Saint Hermione and the Dragon Chapter 2
Title: Saint Hermione and the Dragon
Author: JazzyFay
Rating: M
Summary: In a world of magic, illusions are everywhere, and everyone has their demons to slay. A mother in need. A man in despair. One marriage destroyed by truths; one marriage built on lies. When Hermione enters into the employment of the Malfoy family, she bears witness to more than she ever expected and learns more about herself than she ever wanted to know.
Disclaimer: I have never been and will never be J.K. Rowlings. Thus, I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe.
The third time his quill’s tip broke over the course of forty-five minutes, Draco swore under his breath and threw the instrument down. He watched with a perverse fascination as the emerald ink it had been loaded with spread dark tendrils out across the parchment, obscuring the carefully chosen words of the trade proposal that he had spent the past three days laboring over. As the spidery tracks of ink made their way down the page and seeped into the elaborate ‘M’ of his signature, he jerked back into action. Swearing anew, he performed a quick siphoning charm on the papers and hastily tossed the broken quill into the rubbish bin beneath his desk. He then smoothed out the formerly ruined proposal and attempted to give it one more read-through before he handed it off to his business owl for immediate delivery.
Ten minutes later, eyes blurring and head throbbing, Draco gave it up as a bad job. Snatching the papers off of his desk, he marched to the door and jerked it open. “You!” he barked at his junior assistant. He rolled his eyes as the younger man looked frantically around the empty room, trying to figure out who his boss was addressing. “Jackson,” he clarified, his left foot beginning to tap against the polished oak floor. He could feel pounding behind his temples growing stronger with each squeak of the man’s chair as he pivoted around.
Finally realizing that there was no one else to save him from his notoriously demanding boss, the nervous clerk turned to face Draco, his chair giving another squeak of protest as he did so. “Jacob,” he began, his voice trembling.
“What?” Draco growled as the spot directly above his right eye gave a particularly powerful throb.
“I--my name, Sir. It’s Jacob…” He was whispering now, trailing off as Draco clenched and released his jaw muscles.
Draco curled his lip. “I’m sure.” Not to be sidetracked by an outspoken, over-paid secretary, he forged ahead, “Fix this.” Tossing the proposal down on Jackson’s-- no, Jacob’s desk, he leveled his sternest glare at him and took two menacing steps forward, “I want that edited, polished, and on my desk in time for tea. And fix that goddamn chair. Now.” Turning in his heel, he stalked back into his office and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned and shaking assistant in his wake.
Draco collapsed back into his plush leather chair with a sigh and tipped it back to stare at the ceiling. The Bangkok meeting last night had been a success and he had been able to wrap negotiations up far earlier than he had expected. Whenever possible, he preferred to come home as early as possible. He could recall his own father’s frequent late-night arrivals all too well; it was bad enough that his son should know of his mother’s indiscretions, he shouldn’t have to suspect his father as well. Pleased with the prospect of returning home for a relaxing evening, Draco managed to forget his wife’s closing remarks. Needless to say, they had come rushing back as soon as he entered his study to find Scorpius curled up in his favorite chair, eyes drooping while Zabini read to him from one of Draco’s many finance texts. Clearing his throat, Draco strode into the room. As he passed Zabini, he paused and to give his former housemate a menacing glare that effectively halted his asinine attempt at story-telling. Did the man truly lack any concept of what qualified as appropriate bed-time reading material?
Satisfied with the silence, Draco stopped in front of his son. “Scorpius.” He extended his arms towards the child, who quickly unfurled himself from the chair and allowed himself to be picked up by his father and immediately nestled himself further into the warmth of his embrace, his tiny hands fisting the collar of Draco’s shirt. Smiling softly, Draco shifted the boy’s slight weight in his arms and gently stroked his back as his child mumbled sleepily into his shoulder. Confident that his only child was secure on his hip, Draco silently held out an open hand towards Blaise, his eyes locked on the book that lay across his lap. He longed to order the man away from both his home and his child in no uncertain terms, but with Scorpius nodding off in his arms, he had no choice but to hold his tongue. He watched as long, dark fingers curled on the open page, the lamp-light glinting off the thick golden band that encircled one finger. Finally satisfied that Draco would not lash out with his son so close, Blaise snapped the book shut and stood, thrusting it into Draco’s waiting hand. Pausing only to gently tug at a lock of Scorpius’ snowy white hair, an act that Draco despised, he walked out. Draco stood rooted in place, still rubbing his child’s back, until he felt the wards of the property ripple as Blaise exited the grounds.
