Familiar Surprises [PG-13] for fangirlyness
Title: Familiar Surprises
Author/Artist: ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Characters and places from the Harry Potter universe don't belong to me. Trust me. I'm getting nothing out of this except enjoyment.
Warnings: Mild language; EWE
Summary: Twelve years ago, Hermione Granger disappeared, and nobody ever knew why until now.
Notes: fangirlyness, I really hope you like it! I'm not sure this is entirely what you were looking for, as your prompt was very open, but I hope you'll find things in it that you enjoy. I had lots of fun writing it for you. :D
Part One: Draco
Draco had to admit that he’d gotten a lot of his teaching style from Severus. His godfather may have been a grumpy old bastard, but he’d had the right idea, beginning each first year’s experience with him in an intimidating snap of black cotton.
The main difference between Draco and Severus, however, was that Draco tried not to scare them absolutely shitless. The watchful glare of Severus Snape had been the cause of more than one cauldron’s catastrophic explosion, and Draco had no desire whatsoever to spend an hour washing botched Shrinking Solution from his hair.
He swept his gaze carefully over the group of first years: Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Even without looking at the ties they wore, he could always tell which was which, the Ravenclaws with their quills already poised and the Hufflepuffs either twirling their quills in their fingers or too busy staring at him wide-eyed to have done much of anything.
He didn’t know their names, though, a fact that bothered him. Due to “unforeseen circumstances,” also known as a significantly inebriated Pansy that he couldn’t very well have left to fend for herself, he had missed the Sorting Ceremony as well as the opening feast.
“I assume you all have your texts.” A couple of the braver students nodded enthusiastically, and a few more did so hesitantly. “Since it is your first class, we’ll see how well you follow clearly written instructions. The boil cure potion is on page 16. Supplies are in the back. Turn in your completed potion vials to me at the end of class.”
There was a brief pause, then a flurry of activity, and within moments there were a few preparing ingredients while the rest stared anxiously at their texts. He wandered amongst the tables, searching for mistakes he could fix before they became disasters.
In the back of the room, he spotted a boy sitting by himself, stirring the contents of his cauldron interestedly. Draco raised an eyebrow; stirring wasn’t involved until step six, and thus far he hadn’t passed anyone past step three. A few more steps later, further investigation showed a technically perfect potion and a boy who didn’t even acknowledge his arrival.
The boy had light blond hair and slightly pointed features that were less severe than Draco’s had been at that age. Otherwise, however, he noted a great deal of similarities between this Ravenclaw and the mental picture he had of himself as a first year. When the boy finally looked up, Draco noticed another distinct difference in the boy’s light brown eyes. “Is something wrong, Professor?”
“No,” Draco said, shaking his head slowly. “In fact, you seem to have something of an aptitude for Potions, Mr.-…”
“Granger,” the boy said, and Draco felt his shocked heart skip a beat. “Marcus Granger.”
---
Draco had no idea why he was there. In all honesty, he had no desire whatsoever to witness the marriage of the former Hogwarts students Most Likely to Have Intolerable Children and Most Likely to Reproduce Multiple Times.
Perhaps the idea of crashing Weasley’s wedding had just been too sweet to pass up.
He skirted around the edges of the room, surveying the damage. The brand new husband and wife were attempting to swallow each other’s face whole in the middle of the dance floor, and he could see Potter in the distance dancing awkwardly with the Maid of Honor.
Finally, he spotted a table with only one occupant and smirked to himself. He saw her look up at the newlyweds and roll her eyes before returning her attention to her drink, which he had a feeling was a bit more alcoholic than it looked.
He slid into a seat next to her and leaned in close. “I thought it would be you in the white dress today, Granger.”
She sent him a long-suffering, but half-hearted glare and said, “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”
“Keeping you company, it would seem,” he said, leaning back again with a grin. “I understand none of Brown’s guests wanting to talk to you, but shouldn’t Potter at least be over here, adhered to your side as always?”
She looked back out at the crowded dance floor and frowned. “Parvati cornered him. Something about how it was only right that the best man and the maid of honor have a dance together. She didn’t, however, say anything about dry humping the best man in public, which is what she seems to be doing.”
“My, my, Granger,” he said with a smirk. “Someone’s certainly snippy tonight.”
He expected her to glare at him again, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out a flask, twisted open the top, and poured a good amount into her nearly empty glass. Before she could tuck it away again, he snatched it from her hand and put it to his lips. He took a short swig and cringed. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” he heard her ask again.
He handed the flask back to her, and she dropped it carelessly back into her pocket. “Like I said before, Granger, I’m keeping you company. I promise, I make slightly better conversation than that glass you’re nursing.”
He saw her mouth tug up at the sides, as though she were fighting a smile. “I doubt that. And no one asked you to keep me company.”
“What kind of annoyance would I be if I only did what people asked?” He stood. “Now, come on, Granger.”
“‘Come on’? Why would I go anywhere with you?” Her words, he noted, were more rebellious to the idea than her eyes portrayed.
“Because you seem intent on getting hopelessly drunk tonight, and if you’re going to do so, you’re going to need better stuff than whatever shit alcohol you’ve got in that flask. Not to mention that I’d very much like to be there to see it, and if Weasley ever manages to extract his face from Brown’s mouth, he’s likely to see me and force me to leave.” He offered her his arm. “Now, come on.”
She eyed him warily, but only for a second, before standing and slipping her arm through his, proving to him just how much of a head start she must undoubtedly have. “Fine, Malfoy. Let’s go.”
---
Not ten minutes after the last of his morning classes ended, Draco was standing in the Headmistress’s office, looking around incredulously.
