ACA: Chapter 30

Chapter 30

“In true love, the smallest distance is too great, and the greatest distance can be bridged”

~ Hans Nouwens

For a time, she had suspected the cause of her sudden illness-a simple spell after four days of vomiting had confirmed it: she was three weeks pregnant. Shocked, she had tried the spell three more times.

Wondering where she had gone wrong, she sank against the wall. Each time she had made sure to use protection. Draco wasn’t too keen on it, so she had borrowed and later bought some pills of her own.

Then how was it possible? She wasn’t angry at him-neither had planned for it, but…now what? Alone in the bathroom, Hermione sat lost in thought for what must have been hours. Only when her mum came knocking on the door did she tiredly open it.

Her parents were worried-she could see it in their eyes-and she knew she wasn’t looking her best these days. She was tired and a bit sore and afraid of eating incase it came back up. She wanted to tell them that it would be fine and that she was fine, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

When her indifference took the toll, her father wrote to the Weasleys and now she stood in their kitchen, watching Molly nervously as the woman bustled about setting dinner. She could hear Poppy Pompfrey talking in the living room to her parents and bit her lips when a dreaded silence followed.

“Hermione?” her mum’s trembling voice reached her ears and she turned around to see her standing lividly in the doorway, her father equally as pale behind her. “Is this true?”

She fought back the tears that rose and nodded.

“How long have you known?”

“T-two weeks.”

A pained expression flitted across her mother’s face and she waited with bated breath for the scolding, but…Her mum crossed the small kitchen and pulled her into her arms.

“And you couldn’t tell your mum?” she whispered. Hermione broke down. She sobbed in her embrace as her mum rubbed her back. She could feel her father standing behind her, a hand on her bent head.

“We aren’t mad at you, hon,” he said, “But promise you’ll never try to hide something like this again.”

Sniffing, Hermione looked up and nodded.

“There now dearie, how about a bit of soup?” Molly kindly broke in, settling a steaming bowl of broth on the table that smelled sinfully delicious. Hermione didn’t know just how hungry she was until she swallowed a spoonful of the tasty goodness. Molly Wealsey may not have been the brightest witch of the year, but she certainly wielded magic in the kitchen!

She ate in silence for a time. Her father had joined Arthur in the living room and she could hear them quietly talking to the boys. She vaguely wondered what Harry and Ron thought of her now.

“Why couldn’t the doctors diagnose me?” she suddenly asked to distract herself.

“Oh, a baby with any trace of a pureblood lineage is hard to detect in the beginning, even with magic,” Molly replied. “It’s a form of ancient magic-the mother’s magic conceals any traces of the baby for its own protection until the baby’s magical signature is strong enough.”

“It will develop like a…normal baby?” her mum asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

Molly smiled kindly. “Of course, dear. A magical pregnancy is in every way the same as a muggle one.”

Hermione saw her mother sigh and she couldn’t help but smile thinly. “You don’t mind if I decide to keep it then?”

Her mother shook her head. “That’s up to you, Hermione, but you’re only eighteen and alone. We’ll support you no matter what choice you make, but raising a baby isn’t easy.”

Hermione set down her spoon, staring at the half empty bowl. “You don’t think it’s a good idea then?”

“I’m not saying that, but you must think about this carefully. That child will need your love and care. You’ll have to devote yourself to them. You won’t be able to have the sort of life you’ve been planning…Do you understand, love?”

Hermione closed her eyes. She knew having this baby would change her life-for better or worse she couldn’t say. But this was her child-Draco’s child! It had a part of him in it. How could she abandon it then?

“I know mum,” she quietly replied, picking up her spoon. “I understand that, but I’ve made up my mind.”

She was going to have this baby-this beacon of hope.

**

A Month Later…

In a sterile room thousands of miles away from London, Narcissa Malfoy sat silently holding a thin, pale hand in hers. It had been almost a month since her son passed from Hogwarts and came home-or what she had come to call home. Living with her sister for the better part of a year, Narcissa had finally come to appreciate what her sister always had and what she had always lacked: a sense of contentment and inner strength.

But now, sitting in the white room with its pristine floors and bare, white walls, any sense of peace and strength had fast left her. She sat as she had for the past five hours, stroking her son’s thin hand and watching him as he slept under a drug-induced sleep. Although she wanted him awake and talking and laughing, Merlin help her she couldn’t bear to watch him suffer the agony he had endured for the past week after he had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.

They had brought him to the nearest Wizarding hospital in the middle of the night and here he had remained for the past seven days, barely awake or coherent to even remember his name. Several saline drips floated behind his bed like colorful balloons, snaking potions into the vein in his arm, and a nurse popped in at odd hours of the day and night to check the tubes and jot down things on a clipped pad.