His son had been unusually quiet the rest of the evening, and was still noticeably subdued when Draco had left for work this. Draco was vaguely aware that such behavior might be considered a sign of trouble, but was quite unsure of what to do for his son. When previously faced with his son’s withdrawn emotions, he had once attempted to broach the subject with Astoria, but she dismissed it easily enough as merely a facet of Scorpius’ complex and developing personality. Though he had accepted her answer at the time, he was finding himself laying awake more and more frequently questioning the logic of her answer. After all, he had never been one to shy away from attention or excitement in his youth, and for Astoria, growing up in the wings of her sister’s popularity had made her crave the spotlight almost as much as Draco once did. If anything, his son seemed to be drawing further and further in on himself, at times even choosing the solitude of his playroom to the prospect of an afternoon playing on the grounds with his own father. Draco could now say that he was certain this behavior was not a part of Scorpius’ normal personality, but found himself still no closer to a reasonable explanation. He was painfully aware of the fact that life at the Manor was hardly what one might call “normal,” but compared to his own turbulent childhood he considered it to be a vast improvement. At least when he left his wife and son in the mornings it was to go to work, not to go torture muggles or any of the other gruesome activities that his father had once indulged in. So far, Scorpius’ only exposure to blood had come in the form of scraped knees and paper cuts, which was precisely how Draco intended to keep things. ‘Only I leave my son to be raised by house elves and my wife’s lover. Every time I’ve brought in a nanny it’s been a bloody disaster! Damnit, Astoria!’
The thought of Astoria and the previous nanny debacles brought Draco back to the present, and he tipped forward in his chair to reach a slip of pale pink paper that was at the far edge of his desk blotter. Eyes skimming the curly script of his wife’s hand, he made his decision: finding a marginally suitable governess through an advert would be a damned sight better than allowing Blaise fucking Zabini the privilege of playing surrogate daddy to his son. ‘The idiot can’t even work out that a finance text, of all bloody things, isn’t suited for a four-year-old!’
Reaching forward again, he collected the forms that Astoria had left for him. Despite his suggestion that she be the one to do the hiring this time around, she had again chosen to leave the brunt of the work to her husband, including coming up with a sufficiently detailed description of expectations and duties. ‘Typical.’
Skimming through the first page, Draco plucked a fresh, self-loading quill from his case and quickly answered the basic questions.
Do you or your spouse smoke? Draco’s eyes narrowed as he recalled Blaise’s habit of sneaking out to the lake for a quick break between classes when they were still at Hogwarts and frowned as he recalled the faint smell of tobacco that had lingered around Scorpius the night before. No.
Are you expecting any more children in the next year? Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he wrote a hasty No. ‘One heir is quite enough, thank you.’
Number of pets in your household, and type: Draco frowned and did a quick mental tally: four owls of various breeds, one blue-cream Persian, one Irish wolfhound, three peafowl, five horses, and a bunny. ‘And my wife’s lover, of course, though I suspect that classifying him as an adulterous bastard would be highly inappropriate on this sort of application.’
Half an hour later Draco sat back, his personal owl, Aesop, having just left with the completed forms. It was, he reflected, a win-win situation: either the agency would fail to find someone who met his justifiably lofty expectations, in which case he could inform Astoria that he had been perfectly correct in his initial response to the idea, or they would actually manage to provide him with the perfect governess for his perfect son-well-spoken, well-read, properly educated both in academics and etiquette… He could accept nothing less now that Scorpius was old enough to begin his studies.
~*~*~*~
Hermione leaned forward, allowing the fragrant steam that rose from her tea mug to fill her lungs. Her right hand traced idle patterns around the mug’s handle while she stared unseeingly into drink.
“Hermione? You still in there?” She raised her eyes to meet familiar green of her closest friend. Wrinkling her nose at his knowing look, she lowered her head back down to inhale another breath of bergamot-scented steam.
Frowning, Harry Potter reached forward and gently pulled the mug away. “Hermione.” His tone was steady even as his eyes pleaded for a reasoned response. It wasn’t often that the roles were reversed and he found himself the voice of reason and cool logic in the face of Hermione’s emotions. It was not a part that he was at ease taking, and a not-so-little piece of him selfishly hoped that she would soon be convinced to return to her usual state of orderly control. Three months earlier, a poorly planned raid, a well-informed target, overconfidence, and too-slow reflexes had been combined in a disastrous assignment that had landed Harry an unwanted leave-of-absence due to a rather nasty dark curse that had grazed his left leg. Until the cursed wound fully healed, he was useless as an auror. Ginny had been alternately horrified that her husband was injured and thrilled that he would be home for an extended period to help with the upkeep of both the house and the children. Of course, neither had expected Hermione and Ron’s marriage to fall to pieces during that time. Now Harry was forced to add the duties of relationship councilor and mediator to his ever-expanding list of skills. After so many years of living and working with Ron, both at school and as aurors, he was used to coaching the red-headed man through many of life’s upsets, but Hermione had always been remarkably self-sufficient. Nevertheless, as her friend, he felt obligated to keep trying. “I’m beginning to think that losing your job has you more upset than the divorce.”
That at least got her attention. Glaring, Hermione countered “According to the Department of Family Services, if I am not ‘gainfully employed,’ I cannot support my children. If I cannot support them, I cannot keep custody over them. Ron would have them, and you know that…that he-” Ducking her head so that she would not have to see the look of pity that surely crossed Harry’s face at the sound of her voice cracking, she continued “So unless I either inherit a small fortune or launch a new and well-paying career in the next sixty days...” Trailing off with a moan, she dropped her head to the table, her brown curls, still as bushy as when she was a girl, spilling out around her.