“Is there something I can help you with, Professor Malfoy?” Her stare was fierce, and she was no less intimidating to him now than she’d ever been as his Transfiguration professor, but in his state of shock he took little notice.
“I had a Marcus Granger in my class of first years this morning.”
She was silent a moment, perhaps waiting for him to say more. “That alone doesn’t explain why you’re in my office, Draco. If you have a question for me, ask it.”
“Is his mother…?” He didn’t know what the end of that question was, though. Was she alive? Was she okay? She had disappeared almost twelve years ago, telling no one where she’d gone. He’d given up hope on seeing her again long ago, until…
“Yes. Hermione Granger is his mother.” Headmistress McGonagall raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “This won’t be a problem for you, I trust? I understand your less than positive history with Miss Granger, but I can’t allow that to get in the way of your teaching.”
“Of course,” he said, waving off the question. “He seems to have quite the aptitude for Potions, in fact, but that’s not why I’m here, Headmistress.” He looked around the room awkwardly again for a moment, then met her eyes. “I trust you have files on each of the students?”
“That is correct,” she said, the questioning eyebrow still raised.
“May I have access, then, to young Mr. Granger’s file?” Surely, it would be listed inside where Hermione lived. Or at least if she was alive.
“Do you have a legitimate reason for asking access to his file, Professor Malfoy?”
Well, his mother and I slept together nearly twelve years ago and I notice he has quite a few of my features…
No, that wouldn’t go over well, he reasoned. Minerva McGonagall wasn’t tolerant of personal drama on the best of days.
He let out a short sigh. “No, Headmistress.”
“Then I suggest you put whatever your troubles are out of your mind and get down to the Great Hall. Lunch is to begin in fifteen minutes.”
Part Two: Hermione
Hermione tapped impatiently on her table at the Three Broomsticks, her mind buzzing almost as loudly as the room around her. The other patrons kept stealing glances at her, for it was common knowledge that Hermione Granger had disappeared without a trace just before the year turned 2001.
But honestly, she didn’t care about any of them. She was waiting for Harry, because when he got there, she was going to kill him. And it wouldn’t be quick and painless, either. If she had her way, there would be blood.
He had been the only one, the only one that knew where she was or why she’d gone. And she’d known that things would change a bit once she had to send her son to school, but she’d never expected to get a letter from Marcus talking about how he thought Professor Malfoy had been impressed with him during his first Potions class.
Finally, she saw Harry making his way to her table. “Boy, that kid of yours works fast.” He shook his head.
She glared at him. “How could you, Harry? How could you not warn me that Malfoy’s the damn Potions professor now?”
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” he said pleadingly. “What difference would it have made if you knew?”
“I would have been warned, at least! I could have…”
“Sent him to Beauxbatons?” Harry frowned at her. “The boy may know French, but there’s no way I was going to let you send him to another school just because you’re being a coward.”
“Harry,” she growled, but he cut her off.
“No, Hermione. You’ve let Marcus have eleven years thinking he doesn’t have a father, and the rest of the Wizarding World has spent almost twelve not knowing where you are, or even if you’re alive. Marcus needed a chance to know the truth, and so did Malfoy.”
Hermione stared at him incredulously, mouth open slightly. Of course, he had a point. Damn him.
“I hate you, you know that, right?”
Harry smiled at her, slid out of the booth to give her a kiss on the cheek, and said, “I love you too, Hermione.”
---
Hermione woke up clutching her forehead, every fired synapse sending waves of pain through her body. Judging by the way her back ached, she hadn’t slept in her own bed, and she was grateful at least to register that she was still wearing clothes.
She pushed herself into a sitting position, and the movement made her groan aloud. Swinging around so that her feet were touching the floor, she cracked open her eyes and found…Harry’s living room.
She closed her eyes again. No, that couldn’t be right. As memories from the night before came back in short spurts, she knew very clearly that she had gone home with someone else.
Malfoy. She’d gone with Malfoy. And there’d been alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. None of which explained why she was on Harry’s couch.
“There’s a hangover potion on the coffee table, and coffee in the kitchen,” she heard Harry’s voice say, and she could tell the bastard was grinning. She cracked her eyes open again and there truly was a vial on the table in front of her. Okay, he wasn’t a bastard. He was the most wonderful person in the world.
She downed the potion in one gulp and groaned again as the cloudy pain in her head dissolved. “How did I get here?” she asked him, getting up slowly and walking toward the kitchen.
“Malfoy brought you,” he said, watching her pour black coffee into the largest mug she could find. “Apparently, you got magnificently sloshed last night. He didn’t think you’d want to wake up on his couch, so he Apparated you here after you fell asleep.” She could still hear the grin in his voice, and she rolled her eyes.
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “No comments on who I left with. You and Ron can just be glad I showed up at all.”
Harry held up his hands in surrender. “No comments, I promise.”
She took another sip of her coffee and went to pick up his copy of the newspaper, which he’d left unfolded on the kitchen table. Looking up, she saw him still staring at her. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He paused. “Okay, well, is it okay if I ask a question as long as I don’t comment?”
She didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow towards him in response.
“Did something happen between you and Malfoy?”
She blinked. She’d wondered the same thing, of course, at first, but as much as she searched her memories, she didn’t find anything worth noting other than a whole lot of drinking.
“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
Harry shrugged and finally looked away, staring into space for a moment. “No reason, I suppose. He just seemed a bit more concerned than normal when he brought you last night, is all.”
Hermione just shook her head and turned back to the newspaper. How was she supposed to know what Malfoy was thinking?
Part Three: Draco
Draco walked out of breakfast in the Great Hall to find a group of students congregated near the door, laughing. Near the center, he spotted Marcus, and he certainly wasn’t joining in on whatever the joke was.
