When Hermione opened her eyes, it was late evening. Turning her head, she found Malfoy standing in front of the portrait on the wall, speaking to it in a low voice.
The witch in the painting immediately caught sight of Hermione's movement and gestured over his shoulder. He stopped speaking and turned on his heel to stare at her.
He looked tired and singularly unenthused by his impending fatherhood.
Hermione felt as though she were going to be sick.
She squeezed her eyes shut, curled into a defensive ball and tried not to start crying again. She could hear the clipped sound of Malfoy's shoes as he crossed the room and approached her bed.
There was a long silence and she could feel his gaze on her. She tucked her chin down against her shoulder and willed him away.
"You are not allowed to hurt yourself, or do anything to cause an abortion or miscarriage."
It was not a statement, it was a command. She could feel the flush of heat around her wrists.
"I'm sure you'll try to rationalise it as being protective in an attempt to get around the compulsions, but it is not. You are not allowed to do anything to end your pregnancy."
She could feel the prick of tears in the corner of her eyes and sobbed faintly.
"Topsy, will monitoring you full-time now, to ensure you don't experience any misfortunes like tripping on the stairs, or chewing on a sprig of yew. She's cared for pregnant witches before, so she's well aware of what you can and cannot eat or drink. She has my permission to immediately restrain you if you try anything."
Hermione didn't say anything. Malfoy remained standing beside her bed for several minutes before he sighed faintly. She heard his retreating footsteps and the click of the door.
She stayed in bed, and alternated between crying and sleeping; curled up tightly, wrapping her arms around her stomach protectively.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she whispered again and again. "I would do anything to spare you from this world."
Malfoy reappeared after four days.
"You cannot lie moping for nine months," he said. "You need to eat. You should go outside."
Hermione ignored him and hoped he'd leave. Unless he intended to force her from the bed she had no intention of moving. There was a long silence. She could feel his eyes on her.
"I have something for you," he finally said.
She felt something heavy press into the coverlet and cracked an eye open. There was a thick book laid beside her. A Guide to Effective Care in Magical Pregnancy and Childbirth.
She closed her eyes again.
"I can't touch your books," she said, her mouth twisting as she spoke and her voice shaking faintly. "Astoria had them all warded against Mudbloods."
"This is not from the manor library." Malfoy's tone was faintly amused. "It won't burn you."
There was a pause.
"I will expect you to get out of bed tomorrow."
After he left, Hermione opened her eyes again and tentatively reached toward the book, resting a finger lightly on the cover. There was no burning sensation as she came in contact with it.
She pulled it closer, drawing it against her chest and holding it tightly.
The next day, Hermione forced herself out bed and went over to the window. The book was brand new; the leather spine creaked slightly as she lifted the cover, and the pages smelled faintly of machine oil and ink. It was three inches thick and printed on scritta paper. She started on the table of contents and read for hours straight.
It was a medical textbook rather than a basic pregnancy guide for a lay-witch. It was thoughtful of Malfoy to realise she'd prefer that.
She was deep into a chapter on endocrine regulation influencing adequate trophoblast invasion when Malfoy walked into her room again.
She clutched at the edges of her book reactively as he stared down at her with a contemplative expression.
"When did you last go outside?" he finally asked.
Hermione hesitated and swallowed. "The day you went to France. I went outside."
His eyes narrowed. "For how long?"
Hermione jutted her jaw out slightly and flushed. "Less than a minute."
Irritation flickered across his expression. "And before that?"
Hermione was silent and dropped her eyes.
"You haven't been outside since the equinox, have you?"
Hermione stared down, unblinking, at the page in front of her until the words blurred. Malfoy sighed.
"Get up," he ordered.
She stood up, clutching her book tightly across her chest. He gave another sigh.
"You cannot bring that, it weighs nearly five pounds. I'm not having you drag it around the estate. Leave it here."
Hermione held it tighter. He raised his right hand and gripped his temples as though he had a headache.
"No one is going to steal it or take it if you leave it here. If they do, I'll buy you another one. Leave it." The final words were a command.
Hermione reluctantly put it down on her bed and then went to retrieve her boots from the wardrobe. While she was getting ready Malfoy stared out the window, studying the horizon. Then he turned sharply and glanced over her briefly before striding toward the door.
Hermione followed him slowly.
He paused at the door of the veranda and looked over at her. "We won't go near the hedge maze."
He led her through the rose gardens and then along one of the lanes lined with blossoming fruit trees. The estate was lovely in spring. Hermione couldn't deny it, but the beauty felt bitter and poisonous as she took it in.
Neither she nor Malfoy spoke until he had escorted her back into her room.
As he was walking away she managed to speak.
"Malfoy." Her voice wavered as she said his name.
