Chapter 14 Sang de Mon Sang August 10th, 1998 Morning Malfoy
Manor NASA glided down the East Wing corridor with a breakfast
tray in hand of French pastries, a steaming cup of Italian coffee
and the daily profit. Flashbacks to the night before
dancing in her mind like a magic Cirque du Soleil.
The eagerness, the enthusiasm, the things he could do with his
tongue, the memories sent aftershocks of orgasm down her
body. What had she been thinking?
She had not been. As a widow of less than six
weeks, she should still be wearing black and sequestering,
yet she had been parading herself around galas and
inviting men of the same age as her son to her bedroom.
If her father were alive to day, he would be ashamed of her.
She had been swept up in his roguish grin, his sweet scent,
his protective touch. What would Draco think?
Draco could not find out. She decided her son was under
far too much pressure and in any case, it would not be happening
again. It was a temporary lapse in
judgement due to the stress of the evening and the fire whisky.
Fire whisky always led to poor decision making.
Good pure blood ladies do not drink hard liquor.
Madame Lacroix, her etiquette coach, would have chastised.
Perhaps on this occasion she should have taken heed of the
old Crohn's societal decrees. Hermione was already awake when
Narcissa tapped lightly on the door.
Come in, She said distractedly, her nose in a dusty, worn book.
I thought you'd prefer to take breakfast in your room again
too. Oh, Narcissa, I'm sorry, I
thought you might be Greta. I've been teaching her to knock.
Hermione gathered herself together, throwing the book to
her side as if it were a dead rat, a repulsed expression on
her rosy face. I doubt you'll be successful in
that endeavour. Greta purposefully pops in at
inopportune times as a sport. She said, placing the breakfast
tray down on Hermione's lap and taking a seat on the edge of the
bed. Hermione lifted the mug of
coffee and gave her to hesitant with it's decaffeinated.
Thank you. She said sheepishly and took a
sip with a satisfied hum. How long have Greta and her
family been with you? I got the impression from Kip
that this is a relatively new appointment.
Ownership is intrinsic to you. How self magic and enacts far
faster than the goblins of Gringotts and their towers of
gold embossed paperwork. The moment my sister was killed
at the battle, Greta and her brood arrived at Malfoy Manor
ready to serve a new master. Wow.
I mean, I would have never known they'd works for you.
Thought that they'd at least exhibit a trace of spell shock
from the dark magic exposure, or a sense of mental nervousness.
You've met Greta, right? Hermione smirked into her
coffee. She keeps a tight ship, I can't
imagine that the strangers would have cared for her particular
style of obstinance all that much.
Ah, that's because you only know half the story.
NASCAR beamed at Hermione, happy memories floating to the
surface. Greta and her late companion
Floris were our house elves as we grew up.
Mine, Bella and Andromeda's personal elves.
She clarified, wiping down the velvet of her dressing gown in a
soothing motion. One would hardly need a
governess or personal stylist when you were under Greta's
care. Hermione set her mug down
distractedly, frowning at the newspaper forehead all scrunched
up. She would not be impressed by
Rita Skeeter's headline this morning, nor would the order
from Golden Girl to Dark Lady Hermione Granger's secret love
child with the Dark Commander. It's really not worth a read.
Nasusa reasoned and Hermione nodded with a heavy sigh, a
pained expression overwhelming her pretty features.
When Bella married, being the oldest heir of the pure
bloodline, ownership of both the estate and the elves fell to her
and her husband. They decided to take up primary
residence at the Lestrange Ancestral home in Kent, and so
Gretta and Poppy left the evening of the wedding.
What about her husband, Floris? Bella deemed him too sickly to
be worthy of keeping on. Nosissa replied unhappily.
And she separated them. Hermione asked indignantly,
sitting up on the bed, her silk pyjamas reflecting strikingly
against the light streaming in from the window.
Nosissa nodded gravely. We made sure to bring him along
to every dinner they hosted to give them time together.
It wasn't enough, and without Greta's unique level of care,
I'm afraid he deteriorated rather rapidly.
That must have felt like a real loss for everyone.