In fact, he looked distressed. Draco narrowed his eyes.
Walking up to the group, he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming that you all have places to be. Go.” Many of the laughing students scowled at him, but dispersed, leaving only Marcus, whose bag had fallen onto the floor.
“Thanks,” the boy mumbled, stooping down to gather his books.
“I take it the joke wasn’t as funny as they thought it was?” Draco asked, trying not to sound quite as awkward as he felt.
Marcus shook his head and held out a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet. “My mum and Professor Potter made the front page,” he said bitterly, and Draco looked down to see Potter kissing an older, but no doubt her, Hermione Granger on the cheek.
Draco tore his eyes away from the picture and saw Marcus about to walk away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said to the boy. “People around here don’t have very long attention spans. They’ll find someone else to annoy in no time.” Marcus just nodded gloomily at him, and then was gone.
Draco’s eyes glided back to the picture just in time to see Granger grinning at Potter again, and he let out a long breath. He rolled up the paper and stuck into an inside pocket of his robes to read later. Thinking about that grin, or about Marcus’ troubles, wouldn’t help anything, especially when he had the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins that morning.
---
“Evening, Granger,” Draco said, cocking his head at the bundled-up woman who had just knocked on the door of his flat. “Something I can help you with? More gin, perhaps?” He smirked at her.
She ignored him, though. “Why did you take me back to Harry’s?”
He stepped back, allowing her to come inside, and pushed the door shut behind her. “Should I have done something else? I didn’t want to wake you up and ask where your flat was, and I didn’t think you’d be too fond of crashing at Weasley’s.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, why did you bother taking me back to Harry’s?”
“I’m not a complete and utter bastard,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Yes you are,” she said incredulously, and he just stared at her. “Or you were, to me, anyway. But not last night. Why?”
He just shook his head. He didn’t have an answer for her, or even for himself. “Merlin, Granger, what does it even matter?”
“Did something happen between us, Malfoy? Something that I don’t know about? Something that changed things?”
He scowled. This was what she was worried about? Did she think he had taken advantage of her? “Don’t worry, Granger. Your virtue’s still intact.”
She grinned then, an action that confused him severely. “First of all,” she said, “you have no way of knowing that. And second, that’s not really what I was asking.” She paused and took a step closer to him. He looked at her, wary and oddly hopeful in a way he didn’t understand. “Did you want something to happen?”
Just at that moment, he had no idea what thoughts had been going through his mind the night before. But, he had to admit, if she asked him the same question about right now, he knew what his answer would be.
“Not that I was aware of at the moment,” he finally said, still watching her.
“What about now?” she asked, and he cursed inwardly.
“I don’t see how that matters, either,” he said, thinking about taking a step back. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite get his legs to work. She took another step forward so that she was right in front of him, pulled off one of her gloves, and touched her hand to his face. “Are you drunk again, Granger?” he asked. “It’s really not healthy to get this plastered two nights in a row.”
But, when she kissed him, he didn’t taste any alcohol on her tongue. Only her. Pulling back slightly, she said, “Shut up, Malfoy.” And she kissed him again.
---
That night after dinner, Draco had finally decided what his next plan of action needed to be: He needed to talk to Potter.
Potter, who had obviously known about everything from the beginning.
Potter, who could have told him the truth a long time ago.
He’d done his best not to think too much about it that day. About Hermione, about that night, about the day Potter had told him she was gone, about Marcus, about that damned newspaper article.
It’s hard not to think about something when you’re trying so hard not to think about it. Suddenly, he remembered why he’d always hated paradoxes.
But that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was getting Potter to explain.
He didn’t even realize he was on the fifth floor until he was in front of Harry’s office door, which he banged on loudly three times.
Part Four: Harry
Harry swung open his office door and groaned, immediately wishing he hadn’t. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting to see Malfoy at his door from the moment he saw the first page of the Daily Prophet that morning, but he’d had too many classes that day to prepare properly.
“You knew,” Malfoy said simply, pushing his way inside Harry’s office.
“Come on in,” Harry mumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He heard Malfoy sit in the empty chair he kept opposite his desk.
“You knew,” he repeated. “The entire time?” Harry nodded. “Even before you told me she was gone?”
“What was I supposed to do, Malfoy?”
“You were supposed,” Malfoy growled, “to give me a chance not to be the arse that finds out he has a son eleven years later. Did you not think I deserved to know?”
Harry let out an aggravated sigh. “Of course I did! And I told her that, a hundred times. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
Malfoy glared at him for a moment, and Harry frowned. This wasn’t his argument. He was in the middle of something he had no business being in the middle of.
“Stay here, Malfoy,” Harry said then, walking out of his office and toward McGonagall’s.
---
“I told the owner of my building to find someone else for my flat.” It was the middle of the night, and Hermione had appeared at Harry’s door almost an hour before. She hadn’t said much.
“What?” he asked, surprised. “You’re moving?”
“No, Harry,” she said, looking at him sadly. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving what?”
“England. The Ministry.”
“You quit your job?”
She nodded. “This afternoon. I apologized and told them I wouldn’t be back.”
He stared at her, eyes wide. Clearly, she’d gone mental, but he didn’t know what to do with someone who’d gone mental. Normally, he would ask Hermione. “But why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I should bring you into it.”
“Bit bloody late, isn’t it?” She still didn’t answer. “Is this about Ron?” She shook her head. “Malfoy?” She paused. Just a moment, but it was enough. “What did he do?”
She stared at him intensely. “What makes you think he did anything?”
“Okay, then, what did you do?”
“I went back. The next night, I went back.”
“To Malfoy’s?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t get annoyed with me. You’re the one being vague, I’m just trying to understand.”