Harry offered her an awkward pat on the head and tried again. “Look, I know it’s asinine, you know it’s asinine, even Ron knows it’s asinine, but…well, the DoFS doesn’t. And they never will.” Hearing what sounded far too much like the beginning of a dry sob, he quickly continued. “All that means is that it’s up to you to show them how wrong they are.” He offered her a reassuring grin that went unseen. “Besides, remember how many offers there were right after the War? You hadn’t even completed school yet, or sat your NEWTs. Think of how much more experience you have now. You’ll find something, and it’ll be great!” Again he gave her a pat, though this one was full of enthusiasm that he desperately hoped would be catching. Between Hermione and Ron, he wasn’t sure how many more pep-talks he could muster over the coming days. He was busy thinking back on the Ron’s floo call from earlier in the day and almost missed Hermione’s mumbled reply.
“Why wasn’t I born a Malfoy?” She glared at the floor, and Harry glanced down to see the Society page of the Daily Prophet where he had dropped it earlier. Hermione had shooed him away when he awkwardly attempted to retrieve it whilst balancing on his good leg, and apparently had forgotten about it herself, until now. Captured in black and white, Draco Malfoy surveyed his surroundings with cool detachment while the petite blond on his arm turned to smile for the cameras before turning back to her conversation with the tall, dark, and stunning man in front of her.
“Because you’re human?” Harry offered, reaching out with his crutch to flip the paper over and hide the former Slytherins from view. “Seriously, it’s not that bad.”
“If his wife wanted a divorce, no one would say that she couldn’t provide for her children.”
Harry sighed, wishing not for the first time that Ginny hadn’t taken the day to visit Luna. “Yes, and if you were his wife, you’d be married to Draco Malfoy. Your children would be the result of his--” Unable to finish the thought, he faked retching into his own cup of tea. “As I said, it’s not that bad.”
“Right.” The familiar tone of righteous frustration crept back into her tone. “Harry, no one wants to hire a divorcee. Unless I want to try to raise my children as muggles, which wouldn’t work anyway.”
“Why not? Your parents are both muggles.”
Hermione sighed, once again finding herself two steps ahead of her friend. “Because the last time I checked, I graduated from Hogwarts with you, remember? I haven’t attended a muggle school since I was ten years old, I don’t even have my muggle O-levels or whatever they call those exams, and I never went to muggle university. So I can’t possibly go back to the muggle world; I’d be completely uneducated,” she glared as Harry struggled to mask a snort of laughter, “untrained and inexperienced. I’d never find work there! Besides, even if I did, do you honestly believe that I’d qualify for anything that the DoFS would find acceptable.” She shook her head in answer to her own question.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess that wouldn’t work, then,” Harry conceded.
Hermione took a moment to shove a handful of thick curls behind her ear, and when she next spoke her tone had softened and her eyes lit up with an excitement he had not seen in some time. “Unless…Harry…I mean, I wouldn’t ask, normally-I know you hate these sorts of things…but…maybe…it might work…” She bit her lower lip and studied him, the gleam in her eyes far too calculating for comfort, even if he was pleased to see her acting a bit more like herself.
“What?” He half-dreaded the answer, but silently hoped his best friend’s clever mind had found the answer she so desperately needed.
“You could speak to Kingsley, perhaps. They’d listen to you-they always do.”
Harry blew out a breath he hadn’t intended to hold. “I already did.” He wished she would stop looking at him like that. He had saved the Wizarding world on a wing and a prayer, and he hated himself for not being able to save his own friend when she needed him most. “They won’t budge.” The hope in her eyes dimmed. “They-this is…they-well, they don’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway. This is the way it’s always been, and this is the way they want it to always be. One man, one woman, two point five kids, for life.” He watched helplessly as Hermione quickly bowed her head to hide the tears he had already seen.
“Aunt Hermny!” A flurry of footsteps heralded the arrival of Harry’s son moments before he collided with Hermione’s leg. Glaring up at his father, he scolded in a voice frightfully similar to his mother’s, “You didn’t get me! Aunt Hermny came, and no one told me!”
Hastily brushing the remaining wetness from her cheeks, Hermione smiled down at the child as she gently detached his fingers from the hem of her skirt and pulled him up onto her lap. “I’m sorry, Al. I needed to talk to your daddy about grown-up stuff.” She tapped his nose as he scrunched it up. “I know-boring, huh? But we’re done now, so why don’t you go pick out a book and we’ll read it together?” She looked up at Harry as Albus ran off to find an appropriate book. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” he returned gently, shaking his head. Even four years after the birth of her first child, Harry still couldn’t believe how well-suited his friend was for motherhood. Though he loved his own children dearly, and was quite fond of Hermione and Ron’s as well, he couldn’t deny that he longed for the day when he would be given a clean bill of health and could return once more to work, leaving his three junior marauders in the capable care of his mother-in-law for several hours each day. Prior to becoming their full-time care-giver, he had never realized just how much time and energy went into keeping such small beings safely occupied. Yet Hermione rarely seemed taxed by the effort at all. In fact, the only times she showed signs of stress were when others attempted to take the pressure off of the young mother and lend a helping hand. Rather than taking advantage of the offers to catch up on sleep or merely enjoy some time to herself, Hermione would spend the entire time hovering, offering bits of advice and supervising every single aspect of her children’s care. She seemed to thrive on the role of care-giver, and eventually Harry and the rest of her friends and family learned to accept that.