Hermione said solemnly, chewing at the corner of her lip.
It did indeed. The book Hermione had been
reading late, open. Narcissa crossed a slim, pale
leg over another, her knee peeking out of her dressing
gown, and took in the perused open page.
Soul branding. I don't think I've heard of such
magic before. Narcissa held her lips tight at
some of the requirements of the ritual.
Blood of the airs. It's very dark magic.
Hermione murmured, her mouth half full with croissant.
Seems just theoretical, but I need to keep reading.
The tome appears already well read.
Narcissa eyed the many dog eared pages, thinking she must warn
Draco of Miss Granger's pluckrivity for maimy books,
considering she had access to their extensive first edition
library. Hmm, not by me, or or at least
this version of me. She caught Narcissa's watchful
gaze. I suppose he, Draco, filled you
in. He did indeed.
Quite the predicament you've tangled us in.
Hermione finished her pastry and looked down through the covers
to where her growing bump would be.
Do let me know if you need anything in particular, won't
you? Your comfort and safety is now
of my utmost importance. Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
I'll leave you to the rest of your breakfast and reading.
Do remember that you have allies.
In this manner, we project our own Sang de Mon.
Sang Narcissa left the bed. You have a lovely laugh, by the
way, Narcissa. Hermione, Dad casually placing
her breakfast tray down on the bedside table.
Anyone special draw it out of you last night?
I don't know what you think you heard.
She declared nasally, her voice clipped.
But whatever you did shall not be occurring again.
I didn't hear a thing. Hermione said with a playful
quirk of her eyebrow while her eyes glazed over.
Clever little Madden 0 tree coat, darling.
She said, startled. Her son was bounding down the
corridor with some bizarre orange ushanka on top of his
head and an out of breath might healer that she didn't recognise
following briskly behind. Hermione had to hold a hand to
her mouth to stop laughing. Please command your beast to
descend. Malfoy hissed, striding into her
bedroom with Cruickshanks clinging onto his icy roots as
if it were a glacial eagle's nest, fairy feet digging claws
into the back of his neck. She noticed a bead of blood
trickling down past his ear. Oh dear, not a great start to
the day. Draco tugged at her feline
guardian, who clung on even tighter and growled a low meow
that honestly sounded like a mimic of the Hogwarts Express
engines. Crockshanks, come here, you
silly cat. She let the chuckle escape and
he leapt down merrily, taking a seat on the pillow to her side.
She screeched behind his ears and he purred happily.
You can't kill him before I've had a chance to.
The dark intent behind the intrusive thought took her
aback. A hurried looking female healer
with olive skin and curly black hair followed in after.
Hermione found her to be rather young.
And you may know of each other. Malfoy interrupted her thought
process, wiping the line of blood with a personalized silk
handkerchief plucked from his robe pocket.
Tough, Healer Clearwater. Hermione Granger.
Hermione Granger, Healer Penelope Clearwater.
He crossed the room and seized himself at the vanity table by
the window. Shoulders tight, pinched
expression even more pronounced than usual.
Silver eyes like a Knight's shield, hard and impenetrable.
Very pleased to see you looking so well, Miss Granger, Healer
Clearwater. And toned professionally.
Addressing her patient and scanning the room, Hermione
wondered what she thought of the living arrangements.
Had she been worried she would be attending a pregnant prisoner
in the dungeons? And you?
Penelope? The witch walked to her side of
the bed and gestured with her wand.
May I? Hermione nodded.
He. The Clearwater dutifully began
casting her diagnostic spells. Would you unbutton your pyjamas
for me? Just up to the bra line.
It's easier to work skin to skin for this kind of magic.
Hermione locked eyes with Malfoy, his glare intense and on
edge, and he gave a small nod before Hermione did as
requested. Confusion overtook Penelope's
bedside manners. She turned sharply around to
Draker with a question on her lips.
Her swollen womb was unmistakable now.
You understand. He said, cutting her off.
Why? Discretion alone is not enough
to protect her. He le Clearwater blinked rapidly
and sighed before turning back to her patient and continuing
her spell, casting over Hermione's exposed stomach.