“I slept with him, Harry.”
He blinked at her, then looked at the floor, taking that in. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How do we get from there to you quitting your job?”
“I took a trip to St. Mungo’s after work one day last week.”
Now he was staring at her, hoping that meant something different than what he thought it meant. His eyes flashed to her stomach, and she nodded.
“I’m still confused where the train goes off the tracks and suddenly you’re leaving England and quitting your job.”
“I can’t do this here, Harry. I can’t be the war hero that had a one night stand and has to raise a baby alone under the public eye.” Her face was in her hands.
“You’d have me,” he began, but she laughed bitterly.
“And have you suffer along with me as the savior of the Wizarding world taking pity on his poor, single mother best mate?” He started to protest. “I know you don’t care about these things, Harry, but I won’t let you go down with me.”
He was silent for a moment. “What about Malfoy? Are you at least going to tell him?”
“Of course not,” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “What good would that do, for him or for me?”
“He deserves a chance, Hermione.”
“I’ll tell him one day,” she promised, and he wasn’t sure he believed her.
She stood, and started walking toward the door. “Do I at least get to know where you’re going?” he asked.
She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
---
Inside McGonagall’s office, it had only taken a few minutes of begging before she allowed him to open the floo from her office to Hermione’s house in the French countryside.
When he arrived, she was still in the middle of dinner, a book balanced against a vase in the center of the small table. She looked up, startled.
“I need you to come with me to Hogwarts,” he said simply, and she was up and through the floo within seconds. He smiled. Nothing like an easily worried mum.
When he arrived shortly behind her, she had already started in on the Headmistress. “Where’s Marcus? Is he okay?”
“It is not I that asked you here, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, and Harry grabbed onto Hermione’s arm, pulling her toward the door. He could have sworn he saw McGonagall smile as they passed, but he may have imagined it.
As they walked, she continued to fire questions at him, each more frantic than the last. When they reached his office, he said only, “I refuse to deal with this anymore,” pulled her wand from her pocket, pushed her inside, and locked the door behind her.
Part Five: Hermione
“Bastard,” Hermione said under her breath, leaning her forehead against the now locked office door.
She heard quiet laughter behind her. “Well. Who’d have thought Potter could be so diabolical?”
She turned to find Draco Malfoy smirking at her, and it was no less infuriatingly attractive than it had been twelve years ago. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me out of here.”
“Not a chance, Granger.”
She sighed, walking over and taking Harry’s seat behind the desk. “You know, now that you’re teaching our eleven year old son Potions, I think you can call me Hermione.”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk, staring at her intently. “Ah, yes. Our son. Let’s talk about him, shall we?”
Hermione cringed, looking away from his gaze. “What do you want to know?”
“How about we start with the when, how, and why,” he said. “When were you planning to tell me that I have a son, how could you possibly have left England without a trace, and why, most importantly, didn’t you give me a chance?”
She only thought for a second before answering, “Never, magically, and I didn’t know you wanted one.” His glare was disbelieving. “Well, the first part would have been easier if he weren’t your bloody doppelganger. And the second part is true enough. When you quit your job, move out of your flat, and Apparate away without telling anyone, it’s fairly easy to disappear.” She hesitated on the last one, letting her words dangle in the silent air.
“Now for the why,” he prompted, still staring at her. This time, she met his eyes.
“I thought I’d be doing you a favor. You were twenty years old and a Malfoy; an heir by a muggleborn that early in your life would have destroyed you, and I refused to take you, or Harry, down with me.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t that have been my decision?”
She scoffed. “Oh, come on, Malfoy, you can’t tell me you’d have made a different choice. Malfoys are supposed to get married to perfect Pureblood wives and have little, perfect blond children. After they’re married.”
“You know,” he said with a smirk at being able to throw her own words back at her, “now that I’m teaching our eleven year old son Potions, I think you can call me Draco. And, in case you didn’t notice, my parents and I had already done a fine job of ruining the Malfoy name; you didn’t need to protect from Marcus or yourself. He’s brilliant, by the way.”
She smiled at him despite herself. “Yes, well, what do you expect? Look at his parents.” She looked down at the table. “Do you really think I made the wrong decision? It’s not as though we were in love, Draco.” His name tasted good on her tongue, a fact that she quickly ignored.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him stand, and she watched him make his way around the desk. He touched a hand to her cheek and said, “It’s not as though you gave us a chance to be.”
Part Six: Marcus
When Marcus made his way out of the Ravenclaw Common Room, he saw his Uncle Harry waiting for him.
“Hi,” he said, and Harry smiled at him.
“Your mum’s here. She and Professor Malfoy are having a meeting in my office. I figure she’ll want to see you. And you can make sure she’s being nice.”
Marcus gave him a disbelieving look, and Harry laughed. “Yeah, it’s a long shot for anybody, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s probably you.”
As they walked along the corridors leading from Ravenclaw Tower to Harry’s office, Marcus looked at his uncle. “Why is she here?”
“She just needed to talk to Professor Malfoy,” he said, but his Uncle Harry had always been really bad at hiding things from him.
“About me?”
His uncle sighed. “Sort of.”
“Professor Malfoy’s my dad, isn’t he?” Marcus asked, and Harry turned wide eyes on him, then shook his head.
“You’re too smart for your own good, do you know that?”
“Yes.”
When they finally stopped in front of Harry’s office, his uncle said, “Okay, let me just check that they’re getting along before I send you in.”
He unlocked the door and cracked it open, peering in, then shut it again quickly and turning to look at Marcus. He laughed. “How about we head down to the kitchens and get the house elves to make us some dessert, yeah?”
“Are they getting along?” Marcus fell in step with Harry, never one to say no to extra sweets.