Albus returned, a battered copy of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland tucked securely against his chest. Hermione caught sight of the familiar title and shook her head, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth as she remembered picking that very book out from all the others as a present for her dark haired friend. She stood, strode quickly over to the boy, scooped him up, and carried him, book and all, into the living room, where she settled herself into the warm, and worn, nest of pillows and blankets that covered the couch, cuddling Albus next to her. Harry followed a bit slower, his injured leg still not healed as much as he would have liked, and stood in the door way, watching the witch as she coached his son through tricky passages and encouraged him when he stumbled over the bigger words.
Later, once the first chapter was completed and Albus lay sprawled between the two adults, his breathing slow and steady in sleep, Harry spoke: “What about teaching? You’re a natural.”
Blinking as she forced her attention back to her friend, Hermione frowned. “Teaching what?”
“You know, school or something. I bet McGonagall would hire you in an instant.” He turned in his seat to face her fully. “You could probably have any subject you wanted, as long as it wasn’t flying.”
“Harry…I don’t know,” Hermione tugged on a curl as she thought. “Term’s already started. As much as I would probably enjoy the work, it won’t come soon enough. If Professor McGonagall was to hire me now, it’d be out of pity and it would be a fabrication…she’s already filled all of the positions. Everyone would know that.” Releasing the curl, she offered Harry a watery smile. “I appreciate the thought, Harry, but I need something more immediate. Maybe I’ll speak with her over the summer about next year, but in the meanwhile, I need something I can start now.”
Nodding, Harry acknowledged the logic behind Hermione’s words. Still, there had to be a way. “What about being a nanny or a tutor or something?”
“Harry, again, what sort of wizard is going to hire a divorced witch to watch his kids?”
“A desperate one?” he offered, teasing her just a bit and smiling as she swatted him in retaliation.
She frowned again as she worked through as many potential scenarios as she could in the course of a few seconds. “Besides, I’ve no experience with this sort of thing. I’ve got children of my own, and my grades were always high, but I’ve never taught. What am I supposed to say? ‘For hire: nanny/tutor--can recount the 1584 battle of Goblins’?”
“Sounds good to me,” Harry answered with a grin.
“Unfortunately, it needs to sound good to the DoFS, too.” Hermione bit her lower lip and idly ran a hand gently through Albus’ black hair, already as messy as his fathers. “I’m not sure that Nanny quite qualifies as an acceptable means of supporting my family.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” Harry asked. “You’d be earning your own income, completely separate from Ron’s. That’s what they want, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes…but-it’s not just that. They want…Harry, this whole process was designed to make divorce as unappealing an option as possible. You know that.” She let out a short, derisive laugh. “Can you imagine me asking for child-support? They’d probably try to arrest me for that!” Again she shoved a wayward curl out of her way as she spoke. “Remember what you just said? One man, one woman, for life? It’s not enough to provide an income, I also have to provide child care, insurance, everything that a muggle court would normally try to split between the parents.”
“So? You just sent them over to Molly’s when you and Ron were both working. What was wrong with that? And we can’t change our insurance plans until the end of the fiscal year, so you and the kids are still covered by Ron’s plan for a while. You should be able to come up with your own coverage in time-maybe you could even find an employer to provide it for you. ”
“Maybe... I’ll need to look into private coverage soon anyway. But Molly’s made her opinion perfectly clear, and I’d rather she not reiterate it in front of my children.” Hermione was still having a hard time believing the complete lack of support that she had received from her soon-to-be-ex mother-in-law. Somehow the woman had managed to convince herself that every last bit of marital strife that had ever existed between her youngest son and his wife was entirely Hermione’s fault. Or perhaps that it was Hermione’s fault that she was simply unwilling to tolerate herself and her children constantly playing second-fiddle to her husband’s career any longer. At any rate, Molly was no longer a viable day-care option for Rose and Hugo.
Harry couldn’t help but grimace. It wasn’t often that he found himself in the proverbial doghouse with his mother-in-law, and certainly not to the degree that Hermione was now in, but it was an experience to remember when it did happen. “Right. Molly’s out. You know the kids are welcome to stay here while I’m home,” he offered.
Hermione smiled, even as tears filled her eyes yet again. “Harry-I…thank you.” She ducked her head and studied her hands where they now lay folded in her lap. “I know you’ve got your hands full with your three-“
“Don’t,” Harry cut in. “Really. It’s fine. I’ve got at least another month before I’m ready to go back to work. That’s time you can spend focusing on what you need to do to satisfy the DoFS. Just leave the kids to me.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Hermione launched herself at him, engulfing him in a damp, sniffling mass of arms and hair. Laughing quietly, he hugged her back.