He stopped and turned back to her; his expression closed, his eyes guarded.
"Malfoy," she said again. Her jaw trembled and she gripped the poster of the bed. "I will never ask anything of you-"
His mouth twitched and his gaze hardened. She felt something inside her break with despair but she forced herself to continue.
"You can do anything you want to me. I will never ask for any mercy from you. But-please, please don't hurt the baby. Even-if you have a different heir, it's-it's still half yours. Don't-don't-don't-"
Her chest started to stutter as she struggled to breathe and not start crying. She shook.
"Don't let Astoria hurt it..." she said in a broken voice. "Please-please-"
Her voice cut off as she started hyperventilating. She clung to the bedpost as she struggled to breathe.
Malfoy crossed the room and took hold of her shoulders.
"No one is going to hurt your baby," he said, meeting her eyes.
She pulled away from him, freeing one shoulder. "Don't-don't make promises to me that you don't mean."
His expression flickered and he caught her shoulder again, running his hands along her arms. "You have my word. No one will hurt your baby. Astoria will never touch it."
Hermione bit her lip as she stared up at him and struggled to stop over-breathing. Her lungs kept spasming without her control. Her whole body shook as she kept dragging in sharp panting breaths and then immediately releasing them.
"No one will hurt it. Calm down now," he said firmly. "You need to breathe slowly."
She leaned into his hands for a moment, resting her head against his chest as she tried to draw a slow breath; then she froze and tore herself away from him, backing up to the wall.
"Don't- amuse yourself with me," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't want your promises or attention in order to 'maintain' my 'environment.'" She sobbed faintly under her breath. "After all-you made it quite clear how pathetic I'd be-to mistake your mandatory care for anything-"
She wrapped her arms around herself and slid down to the floor, shaking and pressing her mouth closed as her whole body shook.
"You-you needn't concern yourself further-I'll take care of myself. You needn't walk me again."
Malfoy stared down at her unmoving for several minutes, while she pressed her hands against her mouth and tried to calm her breathing. His hand twitched forward slightly before he curled it into a fist, gave a sharp nod, and left.
She didn't see him again for three weeks.
Topsy's presence grew constant, although the elf was rarely visible. When Hermione so much as sat up in bed, the elf would immediately materialise and ask if she wanted anything.
During those three weeks, Hermione developed morning sickness. It arrived early and with a vengeance. Hermione could hardly bear to smell many foods, much less try to taste or possibly swallow them.
Fortunately, the smells of the outdoors did not bother her. When she was not rereading her pregnancy guide, she went on long walks around the manor. She made herself walk along the hedges, reminding herself again and again that Montague was dead.
She started getting headaches. It was a grinding pain that started as as a vague sensation in the back of her skull, but seemed to grow slightly worse every day.
When she was not walking or reading, she curled up in her bed and slept.
As her pregnancy continued to progress, her head began hurting so much she began clenching her jaw subconsciously to try to deal with the constant pain. The daylight worsened the headaches; bright sunshiny days kept her bed as she tried not to vomit from a combination of morning sickness and pain. Within days, the pain grew so severe she couldn't read.
Topsy added dark, heavy drapes that kept out almost all the light in the room.
She ate steadily less and less. When she didn't eat or get out of bed for two days Malfoy finally reappeared.
She heard him enter but didn't pull her arm away from her eyes to acknowledge him.
"You need to eat," he said.
"Really?" she said in a weak but sarcastic tone. "I had no idea. The medical textbook never mentioned that nutrition was necessary during pregnancy."
She heard him sigh.
"It's a magical pregnancy," she said bitterly. "Even Muggles suffer morning sickness, it's just worse for wizarding folk, even the Mudbloods."
There was a pause and she heard him shift.
"Is there anything you'll eat? That you think you could eat?"
"Chips from a greasy spoon," she said drolly, "Or perhaps a bag of crisps."
There was a long silence.
"Really?" he said in a doubtful tone.
She scoffed faintly, and it made her head throb so painfully it was as though someone had driven a metal rod through the base of her skull and into the centre of her brain. She gave a low sob. The unending, growing pain was like having her brain slowly crushed and ground into dust.
"Even if I could think of anything that sounded edible, I doubt I could keep it down," she said in a strained voice.
She could almost hear him trying to think of something else to say. She rolled over and cradled her head in her arms.
"Witches have been having children for thousands of years. Statistical probability indicates I'm unlikely to die from it," she told him.
There was a pause.
"My mother nearly did," he said. His voice sounded hollow.
Hermione said nothing else. Malfoy didn't leave. He was still standing by her bed when she fell asleep from pained exhaustion.
Healer Stroud arrived a few days later. Malfoy loomed behind her like an ominous shadow.