His uncle laughed again. “A tad too well.”
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Author/Artist: ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Characters and places from the Harry Potter universe don't belong to me. Trust me. I'm getting nothing out of this except enjoyment.
Warnings: Mild language; EWE
Summary: Twelve years ago, Hermione Granger disappeared, and nobody ever knew why until now.
Notes: fangirlyness, I really hope you like it! I'm not sure this is entirely what you were looking for, as your prompt was very open, but I hope you'll find things in it that you enjoy. I had lots of fun writing it for you. :D
Part One: Draco
Draco had to admit that he’d gotten a lot of his teaching style from Severus. His godfather may have been a grumpy old bastard, but he’d had the right idea, beginning each first year’s experience with him in an intimidating snap of black cotton.
The main difference between Draco and Severus, however, was that Draco tried not to scare them absolutely shitless. The watchful glare of Severus Snape had been the cause of more than one cauldron’s catastrophic explosion, and Draco had no desire whatsoever to spend an hour washing botched Shrinking Solution from his hair.
He swept his gaze carefully over the group of first years: Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Even without looking at the ties they wore, he could always tell which was which, the Ravenclaws with their quills already poised and the Hufflepuffs either twirling their quills in their fingers or too busy staring at him wide-eyed to have done much of anything.
He didn’t know their names, though, a fact that bothered him. Due to “unforeseen circumstances,” also known as a significantly inebriated Pansy that he couldn’t very well have left to fend for herself, he had missed the Sorting Ceremony as well as the opening feast.
“I assume you all have your texts.” A couple of the braver students nodded enthusiastically, and a few more did so hesitantly. “Since it is your first class, we’ll see how well you follow clearly written instructions. The boil cure potion is on page 16. Supplies are in the back. Turn in your completed potion vials to me at the end of class.”
There was a brief pause, then a flurry of activity, and within moments there were a few preparing ingredients while the rest stared anxiously at their texts. He wandered amongst the tables, searching for mistakes he could fix before they became disasters.
In the back of the room, he spotted a boy sitting by himself, stirring the contents of his cauldron interestedly. Draco raised an eyebrow; stirring wasn’t involved until step six, and thus far he hadn’t passed anyone past step three. A few more steps later, further investigation showed a technically perfect potion and a boy who didn’t even acknowledge his arrival.
The boy had light blond hair and slightly pointed features that were less severe than Draco’s had been at that age. Otherwise, however, he noted a great deal of similarities between this Ravenclaw and the mental picture he had of himself as a first year. When the boy finally looked up, Draco noticed another distinct difference in the boy’s light brown eyes. “Is something wrong, Professor?”
“No,” Draco said, shaking his head slowly. “In fact, you seem to have something of an aptitude for Potions, Mr.-…”
“Granger,” the boy said, and Draco felt his shocked heart skip a beat. “Marcus Granger.”
---
Draco had no idea why he was there. In all honesty, he had no desire whatsoever to witness the marriage of the former Hogwarts students Most Likely to Have Intolerable Children and Most Likely to Reproduce Multiple Times.
Perhaps the idea of crashing Weasley’s wedding had just been too sweet to pass up.
He skirted around the edges of the room, surveying the damage. The brand new husband and wife were attempting to swallow each other’s face whole in the middle of the dance floor, and he could see Potter in the distance dancing awkwardly with the Maid of Honor.
Finally, he spotted a table with only one occupant and smirked to himself. He saw her look up at the newlyweds and roll her eyes before returning her attention to her drink, which he had a feeling was a bit more alcoholic than it looked.
He slid into a seat next to her and leaned in close. “I thought it would be you in the white dress today, Granger.”
She sent him a long-suffering, but half-hearted glare and said, “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”
“Keeping you company, it would seem,” he said, leaning back again with a grin. “I understand none of Brown’s guests wanting to talk to you, but shouldn’t Potter at least be over here, adhered to your side as always?”
She looked back out at the crowded dance floor and frowned. “Parvati cornered him. Something about how it was only right that the best man and the maid of honor have a dance together. She didn’t, however, say anything about dry humping the best man in public, which is what she seems to be doing.”
“My, my, Granger,” he said with a smirk. “Someone’s certainly snippy tonight.”
He expected her to glare at him again, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out a flask, twisted open the top, and poured a good amount into her nearly empty glass. Before she could tuck it away again, he snatched it from her hand and put it to his lips. He took a short swig and cringed. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” he heard her ask again.
He handed the flask back to her, and she dropped it carelessly back into her pocket. “Like I said before, Granger, I’m keeping you company. I promise, I make slightly better conversation than that glass you’re nursing.”
He saw her mouth tug up at the sides, as though she were fighting a smile. “I doubt that. And no one asked you to keep me company.”
“What kind of annoyance would I be if I only did what people asked?” He stood. “Now, come on, Granger.”
“‘Come on’? Why would I go anywhere with you?” Her words, he noted, were more rebellious to the idea than her eyes portrayed.
“Because you seem intent on getting hopelessly drunk tonight, and if you’re going to do so, you’re going to need better stuff than whatever shit alcohol you’ve got in that flask. Not to mention that I’d very much like to be there to see it, and if Weasley ever manages to extract his face from Brown’s mouth, he’s likely to see me and force me to leave.” He offered her his arm. “Now, come on.”
She eyed him warily, but only for a second, before standing and slipping her arm through his, proving to him just how much of a head start she must undoubtedly have. “Fine, Malfoy. Let’s go.”
---
Not ten minutes after the last of his morning classes ended, Draco was standing in the Headmistress’s office, looking around incredulously.
“Is there something I can help you with, Professor Malfoy?” Her stare was fierce, and she was no less intimidating to him now than she’d ever been as his Transfiguration professor, but in his state of shock he took little notice.