Looking at the bump now, Hermione found it absurd that
she hadn't realized at all. As though it had its own little
notice me not charm around it. It hadn't, of course.
Her mind had just been emptied of all notion of the little
being. Whoever had wiped her memory had
been intentional, desperate and reckless.
Very Gryffindor traits, she mused.
Yes, it was an impressive piece of magic.
She knew herself what it took to enact at this level.
A sudden onslaught of longing flooded her heart.
It isn't supposed to be like this.
She was supposed to be at Saint Mungo's, with the man she loved
holding her hand and her mother easing her mind from the end of
her hospital bed. Her dad would have been pacing
the waiting room outside, occasionally peeking through
windows to other wards to get a curious glimpse of other magical
maladies of the wizarding world. He would have excitedly greeted
them as she showed him a magical moving sonogram of their first
grandchild. They would have walked out of
the hospital together, the four of them, while Dad excitedly
recounted tales of the wards. A feline looking woman
transfigured back to her intended species, A man who'd
splenched his arm off being mended with spells alone, or a
boy with elongated teeth to the floor, having them resized with
merely a swish of a wand. Hermione wiped away tears from
her cheeks and was surprised to found that Maufoi had come to
stand beside her. Astrological glowing cymbals
bloomed over her belly, the cymbals glowing a vibrant summer
orange, healthy and strong. Draco took hold of her hand.
Fire blazed through her at his touch, travelling up her arm and
down to her stomach. They each watched as a bright
red thread of magic weaved its way from her navel to Malfoy's.
Well, the child is yours. Said he, La Penelope, pleased at
least some of the information she had been Privy to was
accurate. Graebeck had been right.
The confirmation and her acceptance of it failed to
surprise her in the least, which was actually the most surprising
part. Draco was possessive, mean, and
bitter, everything she hated in a partner.
Ron could be cruel, but in a distracted, selfish,
unintentional way. But Draco, He was cruel with
purpose and intent. He sought to slice you open with
his words and rub salt in the wound.
Perhaps you'd rather not have me around at all, considering I
killed your boyfriend. I'm more surprised you even
showed up to dinner. What does that say about you,
Granger? Eager to be a Death Eater's
whore? I want you, Granger.
Here, where I can keep an eye on you.
You are mine now. That last recollection hadn't
been cruel at all though, had it?
He had staked his claim on what he felt was his, and part of
her, at least now, was. Heat prickled at her core at the
thought of belonging to him. The Dark Lady.
A mix of shame and lust swirled within her.
She didn't know how to feel about that, and she lifted one
leg over the other to stop any notes of arousal from permeating
through the bed sheets. Hormones.
Just crazy pregnancy hormones. More symbols took shape, and
Hermione lay there, both fascinated and curious.
She would have loved to learn healing magic as part of her
mastery. Numerical figures floated above
her in an indigo blue encased in a circular chart like Dome.
Magical birth expected. Penelope muttered.
Due mid February. She swished her wand to banish
the charts, leaving only a few cymbals dancing above Hermione.
Making you 2 1/2 months pregnant.
Penelope's voice trailed off, leaving a deep frown to crease
her brow and her confusion in the air.
She lowered her wand but did not look to Malfoy for answers,
clearly deciding the less she knew, the better.
Draco squeezed Hermione's hand. What do those mean?
He frowned, indicating to one of the symbols that had refused to
dissipate. Gleaming in silver and jet black
hues, the symbol grew to the size of her palm and travelled
to the apex of her belly. 2 vertical lines connected at the
top and bottom, glowing like molten mercury.
Gemini. The healer whispered, a gasp
under her breath. What?
Trico's voice shook. He looked frantically between
Penelope and the neon symbols, holding onto Hermione's hand for
dear life. Twins.
Hermione choked out. His weakness is you.
It's always been you. Use that to your advantage.
The reminder of the task seeped into her emotions, twisting her
senses around in an instinctive move that took even her off
guard. Hermione took his rigid hand and
brought it to her lips, pressing a quiet kiss against his
knuckles. A first step, she decided,
putting an explanation to her sudden action.