When Stroud conjured an exam table in the centre of the room, he sneered at her. "Walk the additional ten feet to her bed and cast your diagnostic charms there," he said in a cold voice.
Stroud huffed faintly under her breath and walked over to where Hermione was curled into a ball.
Stroud barely glanced at Hermione as she cast a complex diagnostic over Hermione's stomach. A tiny orb of pale, almost blinding bright, yellow light appeared; pulsing so rapidly it was nearly fluttering. It looked almost like a golden snitch but it was miniaturized, a little bigger than a pea.
Hermione froze and stared at it. The light made her nauseous with pain, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. It illuminated almost the entire room.
"That is the magical signature of your heir," Stroud informed Malfoy.
Hermione's eyes darted over to Malfoy; he looked rather as though someone had struck him upside the head with a bludger bat. His face was ashen and he looked half-dazed.
"The fluttering is the heartbeat. The size corresponds to the growth of the fetus. And the brightness indicates the magic levels; which are exceptional, as I had predicted." Healer Stroud's last words were smug. "Although it may make the pregnancy more traumatic for her. Powerful children often do."
Stroud glanced over at Hermione and gave an insincere smile.
Stroud spent several minutes casting various spells on the orb of light and on Hermione; finally she cast one on Hermione's head. Hermione looked up. The glowing lights scattered across her brain all seemed the same, except there was a faint tinge of gold to the light.
Healer Stroud turned toward Malfoy.
"Have you checked her memories recently?"
"I have not," he said. "She's already suffered one seizure from having legilimency performed on her when her hormone levels were elevated. I'll wait until her migraines and morning sickness pass. Legilimency is invasive and traumatic, regardless of the familiarity of magical signature."
Healer Stroud nodded. "It's likely the migraines are primarily due to the fugues. Headaches during pregnancy are not uncommon, but the levels of pain the diagnostic is indicating are exceeding would be regarded as normal."
Malfoy's expression tightened.
"Is there anything that can be done?" he asked.
"Prescribing pain relief potions during pregnancy isn't advisable. It can result in fetal abnormalities or miscarriage in the early stages of pregnancy," Stroud said. "You could try Muggle pain relief, if you're that concerned, but usually magically induced maladies require magical treatment."
Malfoy eyed Stroud skeptically. Stroud jutted her chin up. "If you don't believe me, you're welcome to get a second opinion or bring in a midwife to corroborate it. The mind healer informed you that the corrosion process would likely be excruciating. It's not as though anyone has ever created individual magical fugues around hundreds of their memories before. Magical corrosion is as painful as it sounds. The magic level of your heir is likely accelerating the process, but we don't have any idea of how long it might take. It's possible that once her hormone levels rebalance the severity of the pain will ease somewhat. But it's equally likely that the corrosion process with stay this way for the duration of the pregnancy. It's impossible to predict. There's really nothing that can be done about it. There are safe potions for keeping her hydrated and from starving that can be administered if she can keep them down. However, unless she loses a dangerous amount of weight or starts screaming from the pain, interfering could risk her or the pregnancy and do little more than extend the process."
Malfoy's jaw clenched. "Fine."
Stroud left shortly after that, but Malfoy stayed behind, staring down at Hermione.
She closed her eyes, and tried not to dwell on how miserable she felt and that she might stay that way for another thirty-four weeks. Her head hurt too much to even think. She tried to will herself to sleep. The tiny glowing orb of light appeared fluttering in her mind's eye and she curled more protectively around her stomach.
She felt the bed shift and cool fingers touched her cheek, brushing back her hair and then resting against her forehead. She bit her lip and fought against crying.
She was so tired of crying.
She tried to pretend it was someone else. It's Harry. It's Ron. It's your mum, she told herself; she didn't force herself to draw away from the touch.
After another week, she began to wonder if she were going die from the pregnancy. Despite the advanced science of obstetrical healing, Magical intervention in pregnancy was extremely limited. Magical pregnancies tended to either neutralise or react extremely badly to external magical influences.
Hermione could keep herself slightly hydrated. Topsy dosed her with hydration and nutrition potions multiple times a day, but Hermione could rarely keep them down for the few seconds necessary for her system to absorb them.
She wasn't sure if she actually was suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, or if most of the nausea and vomiting was caused by the migraines. If she ate anything, she would immediately vomit and then retch until she was sobbing from the additional pain it caused her head.
She lost almost all her muscle tone.
She lay limply in bed in her darkened room and wished she'd die.
Malfoy came; often, she thought. He brought several mind healers who just stuttered nervously around him and offered no helpful advice. He brought midwives and obstetrical healers who cooed over his heir's magic levels and prescribed even worse tasting potions for Hermione to vomit up.