“I had a Marcus Granger in my class of first years this morning.”
She was silent a moment, perhaps waiting for him to say more. “That alone doesn’t explain why you’re in my office, Draco. If you have a question for me, ask it.”
“Is his mother…?” He didn’t know what the end of that question was, though. Was she alive? Was she okay? She had disappeared almost twelve years ago, telling no one where she’d gone. He’d given up hope on seeing her again long ago, until…
“Yes. Hermione Granger is his mother.” Headmistress McGonagall raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “This won’t be a problem for you, I trust? I understand your less than positive history with Miss Granger, but I can’t allow that to get in the way of your teaching.”
“Of course,” he said, waving off the question. “He seems to have quite the aptitude for Potions, in fact, but that’s not why I’m here, Headmistress.” He looked around the room awkwardly again for a moment, then met her eyes. “I trust you have files on each of the students?”
“That is correct,” she said, the questioning eyebrow still raised.
“May I have access, then, to young Mr. Granger’s file?” Surely, it would be listed inside where Hermione lived. Or at least if she was alive.
“Do you have a legitimate reason for asking access to his file, Professor Malfoy?”
Well, his mother and I slept together nearly twelve years ago and I notice he has quite a few of my features…
No, that wouldn’t go over well, he reasoned. Minerva McGonagall wasn’t tolerant of personal drama on the best of days.
He let out a short sigh. “No, Headmistress.”
“Then I suggest you put whatever your troubles are out of your mind and get down to the Great Hall. Lunch is to begin in fifteen minutes.”
Part Two: Hermione
Hermione tapped impatiently on her table at the Three Broomsticks, her mind buzzing almost as loudly as the room around her. The other patrons kept stealing glances at her, for it was common knowledge that Hermione Granger had disappeared without a trace just before the year turned 2001.
But honestly, she didn’t care about any of them. She was waiting for Harry, because when he got there, she was going to kill him. And it wouldn’t be quick and painless, either. If she had her way, there would be blood.
He had been the only one, the only one that knew where she was or why she’d gone. And she’d known that things would change a bit once she had to send her son to school, but she’d never expected to get a letter from Marcus talking about how he thought Professor Malfoy had been impressed with him during his first Potions class.
Finally, she saw Harry making his way to her table. “Boy, that kid of yours works fast.” He shook his head.
She glared at him. “How could you, Harry? How could you not warn me that Malfoy’s the damn Potions professor now?”
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” he said pleadingly. “What difference would it have made if you knew?”
“I would have been warned, at least! I could have…”
“Sent him to Beauxbatons?” Harry frowned at her. “The boy may know French, but there’s no way I was going to let you send him to another school just because you’re being a coward.”
“Harry,” she growled, but he cut her off.
“No, Hermione. You’ve let Marcus have eleven years thinking he doesn’t have a father, and the rest of the Wizarding World has spent almost twelve not knowing where you are, or even if you’re alive. Marcus needed a chance to know the truth, and so did Malfoy.”
Hermione stared at him incredulously, mouth open slightly. Of course, he had a point. Damn him.
“I hate you, you know that, right?”
Harry smiled at her, slid out of the booth to give her a kiss on the cheek, and said, “I love you too, Hermione.”
---
Hermione woke up clutching her forehead, every fired synapse sending waves of pain through her body. Judging by the way her back ached, she hadn’t slept in her own bed, and she was grateful at least to register that she was still wearing clothes.
She pushed herself into a sitting position, and the movement made her groan aloud. Swinging around so that her feet were touching the floor, she cracked open her eyes and found…Harry’s living room.
She closed her eyes again. No, that couldn’t be right. As memories from the night before came back in short spurts, she knew very clearly that she had gone home with someone else.
Malfoy. She’d gone with Malfoy. And there’d been alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. None of which explained why she was on Harry’s couch.
“There’s a hangover potion on the coffee table, and coffee in the kitchen,” she heard Harry’s voice say, and she could tell the bastard was grinning. She cracked her eyes open again and there truly was a vial on the table in front of her. Okay, he wasn’t a bastard. He was the most wonderful person in the world.
She downed the potion in one gulp and groaned again as the cloudy pain in her head dissolved. “How did I get here?” she asked him, getting up slowly and walking toward the kitchen.
“Malfoy brought you,” he said, watching her pour black coffee into the largest mug she could find. “Apparently, you got magnificently sloshed last night. He didn’t think you’d want to wake up on his couch, so he Apparated you here after you fell asleep.” She could still hear the grin in his voice, and she rolled her eyes.
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “No comments on who I left with. You and Ron can just be glad I showed up at all.”
Harry held up his hands in surrender. “No comments, I promise.”
She took another sip of her coffee and went to pick up his copy of the newspaper, which he’d left unfolded on the kitchen table. Looking up, she saw him still staring at her. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He paused. “Okay, well, is it okay if I ask a question as long as I don’t comment?”
She didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow towards him in response.
“Did something happen between you and Malfoy?”
She blinked. She’d wondered the same thing, of course, at first, but as much as she searched her memories, she didn’t find anything worth noting other than a whole lot of drinking.
“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
Harry shrugged and finally looked away, staring into space for a moment. “No reason, I suppose. He just seemed a bit more concerned than normal when he brought you last night, is all.”
Hermione just shook her head and turned back to the newspaper. How was she supposed to know what Malfoy was thinking?
Part Three: Draco
Draco walked out of breakfast in the Great Hall to find a group of students congregated near the door, laughing. Near the center, he spotted Marcus, and he certainly wasn’t joining in on whatever the joke was.
In fact, he looked distressed. Draco narrowed his eyes.
