male heir, get her or them pregnant and certify the pregnancy to the Ministry.”

“And how,” the Lord of the at-risk Manor scoffed, “do you intend to accomplish this?”
“By researching the Malfoy archives here at Malfoy Manor. I’ve seen the Black family tapestry at 12 Grimmauld Place. There were many more Blacks born 200 years ago than now. I suspect the Malfoy archives will show the same trend but I’m hoping they’ll give a clue as to why. I’m also more familiar with muggle medicine than Draco; he’ll be trying non-magical treatments as well.”

Lucius and Draco stared at each other before staring at the witches calmly controlling their lives.

Always one to know when to switch sides, Lucius adopted a snide smile.

“What’s next?”

AN: Juliesnaps has graciously informed me that Google Translate isn't always turning my intended English into accurate French. She's offered to help me out and I may well impose on her time. In the intervening time, be sure to read the translations (which directly follow the French in [ ]'s) to get my intent. Also check out her story - a take on the marriage law idea - in the Snape-Hermione area.
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In Fond Remembrance