Maybe he would be receptive to these kinds of advances.
Or maybe not, since his hand had become even more unyielding in
hers, as if she was kissing a statue.
She groaned internally. Malfoy extricated his hand from
hers, and her mind tried not to feel embarrassed at the bid for
attention not being reciprocated.
He led the healer out to the corridor and left Hermione with
only her thoughts and the purring fuzzball beside her.
The evidence was there, written in plain sight before him.
Draco was going to be a father. His mind raced.
His heart wanted to escape from its chest.
His stomach was in knots and the intangible pull he felt towards
Grainger the moment the red thread connected them was
indescribable. He had thanked Heela Clearwater
for her help, confirmed that the money for her private services
were sent untraced to her requested account at Gringotts,
and had casted a memory altering Obliviate on her before
requesting that Poppy escort her to the apparition point.
Penelope Clearwater had come to the Manor today, but in her new
recollection she would have found a very recently pregnant
Hermione Granger with one foetus days old rather than two
foetuses several months old. Pure blood pregnancies were
always a spectacle, and a pregnancy between the Dark
Commander and the Golden Girl Hermione Granger would be even
more explosive. But.
Once the press discovered they were expecting twins, it would
be carnage. They only had the Loyalist
congregation and the Dark Lord himself to convince of the due
date. Whenever she was expected to be
in attendance, he would speak to Greta about styling choices to
conceal the gestational rate, and eventually, at the right
moment, they would announce the twin pregnancy.
Salazar, my mother is going to be insufferable.
Once alone, he came to sit at Hermione's side.
Both her hands now held her small bump, and he longed to add
his own hand to the embrace. She doesn't want me.
She's made that very clear. I've threatened her, put her in
so much danger, practically imprisoned her here and now a
version of me has altered her life forever.
He just hoped he knew himself enough, that he would only have
ever been with her willingly, that the source of these babies
lives came from at least desire and consent, if not love.
Yet she had just taken his hand and brought it to her full lips
willingly. The soft press against his skin
stirred a familiar ache within him, and he had pulled his hand
away as soon as it was polite. It still prickled in the place
on his knuckles where she kissed him as though the nerves were on
fire and he held it in a tight fist.
Did you mean it yesterday when you said you wanted to die?
She said quietly, looking down to her stomach, pulling him out
of his thoughts. By rule.
Whatever he had expected her to say, it was not that.
He worried his lower lip and shifted uncomfortably on the
bed. Sometimes his voice was low and
in danger of revealing his true emotional state, but not all the
time. No, not all the time.
When do you not want to die? She pressed, turning to him,
chocolate eyes melting him on the inside.
Whenever I'm with you, when I know the path forward.
He said instead. She looked out the window, AV
formation of birds flying by, honking loudly.
I know I've not been very honest.
I've been trying to figure things out myself too, and I
wasn't sure who I could trust, but I'm going to have to take a
leap of faith for these little ones.
We are going to need you, you know.
Overwhelming pride bubbled in his chest.
As she said we. As long as you need me, Granger,
I'm not going anywhere. He put one hand on top of her
small one above her belly button.
The Dark Lord is as close to us as it comes.
He called on me last night. Her eyes grew wide with worry.
He doesn't suspect anything, but I was right in thinking he has
ulterior motives for training me up, putting me at the forefront
of the regime. What did he say?
Nothing so much yet. But he's always had a taste for
immortality. I believe he's trying to find
new ways of achieving that. Hermione ran her hands through
her unbrushed morning hair. It's more imperative than ever
that we continue our work. She nodded gravely.
But in regards to you and them. He took a hand in his once more.
So long as you remain open with me, we can conquer anything.
A flicker of guilt nudged at the corner of her smile.
Perhaps it was only in his imagination, for it was gone in
an instant. She looked down at his lips, her
own slightly open. Just one taste, Draco.
I get dressed and meet me in the study.
Draco interrupted, patting her on the top of her palm and
rising from the bed, his heart beating so loud he was sure she
could hear it. And bring your wand this time.