Walking up to the group, he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming that you all have places to be. Go.” Many of the laughing students scowled at him, but dispersed, leaving only Marcus, whose bag had fallen onto the floor.
“Thanks,” the boy mumbled, stooping down to gather his books.
“I take it the joke wasn’t as funny as they thought it was?” Draco asked, trying not to sound quite as awkward as he felt.
Marcus shook his head and held out a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet. “My mum and Professor Potter made the front page,” he said bitterly, and Draco looked down to see Potter kissing an older, but no doubt her, Hermione Granger on the cheek.
Draco tore his eyes away from the picture and saw Marcus about to walk away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said to the boy. “People around here don’t have very long attention spans. They’ll find someone else to annoy in no time.” Marcus just nodded gloomily at him, and then was gone.
Draco’s eyes glided back to the picture just in time to see Granger grinning at Potter again, and he let out a long breath. He rolled up the paper and stuck into an inside pocket of his robes to read later. Thinking about that grin, or about Marcus’ troubles, wouldn’t help anything, especially when he had the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins that morning.
---
“Evening, Granger,” Draco said, cocking his head at the bundled-up woman who had just knocked on the door of his flat. “Something I can help you with? More gin, perhaps?” He smirked at her.
She ignored him, though. “Why did you take me back to Harry’s?”
He stepped back, allowing her to come inside, and pushed the door shut behind her. “Should I have done something else? I didn’t want to wake you up and ask where your flat was, and I didn’t think you’d be too fond of crashing at Weasley’s.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, why did you bother taking me back to Harry’s?”
“I’m not a complete and utter bastard,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Yes you are,” she said incredulously, and he just stared at her. “Or you were, to me, anyway. But not last night. Why?”
He just shook his head. He didn’t have an answer for her, or even for himself. “Merlin, Granger, what does it even matter?”
“Did something happen between us, Malfoy? Something that I don’t know about? Something that changed things?”
He scowled. This was what she was worried about? Did she think he had taken advantage of her? “Don’t worry, Granger. Your virtue’s still intact.”
She grinned then, an action that confused him severely. “First of all,” she said, “you have no way of knowing that. And second, that’s not really what I was asking.” She paused and took a step closer to him. He looked at her, wary and oddly hopeful in a way he didn’t understand. “Did you want something to happen?”
Just at that moment, he had no idea what thoughts had been going through his mind the night before. But, he had to admit, if she asked him the same question about right now, he knew what his answer would be.
“Not that I was aware of at the moment,” he finally said, still watching her.
“What about now?” she asked, and he cursed inwardly.
“I don’t see how that matters, either,” he said, thinking about taking a step back. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite get his legs to work. She took another step forward so that she was right in front of him, pulled off one of her gloves, and touched her hand to his face. “Are you drunk again, Granger?” he asked. “It’s really not healthy to get this plastered two nights in a row.”
But, when she kissed him, he didn’t taste any alcohol on her tongue. Only her. Pulling back slightly, she said, “Shut up, Malfoy.” And she kissed him again.
---
That night after dinner, Draco had finally decided what his next plan of action needed to be: He needed to talk to Potter.
Potter, who had obviously known about everything from the beginning.
Potter, who could have told him the truth a long time ago.
He’d done his best not to think too much about it that day. About Hermione, about that night, about the day Potter had told him she was gone, about Marcus, about that damned newspaper article.
It’s hard not to think about something when you’re trying so hard not to think about it. Suddenly, he remembered why he’d always hated paradoxes.
But that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was getting Potter to explain.
He didn’t even realize he was on the fifth floor until he was in front of Harry’s office door, which he banged on loudly three times.
Part Four: Harry
Harry swung open his office door and groaned, immediately wishing he hadn’t. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting to see Malfoy at his door from the moment he saw the first page of the Daily Prophet that morning, but he’d had too many classes that day to prepare properly.
“You knew,” Malfoy said simply, pushing his way inside Harry’s office.
“Come on in,” Harry mumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He heard Malfoy sit in the empty chair he kept opposite his desk.
“You knew,” he repeated. “The entire time?” Harry nodded. “Even before you told me she was gone?”
“What was I supposed to do, Malfoy?”
“You were supposed,” Malfoy growled, “to give me a chance not to be the arse that finds out he has a son eleven years later. Did you not think I deserved to know?”
Harry let out an aggravated sigh. “Of course I did! And I told her that, a hundred times. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
Malfoy glared at him for a moment, and Harry frowned. This wasn’t his argument. He was in the middle of something he had no business being in the middle of.
“Stay here, Malfoy,” Harry said then, walking out of his office and toward McGonagall’s.
---
“I told the owner of my building to find someone else for my flat.” It was the middle of the night, and Hermione had appeared at Harry’s door almost an hour before. She hadn’t said much.
“What?” he asked, surprised. “You’re moving?”
“No, Harry,” she said, looking at him sadly. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving what?”
“England. The Ministry.”
“You quit your job?”
She nodded. “This afternoon. I apologized and told them I wouldn’t be back.”
He stared at her, eyes wide. Clearly, she’d gone mental, but he didn’t know what to do with someone who’d gone mental. Normally, he would ask Hermione. “But why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I should bring you into it.”
“Bit bloody late, isn’t it?” She still didn’t answer. “Is this about Ron?” She shook her head. “Malfoy?” She paused. Just a moment, but it was enough. “What did he do?”
She stared at him intensely. “What makes you think he did anything?”
“Okay, then, what did you do?”
“I went back. The next night, I went back.”
“To Malfoy’s?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t get annoyed with me. You’re the one being vague, I’m just trying to understand.”
“I slept with him, Harry.”