She suspected Malfoy came sometimes when she was asleep, because her over-sensitive nose would often detect his scent in the room. When he came when she was awake, she was hardly more responsive.
He would sit down on the edge of her bed and smooth her hair, and sometimes he would take her wrist and pull her hand into his. The first time he did it she thought he was playing with her fingers, but gradually she realised he was massaging her hand; tapping the tip of his wand across it at various pressure points, sending mild vibrations into the muscles. Then he'd bend and massage her fingers and palm lightly.
He was doing what healers did to treat the tremors from the cruciatus, she realised. He must have memorised the technique due to how frequently he needed the treatment.
She didn't pull her hand away.
She told herself it was only because it might make her head hurt more if she moved.
As the end of May approached, her head steadily hurt more and more. She grew thinner and thinner until the manacles could slide halfway up her forearms. Topsy became fretful and began to meet Hermione's eyes as she softly entreated Hermione to try to swallow more potions or sip on some peppermint or ginger tea.
Malfoy began to hover. He had to leave to 'hunt' and perform other duties that Hermione tried not to think about, but he was often in her room. He didn't talk to her. He rarely met her eyes, but he smoothed her hair, and held her hands and fidgeted with the manacles around her wrists. Sometimes when she opened her eyes she'd find him staring at her stomach, but he never tried to touch it.
She was almost nine weeks pregnant when she abruptly woke up panicking.
There was something-something she needed to be ready for.
She couldn't remember-
It was important.
The most important thing. The thing she couldn't forget.
She needed to be ready.
No matter what. She was supposed to hold on.
She forced herself out of the bed. The pain of being upright had her gasping. She clutched her head. She forced herself to stand.
She had to-
She couldn't remember. It was right at the edge.
Her legs trembled from the muscle atrophy. She forced herself to walk and tried not to panic.
She was supposed to be doing-something.
What was it?
Topsy appeared. "Is you needing anything?"
"No," Hermione said in a shaking voice as she wracked her mind and tried to think. Oh god, what was it? Her heart started to race as she struggled to remember. To think through the blinding pain.
There were black spots steadily dancing in her vision, growing larger and larger. The pain in her head kept growing.
Malfoy was suddenly in front of her. Did he apparate? She didn't hear it.
"What-?" he started and broke off when he found her standing in front of him.
"I-can't-remember...," she forced out. "I'm- supposed to-hold-"
Her voice broke off in a low cry as the pressure in her head grew so intense she thought she'd pass out. Her vision wavered. She blinked, trying to see, and when her sight cleared she found Malfoy had a knife in his hand. She looked up at him, startled. His expression was cold and intent as he lunged toward her.
She fell back, trying instinctively to ward him off.
The moment before he stabbed her, Malfoy suddenly vanished.
Alastor Moody was standing in front of her. Grim-faced and tired. "An opportunity has come up. One that could change the tide of the war."
Before Hermione could say anything, Moody was gone and she was falling.
No, she wasn't falling.
Malfoy was holding her by the throat and slamming her into the ground.
There was the punch of a knife blade sliding between her ribs.
She was in the middle of a battlefield. Everyone was falling to the ground, suffocating. Harry. Ron. Death Eaters. Everyone was dying around her and she was screaming.
"How many times do you think I can stab you before the light goes out in your eyes?"
Ginny crying, "I didn't mean to."
"Something to warm my cold heart."
A hard kiss as she was pinned against the wall.
"I didn't want you."
The sensation of her wrist, shattering under an iron grip.
"You seem pleased to have successfully whored yourself. Happy to know you've got your chess piece locked in place?"
Harry was standing in front of her, pale and enraged, his face crusted with dried blood, "If that's how little you believe in us then you aren't someone whose help I need."
She was sitting next to Tonks, who was staring at Hermione guardedly, her eyes suspicious. "How many people did you kill today, Hermione? Ten? Fifteen? Do you even know?"
Minerva McGonagall, gripping a teacup, her voice shaking, "You're no sinner; this is not a fate you deserve. And yet, it seems as though you're determined to try damning yourself if it means winning."
Her own voice, "If my soul is the price of protecting them-of protecting you. That's-that's not a price. That's a bargain."
"You're mine. You swore yourself to me," growled into her ear.
Severus looking coldly at her, "If you manage to succeed you're just as likely to destroy the Order as save it."
Hermione crying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this to you."
Finally, Malfoy was standing over her, his face white, his eyes glittering with rage, "I have warned you. If something happens to you, I will personally raze the entire Order. That isn't a threat. It is a promise. Consider your survival as much a necessity to the survival of the Resistance as Potter's. If you die, I will kill every last one of them."
It was like falling as the past broke free, surging up through her mind and swallowing her.