Unforgettable Season- Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, as much as I wish I did.

***

Despite the countless potions from Molly, Hermione’s nausea still persisted.

“Maybe you should go to see a Healer or something,” Ginny suggested.

“I am a Healer, Ginny,” Hermione snapped, losing her cool with her friend.

“Well then if you’re the expert, why don’t you figure out what’s wrong with yourself rather than relying on the rest of us to look after you,” Ginny said, firing up instantly. It had been two weeks since Hermione’s mysterious illness had begun, and Ginny had been the sympathetic friend from the beginning, but caring for the ever-stubborn Hermione was wearing her ragged.

“Well then why don’t you just leave?” Hermione said angrily, not expecting Ginny to act on her words. However, the temperamental red-head did so, and disapparated with a loud crack. Swearing loudly at her own stupidity, Hermione decided to do just as Ginny had said and got changed hurriedly before apparating to St. Mungo’s. For the tenth time that day she wondered where Draco was and what he was doing. Her husband had been working long days for the past two weeks, and was always so exhausted when he got home. It had begun to worry Hermione, and she thought about asking him where he had been as she waved toward the witch at the front desk.

After waiting in a short queue outside a Healer’s office, she was called in by a deep voice.

“Hello, Hermione,” said the voice as she sat down, and Hermione was surprised to see Healer Boomheart behind the desk.

“Sir, may I ask what you’re doing here?” she asked curiously.

“There was an outbreak of Dragon Pox in the clinic, and so we’ve been understaffed. With you off sick as well, we’ve been particularly stressed out, and I decided to lend a helping hand down here. Now, what seems to be the problem?” Boomheart asked, looking at Hermione over the top of his glasses.

“Lately I’ve just been feeling very nauseas, I’ve been getting clammy, and just been feeling sick in general. I’m not an expert on sickness like this, so I didn’t want to self-diagnose,” Hermione frowned, as did Boomheart.

“Well, if you’ll just lay up here on this bed, then I’ll see if I can find the problem,” he said, indicating a hospital bed in the corner. Hermione obliged, and Boomheart waved his wand over her, muttering to himself. “Oh ho, what do we have here?” he asked, his eyes sparkling and his face breaking out into a smile. “Well, well, this is most certainly good news.”

Confused, Hermione sat up. “What…what is it? What did you see?”

“Congratulations, Mrs. Malfoy. You’re pregnant!”

***

Draco was tired.

For the last two weeks he had been working around the clock to get into the good books of Voldemort’s supporters so he could bring them down, and it hadn’t been easy. He had decided that, despite the fact it was slower and wasted time, he would take the train home. It would give him a chance to think and be away from the wizarding world for a while, and at the moment, that was all he needed.

Leaning his head back against the grimy window, his mind drifted to the Wednesday when he had been introduced to the group.

“Are you ready? Do you know what you’re going to say?” Harry asked, looking Draco’s dark attire up and down.

“Yeah, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Draco said, swallowing as Harry turned to summon the other undercover Auror in. A tall, slender woman wandered in with an easy grace and was introduced to Draco as Rose Parker by Harry.

“Shall we?” Rose asked, indicating the fireplace where they would be flooing to the location of the meeting, and Draco nodded.

“Good luck, Draco,” Harry said as a farewell, and everything flashed a brilliant green before Draco and Rose stepped out of a grate and onto the cold stone floor of what appeared to be an old cellar. Looking around in mild confusion, it eventually dawned on Draco where they were – the basement of Malfoy Manor, the house which Draco had left deserted since the end of the war.

“Rose,” said a gruff voice, and Draco noticed as a tall, muscular man nodded to Rose. “Is that…?”

“Yes, just as I promised,” Rose said, her voice taking on a cold note which Draco knew was synonymous to his dead aunt Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice.

“First Goyle, now Malfoy. The whole gang’s on its way back,” the man said with a humorless laugh, and Rose nodded to him once. “The meeting’s about to begin. You were the last to arrive.” With another nod, Rose led Draco towards the stairwell.