He blinked at her, then looked at the floor, taking that in. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How do we get from there to you quitting your job?”
“I took a trip to St. Mungo’s after work one day last week.”
Now he was staring at her, hoping that meant something different than what he thought it meant. His eyes flashed to her stomach, and she nodded.
“I’m still confused where the train goes off the tracks and suddenly you’re leaving England and quitting your job.”
“I can’t do this here, Harry. I can’t be the war hero that had a one night stand and has to raise a baby alone under the public eye.” Her face was in her hands.
“You’d have me,” he began, but she laughed bitterly.
“And have you suffer along with me as the savior of the Wizarding world taking pity on his poor, single mother best mate?” He started to protest. “I know you don’t care about these things, Harry, but I won’t let you go down with me.”
He was silent for a moment. “What about Malfoy? Are you at least going to tell him?”
“Of course not,” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “What good would that do, for him or for me?”
“He deserves a chance, Hermione.”
“I’ll tell him one day,” she promised, and he wasn’t sure he believed her.
She stood, and started walking toward the door. “Do I at least get to know where you’re going?” he asked.
She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
---
Inside McGonagall’s office, it had only taken a few minutes of begging before she allowed him to open the floo from her office to Hermione’s house in the French countryside.
When he arrived, she was still in the middle of dinner, a book balanced against a vase in the center of the small table. She looked up, startled.
“I need you to come with me to Hogwarts,” he said simply, and she was up and through the floo within seconds. He smiled. Nothing like an easily worried mum.
When he arrived shortly behind her, she had already started in on the Headmistress. “Where’s Marcus? Is he okay?”
“It is not I that asked you here, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, and Harry grabbed onto Hermione’s arm, pulling her toward the door. He could have sworn he saw McGonagall smile as they passed, but he may have imagined it.
As they walked, she continued to fire questions at him, each more frantic than the last. When they reached his office, he said only, “I refuse to deal with this anymore,” pulled her wand from her pocket, pushed her inside, and locked the door behind her.
Part Five: Hermione
“Bastard,” Hermione said under her breath, leaning her forehead against the now locked office door.
She heard quiet laughter behind her. “Well. Who’d have thought Potter could be so diabolical?”
She turned to find Draco Malfoy smirking at her, and it was no less infuriatingly attractive than it had been twelve years ago. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me out of here.”
“Not a chance, Granger.”
She sighed, walking over and taking Harry’s seat behind the desk. “You know, now that you’re teaching our eleven year old son Potions, I think you can call me Hermione.”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk, staring at her intently. “Ah, yes. Our son. Let’s talk about him, shall we?”
Hermione cringed, looking away from his gaze. “What do you want to know?”
“How about we start with the when, how, and why,” he said. “When were you planning to tell me that I have a son, how could you possibly have left England without a trace, and why, most importantly, didn’t you give me a chance?”
She only thought for a second before answering, “Never, magically, and I didn’t know you wanted one.” His glare was disbelieving. “Well, the first part would have been easier if he weren’t your bloody doppelganger. And the second part is true enough. When you quit your job, move out of your flat, and Apparate away without telling anyone, it’s fairly easy to disappear.” She hesitated on the last one, letting her words dangle in the silent air.
“Now for the why,” he prompted, still staring at her. This time, she met his eyes.
“I thought I’d be doing you a favor. You were twenty years old and a Malfoy; an heir by a muggleborn that early in your life would have destroyed you, and I refused to take you, or Harry, down with me.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t that have been my decision?”
She scoffed. “Oh, come on, Malfoy, you can’t tell me you’d have made a different choice. Malfoys are supposed to get married to perfect Pureblood wives and have little, perfect blond children. After they’re married.”
“You know,” he said with a smirk at being able to throw her own words back at her, “now that I’m teaching our eleven year old son Potions, I think you can call me Draco. And, in case you didn’t notice, my parents and I had already done a fine job of ruining the Malfoy name; you didn’t need to protect from Marcus or yourself. He’s brilliant, by the way.”
She smiled at him despite herself. “Yes, well, what do you expect? Look at his parents.” She looked down at the table. “Do you really think I made the wrong decision? It’s not as though we were in love, Draco.” His name tasted good on her tongue, a fact that she quickly ignored.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him stand, and she watched him make his way around the desk. He touched a hand to her cheek and said, “It’s not as though you gave us a chance to be.”
Part Six: Marcus
When Marcus made his way out of the Ravenclaw Common Room, he saw his Uncle Harry waiting for him.
“Hi,” he said, and Harry smiled at him.
“Your mum’s here. She and Professor Malfoy are having a meeting in my office. I figure she’ll want to see you. And you can make sure she’s being nice.”
Marcus gave him a disbelieving look, and Harry laughed. “Yeah, it’s a long shot for anybody, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s probably you.”
As they walked along the corridors leading from Ravenclaw Tower to Harry’s office, Marcus looked at his uncle. “Why is she here?”
“She just needed to talk to Professor Malfoy,” he said, but his Uncle Harry had always been really bad at hiding things from him.
“About me?”
His uncle sighed. “Sort of.”
“Professor Malfoy’s my dad, isn’t he?” Marcus asked, and Harry turned wide eyes on him, then shook his head.
“You’re too smart for your own good, do you know that?”
“Yes.”
When they finally stopped in front of Harry’s office, his uncle said, “Okay, let me just check that they’re getting along before I send you in.”
He unlocked the door and cracked it open, peering in, then shut it again quickly and turning to look at Marcus. He laughed. “How about we head down to the kitchens and get the house elves to make us some dessert, yeah?”
“Are they getting along?” Marcus fell in step with Harry, never one to say no to extra sweets.
His uncle laughed again. “A tad too well.”
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