Author: JazzyFay
Rating: M
Summary: In a world of magic, illusions are everywhere, and everyone has their demons to slay. A mother in need. A man in despair. One marriage destroyed by truths; one marriage built on lies. When Hermione enters into the employment of the Malfoy family, she bears witness to more than she ever expected and learns more about herself than she ever wanted to know.
Disclaimer: I have never been and will never be J.K. Rowlings. Thus, I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe.
The third time his quill’s tip broke over the course of forty-five minutes, Draco swore under his breath and threw the instrument down. He watched with a perverse fascination as the emerald ink it had been loaded with spread dark tendrils out across the parchment, obscuring the carefully chosen words of the trade proposal that he had spent the past three days laboring over. As the spidery tracks of ink made their way down the page and seeped into the elaborate ‘M’ of his signature, he jerked back into action. Swearing anew, he performed a quick siphoning charm on the papers and hastily tossed the broken quill into the rubbish bin beneath his desk. He then smoothed out the formerly ruined proposal and attempted to give it one more read-through before he handed it off to his business owl for immediate delivery.
Ten minutes later, eyes blurring and head throbbing, Draco gave it up as a bad job. Snatching the papers off of his desk, he marched to the door and jerked it open. “You!” he barked at his junior assistant. He rolled his eyes as the younger man looked frantically around the empty room, trying to figure out who his boss was addressing. “Jackson,” he clarified, his left foot beginning to tap against the polished oak floor. He could feel pounding behind his temples growing stronger with each squeak of the man’s chair as he pivoted around.
Finally realizing that there was no one else to save him from his notoriously demanding boss, the nervous clerk turned to face Draco, his chair giving another squeak of protest as he did so. “Jacob,” he began, his voice trembling.
“What?” Draco growled as the spot directly above his right eye gave a particularly powerful throb.
“I--my name, Sir. It’s Jacob…” He was whispering now, trailing off as Draco clenched and released his jaw muscles.
Draco curled his lip. “I’m sure.” Not to be sidetracked by an outspoken, over-paid secretary, he forged ahead, “Fix this.” Tossing the proposal down on Jackson’s-- no, Jacob’s desk, he leveled his sternest glare at him and took two menacing steps forward, “I want that edited, polished, and on my desk in time for tea. And fix that goddamn chair. Now.” Turning in his heel, he stalked back into his office and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned and shaking assistant in his wake.
Draco collapsed back into his plush leather chair with a sigh and tipped it back to stare at the ceiling. The Bangkok meeting last night had been a success and he had been able to wrap negotiations up far earlier than he had expected. Whenever possible, he preferred to come home as early as possible. He could recall his own father’s frequent late-night arrivals all too well; it was bad enough that his son should know of his mother’s indiscretions, he shouldn’t have to suspect his father as well. Pleased with the prospect of returning home for a relaxing evening, Draco managed to forget his wife’s closing remarks. Needless to say, they had come rushing back as soon as he entered his study to find Scorpius curled up in his favorite chair, eyes drooping while Zabini read to him from one of Draco’s many finance texts. Clearing his throat, Draco strode into the room. As he passed Zabini, he paused and to give his former housemate a menacing glare that effectively halted his asinine attempt at story-telling. Did the man truly lack any concept of what qualified as appropriate bed-time reading material?
Satisfied with the silence, Draco stopped in front of his son. “Scorpius.” He extended his arms towards the child, who quickly unfurled himself from the chair and allowed himself to be picked up by his father and immediately nestled himself further into the warmth of his embrace, his tiny hands fisting the collar of Draco’s shirt. Smiling softly, Draco shifted the boy’s slight weight in his arms and gently stroked his back as his child mumbled sleepily into his shoulder. Confident that his only child was secure on his hip, Draco silently held out an open hand towards Blaise, his eyes locked on the book that lay across his lap. He longed to order the man away from both his home and his child in no uncertain terms, but with Scorpius nodding off in his arms, he had no choice but to hold his tongue. He watched as long, dark fingers curled on the open page, the lamp-light glinting off the thick golden band that encircled one finger. Finally satisfied that Draco would not lash out with his son so close, Blaise snapped the book shut and stood, thrusting it into Draco’s waiting hand. Pausing only to gently tug at a lock of Scorpius’ snowy white hair, an act that Draco despised, he walked out. Draco stood rooted in place, still rubbing his child’s back, until he felt the wards of the property ripple as Blaise exited the grounds.