Narcissa had long since stopped asking them questions, knowing the answer would always be the same: that her son needed to rest, that there was little else they could do for him save keep the pain at bay and keep him comfortable. In her desperation, she had flooed the Potions master at Hogwarts, begging him to help her son. It was he who had told her the nature of Draco’s condition after all while Draco had stood silently by, holding her only when she broke down crying. But there was nothing even someone as intelligent and determined as Severus Snape could do.

Her son was dying-Draco was dying-and all Narcissa could do was watch and smile for him when he couldn’t.

**

Seven Months Later…

It was getting difficult to move around. Hermione no longer tried to sit or stand up by herself without the ever ready offer of someone’s arm. She had never expected she’d become so big! The healer had told her she was having a baby boy-not twins-but her mother and Molly couldn’t be happier. As much as she hated how awkward she had become, they counted it as a blessing, saying the baby would be healthy and chubby as a cherub. And that’s all any expecting mother could wish for.

Two  More Months After…

Hermione couldn’t stop staring at the small form wrapped in soft, blue blankets. It had been three weeks since she had come home with her baby-her new-born son-in her arms and she was hard pressed to leave him even for a second.

He was a wonder to behold-even though all he seemed to do was drink milk at odd intervals, yawn, and sleep before the cycle began again. He hardly cried and they marveled at how clear his eyes were for an infant’s. His tiny hands with wrinkly soft skin were still balled up in little fists and he had a habit of clutching the edge of the blanket or whatever else snaked its way into his clutches.

He was equally bald as all newborns were, but there were wisps of curling blonde hair here and there that pulled at Hermione’s heart whenever she touched them. He had Draco’s hair, although by the looks of it, it would be wild like her’s. The color of his eyes was too soon predict-it resembled neither of them for now, but Hermione hoped it would be moon-grey like his father’s. She didn’t think she would be the least disappointed if their son didn’t look at all like her because having him here, bearing traces of the man she loved, made her feel closer to Draco and increased her longing.

They had had no luck in finding him. He had completely disappeared and it seemed not even the Aurors could locate him. Ron and Harry hadn’t given up, of course, but their hope was thinning. Still, Hermione wanted to believe for the sake of the baby that snuggled against her, that they would find Draco. They had to, she firmly told herself, before it was too late.

Two Years Later…

Blaise Zabini was a man who firmly believed in fate and he believed that with enough resolve, anyone could change their fate. Of course there were many who questioned his sentiments, but Blaise only had to point to himself to provide an example.

He had turned his life around after the defeat of Voldemort. Perhaps it was easier for him to do than most because his family had stayed neutral during the war and because really, he only had his mother to worry about.

Still, Blaise knew that every argument had been worth it and as he surveyed the pristine floors of the hospital, he felt a sense of quiet accomplishment fill him. He had finally made it to where he wanted to be after years of diligence and hard work.

No one had believed that Blaise Zabini, a boy who valued numbers far more than Transfigurations or Potions and who couldn’t be bothered to do more than was necessary unless forced, would one day become a Healer in the field of Unusual Maladies and Magical Ailments. His own mother, who had been the first to scoff him when he sat for the exams, was now impressed enough to acknowledge and welcome him back home.

“Healer Zabini, you’re needed in Room 15,” Hannah, the charge nurse, broke through his musings. She handed him the patient report which he looked over as he briskly made his way to the room. The patient in room 15…His heart sank.

“When did he come around?” he asked, handing the file back and checking his pocket for his wand.

“An hour or so ago-“

“And you thought to call me now?” He didn’t hide the anger in his voice.

“I-I’m sorry, but the patient-“

“The patient doesn’t know what’s best for him!”  Calm down, Blaise, he told himself and took a deep breath as he opened the door.

The pale woman who never seemed to leave the room glanced up at him from the bedside where she sat holding an equally pale hand.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Blaise greeted and she gave him a small nod, a tight smile. Blaise forced himself to smile when he turned to the patient in bed. “Draco, heard you’re giving the nurses a hard time again.”

His long time friend and now patient snorted in his typical fashion. “I won’t if they stop fussing over me.”

Blaise pulled out his wand and began casting diagnostic spells, now turning his friend’s skin green or popping up blue charts with various data in midair. “They’re just doing their job,” he remarked, reaching out to take the pale, thin hand sporting light bruises in his own. He felt Draco’s pulse and temperature simultaneously. “You’re fever’s down.”

“Joy,” Draco sighed, sinking into the thin pillow and closing his eyes briefly. “When can I go home?”

Blaise glanced at his mother who eyed him expectantly. “We need to monitor you Dray-“ he began but Draco cut in.

“Does it matter? I haven’t been stable for some time anyways. Can’t you just pop in at my place?”

Blaise smothered the urge to glare at his friend and turned to his mother instead. “Mrs. Malfoy, why don’t you have something to drink? You look dead on your feet. I’ll keep Draco company.”