“Ah, Rose!” someone cried out joyfully as the two of them reached the top of the staircase which opened out into the entrance hall of the house, and a familiar face surveyed Draco intently. “Draco Malfoy. It has been too long,” Theodore Nott said, holding out his hand which Draco shook, and Draco identified him as the voice who had welcomed Rose so warmly. Rose stood to Nott’s left, and another old face stood on his right.

“Goyle,” Draco said, inclining his head slightly toward his old friend, who glared at Draco.

“Draco Malfoy. I thought you had turned?” Nott said, posing the statement as a question.

“The life that is so publicly splashed throughout the media is merely a mask,” Draco said contemptuously, allowing the old sneer to come back onto his face. “I thought it prudent to at least attempt to lead a somewhat normal life for some time before returning to the old ways.”

“And the relationship with the mudblood?” Nott asked, and the group of people around them, all dressed in black robes, laughed raucously, Draco realizing that Nott was the leader of the group.

“Good publicity,” Draco shrugged. “She means nothing to me.”

“You seem sincere…a trait which is off-putting for a Malfoy to have, but our history leads me to believe you. Welcome to The Revival,” Nott smiled, as though welcoming him to some sick, perverted theme park.

Stretching as the train came to a halt at Draco’s station, he stood up, readjusting his suit jacket and striding from the platform and up into the cold air of another winter’s night. It was two weeks until Christmas, and the decorations were coming out in force. Lights had been strung up all around the town, and they twinkled in dusk’s glow.

Making a mental note to get started on his Christmas shopping for Hermione, Draco ran up the stairs two at a time before reaching his apartment. The front hall of Hermione and Draco’s home had a small sideboard which was absolutely cluttered with Christmas cards from friends and relatives, and Draco smiled as he passed them by. The smell of pork chops, Draco’s favourite meal, wafted towards him from the kitchen, and after shrugging out of his jacket and placing his bag in the bedroom, he snuck into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist from behind as she stood over the stove.

“Good evening, beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her neck softly.

“Draco,” she sighed softly, leaning back into his embrace. “I missed you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But it’s the weekend, and I told my boss that I’m not coming into work this weekend so I can spend it with you,” he said, planting another kiss on the top of her head.

“That’ll be nice. Now, if you don’t want your dinner to be ruined, I suggest you sit down at the table,” Hermione said, tapping Draco’s arm with a wooden spoon.

Smiling, he sat down at the table and Hermione placed two plates of food down.

“Is there any particular reason why you made my favourite food for dinner?” Draco asked, taking a bite of the perfectly cooked meal.

“Well, I went to St. Mungo’s today to see why I’ve been feeling so sick lately,” Hermione began slowly, taking a large mouthful to avoid speaking.

“And?” Draco said anxiously, worried that something was wrong.

“Draco…I’m pregnant.”

With a clatter, Draco dropped his fork. “Are…are you serious?”

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly, avoiding looking Draco in the eye.

“Wow,” he murmured, looking shocked. Hermione didn’t say anything, but looked up at Draco, and under her gaze, his face broke out into a wide smile, surprising her. “We’re going to have a baby!” he cried out.

“But I thought you didn’t like kids?” she said, confused.

“I didn’t think I liked kids either, but we’re going to have our own little baby,” he grinned, standing up from the table and pulling Hermione out of her seat. “We’re going to be a family.”

Feeling utterly relieved at Draco’s reaction, she allowed herself to be pulled against his chest firmly, and her arms wrapped around his neck as his lips descended onto hers. He picked her up and spun her around and she laughed loudly, breaking the kiss.

“I love you,” she squealed as she flew through the air.

“I love you too, and I love our baby,” Draco smiled, planting her feet firmly on the ground. He put a hand between them and rested it on her stomach. “Just think, in nine months there’s going to be a little Hermione running around.”

“Don’t I get a little Draco?” she pouted, and he chuckled.

“Nope, we’re going to have a little girl, and she’s going to look just like you,” he decided firmly.

“That’s not fair. I want a little boy with blonde hair running around,” Hermione said after a moment of thinking.

“No way. There’s going to be a beautiful girl with long brown curls curled up in a chair and reading some huge textbook when she’s three years old,” Draco joked, and Hermione giggled.

“God, this all seems so surreal,” she murmured, looking up at him.

“Trust me, love, this is all real.”

***