His son had been unusually quiet the rest of the evening, and was still noticeably subdued when Draco had left for work this. Draco was vaguely aware that such behavior might be considered a sign of trouble, but was quite unsure of what to do for his son. When previously faced with his son’s withdrawn emotions, he had once attempted to broach the subject with Astoria, but she dismissed it easily enough as merely a facet of Scorpius’ complex and developing personality. Though he had accepted her answer at the time, he was finding himself laying awake more and more frequently questioning the logic of her answer. After all, he had never been one to shy away from attention or excitement in his youth, and for Astoria, growing up in the wings of her sister’s popularity had made her crave the spotlight almost as much as Draco once did. If anything, his son seemed to be drawing further and further in on himself, at times even choosing the solitude of his playroom to the prospect of an afternoon playing on the grounds with his own father. Draco could now say that he was certain this behavior was not a part of Scorpius’ normal personality, but found himself still no closer to a reasonable explanation. He was painfully aware of the fact that life at the Manor was hardly what one might call “normal,” but compared to his own turbulent childhood he considered it to be a vast improvement. At least when he left his wife and son in the mornings it was to go to work, not to go torture muggles or any of the other gruesome activities that his father had once indulged in. So far, Scorpius’ only exposure to blood had come in the form of scraped knees and paper cuts, which was precisely how Draco intended to keep things. ‘Only I leave my son to be raised by house elves and my wife’s lover. Every time I’ve brought in a nanny it’s been a bloody disaster! Damnit, Astoria!’
The thought of Astoria and the previous nanny debacles brought Draco back to the present, and he tipped forward in his chair to reach a slip of pale pink paper that was at the far edge of his desk blotter. Eyes skimming the curly script of his wife’s hand, he made his decision: finding a marginally suitable governess through an advert would be a damned sight better than allowing Blaise fucking Zabini the privilege of playing surrogate daddy to his son. ‘The idiot can’t even work out that a finance text, of all bloody things, isn’t suited for a four-year-old!’
Reaching forward again, he collected the forms that Astoria had left for him. Despite his suggestion that she be the one to do the hiring this time around, she had again chosen to leave the brunt of the work to her husband, including coming up with a sufficiently detailed description of expectations and duties. ‘Typical.’
Skimming through the first page, Draco plucked a fresh, self-loading quill from his case and quickly answered the basic questions.
Do you or your spouse smoke? Draco’s eyes narrowed as he recalled Blaise’s habit of sneaking out to the lake for a quick break between classes when they were still at Hogwarts and frowned as he recalled the faint smell of tobacco that had lingered around Scorpius the night before. No.
Are you expecting any more children in the next year? Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he wrote a hasty No. ‘One heir is quite enough, thank you.’
Number of pets in your household, and type: Draco frowned and did a quick mental tally: four owls of various breeds, one blue-cream Persian, one Irish wolfhound, three peafowl, five horses, and a bunny. ‘And my wife’s lover, of course, though I suspect that classifying him as an adulterous bastard would be highly inappropriate on this sort of application.’
Half an hour later Draco sat back, his personal owl, Aesop, having just left with the completed forms. It was, he reflected, a win-win situation: either the agency would fail to find someone who met his justifiably lofty expectations, in which case he could inform Astoria that he had been perfectly correct in his initial response to the idea, or they would actually manage to provide him with the perfect governess for his perfect son-well-spoken, well-read, properly educated both in academics and etiquette… He could accept nothing less now that Scorpius was old enough to begin his studies.
~*~*~*~
Hermione leaned forward, allowing the fragrant steam that rose from her tea mug to fill her lungs. Her right hand traced idle patterns around the mug’s handle while she stared unseeingly into drink.
“Hermione? You still in there?” She raised her eyes to meet familiar green of her closest friend. Wrinkling her nose at his knowing look, she lowered her head back down to inhale another breath of bergamot-scented steam.
Frowning, Harry Potter reached forward and gently pulled the mug away. “Hermione.” His tone was steady even as his eyes pleaded for a reasoned response. It wasn’t often that the roles were reversed and he found himself the voice of reason and cool logic in the face of Hermione’s emotions. It was not a part that he was at ease taking, and a not-so-little piece of him selfishly hoped that she would soon be convinced to return to her usual state of orderly control. Three months earlier, a poorly planned raid, a well-informed target, overconfidence, and too-slow reflexes had been combined in a disastrous assignment that had landed Harry an unwanted leave-of-absence due to a rather nasty dark curse that had grazed his left leg. Until the cursed wound fully healed, he was useless as an auror. Ginny had been alternately horrified that her husband was injured and thrilled that he would be home for an extended period to help with the upkeep of both the house and the children. Of course, neither had expected Hermione and Ron’s marriage to fall to pieces during that time. Now Harry was forced to add the duties of relationship councilor and mediator to his ever-expanding list of skills. After so many years of living and working with Ron, both at school and as aurors, he was used to coaching the red-headed man through many of life’s upsets, but Hermione had always been remarkably self-sufficient. Nevertheless, as her friend, he felt obligated to keep trying. “I’m beginning to think that losing your job has you more upset than the divorce.”
That at least got her attention. Glaring, Hermione countered “According to the Department of Family Services, if I am not ‘gainfully employed,’ I cannot support my children. If I cannot support them, I cannot keep custody over them. Ron would have them, and you know that…that he-” Ducking her head so that she would not have to see the look of pity that surely crossed Harry’s face at the sound of her voice cracking, she continued “So unless I either inherit a small fortune or launch a new and well-paying career in the next sixty days...” Trailing off with a moan, she dropped her head to the table, her brown curls, still as bushy as when she was a girl, spilling out around her.