And Hannah, who was all too used to Blaise’s tactics, managed to coax the woman to accompany her, leaving the two young men alone.

“Now,” Blaise began as he took the vacant seat, “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Draco frowned and Blaise could see the internal battle in his mind. He had never been very expressive, even as a child, but this was important and Draco had no one to confide in besides him.

After a time, he gave another tired sigh and all the anger seemed to melt from his features. “How long more do I have to do this, Blaise?” he asked in a voice so small that Blaise had to lean in to listen. “I’m getting worse-don’t deny it. I feel weaker everyday and mum…I can’t bear to see her in pain anymore.”

“You can’t go on like this-you can’t blame yourself,” Blaise said, “You didn’t ask for this-“

“Neither did she!” Draco cried, frustrated tears springing to his eyes. He made no move to wipe them. It wasn’t the first time he had cried in front of his best friend. “Just…let me go home at least. Why can’t I suffer there?”

“You know why, Draco,” Blaise calmly replied, knowing they had gone through this a hundred times. “If the pain escalates, you need to be here so we can keep it under control. The potions aren’t enough anymore. I’m sorry, Dray, but you can’t go home.”

Draco bit his lip and turned away, refusing to let Blaise see the hurt as tears trickled down his cheeks. He had been stuck at the hospital for over two months and he wondered now whether he would die here, surrounded by sickness and white walls.

Blaise said nothing, though he could see Draco’s thin shoulders trembling as he cried. He had learned it was best to wait out Draco’s frustration. He hated to see him in pain and he hated to be the one to cause him more pain, but this was in Draco’s best interest. He didn’t fancy his friend turning up at Mungo’s half dead again, screaming in pain.

They sat in comfortable silence. Draco, who had calmed enough to wipe his watery eyes, spoke in a hoarse whisper, breaking the silence.

“Can you at least bring me more books? I’ve read the others over fifty times.”

Blaise laughed weakly. “I can do that. Anything you want in particular?”

Draco looked at him then and Blaise’s heart almost burst at the sadness he saw in his friend’s eyes. “You know I don’t care. As long as it takes my mind off this-“ he gestured to the tubes and monitors and bleak walls-“anything’s fine.”

Blaise averted his eyes as he slowly asked, “Have you thought about what I’ve said before?”

“You know my answer. I’m not going to be some lab rat for some loon. I might end up worse than before-“

“But you don’t know that!” and Blaise couldn’t help but glare at his stubborn friend. “That man has multiple degrees, Draco! He has more knowledge about these things than any healer alive! Why won’t you let him help you? Don’t want to at least try to get better?”

“No!” Draco cried, equally as angry now. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe after all this, I just want it to be over! What do I have to look forward to anyway, Blaise? We all can’t erase our past and become Healers! I still have that stigma and I’ll still have it even when I’m long dead. My only consolation is that at least I won’t have to suffer the prejudice when I’m gone!”

He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed with a fervor that made his otherwise washed complexion come alive. It had been a long time since Blaise had seen the grey eyes alight with such fire-but they were alive for all the wrong reasons.

He waited in silence for Draco to calm before remarking, “You still love her.”

“What?” Draco started.

Blaise almost smiled. “Granger…you still love her, don’t you?”

Draco didn’t even have the energy to scowl. He simply closed his eyes, looking worse for the wear.

“Why won’t you contact her? You know she’s still in London-“

“She doesn’t need me, Blaise. It’s been two years. I know Hermione. She’s not one to pine after someone forever. She’s strong and independent and ambitious. If I’d stayed, I would have just gotten in her way.”

Blaise snorted. “You’re a stubborn git, you know that? Potter and Weasley haven’t stopped looking for you. They’ve come close twice, Draco-“

“But you covered for me,” and Draco gave him his trademark smirk. “Those two still haven’t learned to outsmart Slytherins.”

Blaise chuckled and shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you’re pushing her away. I know for a fact she isn’t with Weasley. She’s still single, Dray.”

Draco frowned. “It’s only been two years. Giver her time…” and he suddenly closed his eyes, wincing.

“What’s wrong?” Blaise was at once by his side, his wand out.

“Headache,” Draco murmured.

Blaise reached into his coat pocket, pulling out an injection. He filled the syringe with purple fluid from a flask on the nightstand and didn’t hesitate to push the needle into Draco’s arm. The blonde man didn’t even wince, but his features cleared as the pain slowly ebbed.

“They’re getting more intense,” Blaise remarked, taking a seat by him again.

Draco eyed him with tired eyes and gave him a tight smile. “It doesn’t matter Blaise,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “I think after all I’ve done, I probably deserve it.”

Blaise wanted to smack him, but his clenched his fists. They stayed in silence till Draco nodded off to sleep.