Harry offered her an awkward pat on the head and tried again. “Look, I know it’s asinine, you know it’s asinine, even Ron knows it’s asinine, but…well, the DoFS doesn’t. And they never will.” Hearing what sounded far too much like the beginning of a dry sob, he quickly continued. “All that means is that it’s up to you to show them how wrong they are.” He offered her a reassuring grin that went unseen. “Besides, remember how many offers there were right after the War? You hadn’t even completed school yet, or sat your NEWTs. Think of how much more experience you have now. You’ll find something, and it’ll be great!” Again he gave her a pat, though this one was full of enthusiasm that he desperately hoped would be catching. Between Hermione and Ron, he wasn’t sure how many more pep-talks he could muster over the coming days. He was busy thinking back on the Ron’s floo call from earlier in the day and almost missed Hermione’s mumbled reply.
“Why wasn’t I born a Malfoy?” She glared at the floor, and Harry glanced down to see the Society page of the Daily Prophet where he had dropped it earlier. Hermione had shooed him away when he awkwardly attempted to retrieve it whilst balancing on his good leg, and apparently had forgotten about it herself, until now. Captured in black and white, Draco Malfoy surveyed his surroundings with cool detachment while the petite blond on his arm turned to smile for the cameras before turning back to her conversation with the tall, dark, and stunning man in front of her.
“Because you’re human?” Harry offered, reaching out with his crutch to flip the paper over and hide the former Slytherins from view. “Seriously, it’s not that bad.”
“If his wife wanted a divorce, no one would say that she couldn’t provide for her children.”
Harry sighed, wishing not for the first time that Ginny hadn’t taken the day to visit Luna. “Yes, and if you were his wife, you’d be married to Draco Malfoy. Your children would be the result of his--” Unable to finish the thought, he faked retching into his own cup of tea. “As I said, it’s not that bad.”
“Right.” The familiar tone of righteous frustration crept back into her tone. “Harry, no one wants to hire a divorcee. Unless I want to try to raise my children as muggles, which wouldn’t work anyway.”
“Why not? Your parents are both muggles.”
Hermione sighed, once again finding herself two steps ahead of her friend. “Because the last time I checked, I graduated from Hogwarts with you, remember? I haven’t attended a muggle school since I was ten years old, I don’t even have my muggle O-levels or whatever they call those exams, and I never went to muggle university. So I can’t possibly go back to the muggle world; I’d be completely uneducated,” she glared as Harry struggled to mask a snort of laughter, “untrained and inexperienced. I’d never find work there! Besides, even if I did, do you honestly believe that I’d qualify for anything that the DoFS would find acceptable.” She shook her head in answer to her own question.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess that wouldn’t work, then,” Harry conceded.
Hermione took a moment to shove a handful of thick curls behind her ear, and when she next spoke her tone had softened and her eyes lit up with an excitement he had not seen in some time. “Unless…Harry…I mean, I wouldn’t ask, normally-I know you hate these sorts of things…but…maybe…it might work…” She bit her lower lip and studied him, the gleam in her eyes far too calculating for comfort, even if he was pleased to see her acting a bit more like herself.
“What?” He half-dreaded the answer, but silently hoped his best friend’s clever mind had found the answer she so desperately needed.
“You could speak to Kingsley, perhaps. They’d listen to you-they always do.”
Harry blew out a breath he hadn’t intended to hold. “I already did.” He wished she would stop looking at him like that. He had saved the Wizarding world on a wing and a prayer, and he hated himself for not being able to save his own friend when she needed him most. “They won’t budge.” The hope in her eyes dimmed. “They-this is…they-well, they don’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway. This is the way it’s always been, and this is the way they want it to always be. One man, one woman, two point five kids, for life.” He watched helplessly as Hermione quickly bowed her head to hide the tears he had already seen.
“Aunt Hermny!” A flurry of footsteps heralded the arrival of Harry’s son moments before he collided with Hermione’s leg. Glaring up at his father, he scolded in a voice frightfully similar to his mother’s, “You didn’t get me! Aunt Hermny came, and no one told me!”
Hastily brushing the remaining wetness from her cheeks, Hermione smiled down at the child as she gently detached his fingers from the hem of her skirt and pulled him up onto her lap. “I’m sorry, Al. I needed to talk to your daddy about grown-up stuff.” She tapped his nose as he scrunched it up. “I know-boring, huh? But we’re done now, so why don’t you go pick out a book and we’ll read it together?” She looked up at Harry as Albus ran off to find an appropriate book. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” he returned gently, shaking his head. Even four years after the birth of her first child, Harry still couldn’t believe how well-suited his friend was for motherhood. Though he loved his own children dearly, and was quite fond of Hermione and Ron’s as well, he couldn’t deny that he longed for the day when he would be given a clean bill of health and could return once more to work, leaving his three junior marauders in the capable care of his mother-in-law for several hours each day. Prior to becoming their full-time care-giver, he had never realized just how much time and energy went into keeping such small beings safely occupied. Yet Hermione rarely seemed taxed by the effort at all. In fact, the only times she showed signs of stress were when others attempted to take the pressure off of the young mother and lend a helping hand. Rather than taking advantage of the offers to catch up on sleep or merely enjoy some time to herself, Hermione would spend the entire time hovering, offering bits of advice and supervising every single aspect of her children’s care. She seemed to thrive on the role of care-giver, and eventually Harry and the rest of her friends and family learned to accept that.
Albus returned, a battered copy of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland tucked securely against his chest. Hermione caught sight of the familiar title and shook her head, a grin tugging the corners of her mouth as she remembered picking that very book out from all the others as a present for her dark haired friend. She stood, strode quickly over to the boy, scooped him up, and carried him, book and all, into the living room, where she settled herself into the warm, and worn, nest of pillows and blankets that covered the couch, cuddling Albus next to her. Harry followed a bit slower, his injured leg still not healed as much as he would have liked, and stood in the door way, watching the witch as she coached his son through tricky passages and encouraged him when he stumbled over the bigger words.
Later, once the first chapter was completed and Albus lay sprawled between the two adults, his breathing slow and steady in sleep, Harry spoke: “What about teaching? You’re a natural.”
Blinking as she forced her attention back to her friend, Hermione frowned. “Teaching what?”
“You know, school or something. I bet McGonagall would hire you in an instant.” He turned in his seat to face her fully. “You could probably have any subject you wanted, as long as it wasn’t flying.”
“Harry…I don’t know,” Hermione tugged on a curl as she thought. “Term’s already started. As much as I would probably enjoy the work, it won’t come soon enough. If Professor McGonagall was to hire me now, it’d be out of pity and it would be a fabrication…she’s already filled all of the positions. Everyone would know that.” Releasing the curl, she offered Harry a watery smile. “I appreciate the thought, Harry, but I need something more immediate. Maybe I’ll speak with her over the summer about next year, but in the meanwhile, I need something I can start now.”
Nodding, Harry acknowledged the logic behind Hermione’s words. Still, there had to be a way. “What about being a nanny or a tutor or something?”
“Harry, again, what sort of wizard is going to hire a divorced witch to watch his kids?”
“A desperate one?” he offered, teasing her just a bit and smiling as she swatted him in retaliation.
She frowned again as she worked through as many potential scenarios as she could in the course of a few seconds. “Besides, I’ve no experience with this sort of thing. I’ve got children of my own, and my grades were always high, but I’ve never taught. What am I supposed to say? ‘For hire: nanny/tutor--can recount the 1584 battle of Goblins’?”
“Sounds good to me,” Harry answered with a grin.
“Unfortunately, it needs to sound good to the DoFS, too.” Hermione bit her lower lip and idly ran a hand gently through Albus’ black hair, already as messy as his fathers. “I’m not sure that Nanny quite qualifies as an acceptable means of supporting my family.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” Harry asked. “You’d be earning your own income, completely separate from Ron’s. That’s what they want, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes…but-it’s not just that. They want…Harry, this whole process was designed to make divorce as unappealing an option as possible. You know that.” She let out a short, derisive laugh. “Can you imagine me asking for child-support? They’d probably try to arrest me for that!” Again she shoved a wayward curl out of her way as she spoke. “Remember what you just said? One man, one woman, for life? It’s not enough to provide an income, I also have to provide child care, insurance, everything that a muggle court would normally try to split between the parents.”
“So? You just sent them over to Molly’s when you and Ron were both working. What was wrong with that? And we can’t change our insurance plans until the end of the fiscal year, so you and the kids are still covered by Ron’s plan for a while. You should be able to come up with your own coverage in time-maybe you could even find an employer to provide it for you. ”
“Maybe... I’ll need to look into private coverage soon anyway. But Molly’s made her opinion perfectly clear, and I’d rather she not reiterate it in front of my children.” Hermione was still having a hard time believing the complete lack of support that she had received from her soon-to-be-ex mother-in-law. Somehow the woman had managed to convince herself that every last bit of marital strife that had ever existed between her youngest son and his wife was entirely Hermione’s fault. Or perhaps that it was Hermione’s fault that she was simply unwilling to tolerate herself and her children constantly playing second-fiddle to her husband’s career any longer. At any rate, Molly was no longer a viable day-care option for Rose and Hugo.
Harry couldn’t help but grimace. It wasn’t often that he found himself in the proverbial doghouse with his mother-in-law, and certainly not to the degree that Hermione was now in, but it was an experience to remember when it did happen. “Right. Molly’s out. You know the kids are welcome to stay here while I’m home,” he offered.
Hermione smiled, even as tears filled her eyes yet again. “Harry-I…thank you.” She ducked her head and studied her hands where they now lay folded in her lap. “I know you’ve got your hands full with your three-“
“Don’t,” Harry cut in. “Really. It’s fine. I’ve got at least another month before I’m ready to go back to work. That’s time you can spend focusing on what you need to do to satisfy the DoFS. Just leave the kids to me.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Hermione launched herself at him, engulfing him in a damp, sniffling mass of arms and hair. Laughing quietly, he hugged her back.