Chapter Text
“And my day had started so well,” Hermione said as her eyes glanced over the folder in her hand. “What could be worse than escorting Astoria Malfoy to France?”
From beside her Harry scoffed a laugh as he raised his own file. “Maybe escorting her husband to the same place?”
Hermione suppressed the urge to groan and roll her eyes as she looked at Harry, the two of them silently conversing their disdain for the tasks ahead. She swallowed down the memories she had of the school bully pureblood who had made her youth almost hell and resisted the urge to throw both files into the fire across Harry’s office. She opened her mouth to say something, to fight and argue, but she and Harry both knew what could befall the two Malfoys should they travel without supervision.
Harry gave her a sad smile as he nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “At least it can’t get any worse.”
“And I do love France.”
As if the universe herself felt the need to interfere, Robards entered the office with a flustered face. “Change of plans.”
“We don’t have to escort the Malfoys to France?” Harry asked hopefully.
Robards shook his head. “You get to take his majesty, but Granger.”
“Yes sir?”
“You’re taking the wife a little further.”
“How much further?”
“Somewhere with a birthing place that isn’t in a country that knows her husband’s past.”
Hermione frowned. “Voldemort threatened all of Europe during his brief reign three years ago, including MACUSA in America and most of its neighbours. There isn’t a country near enough for floo travel that hasn’t heard the name Malfoy.”
“That’s why she won’t be going under the name Malfoy and will be taking more than one trip.”
Harry stepped forward. “She is heavily pregnant and you want to put her through two floo trips?”
“Technically three.”
“Sir!”
Hermione’s brain raced as she mentally scoured the globe and the names of all the countries and their main cities. Russia was the biggest, but seemed illogical based on the size. Africa had a consulate in every sub country including Madagascar, and Australia was personally off limits to her.
She still had no idea how to restore the memories of her parents.
“It will just be a quick hop, skip, and a jump to Canada, then Russia, and then…” The man waited patiently and expectantly.
Harry folded his hands over his chest in the silence. “Are you seriously expecting us to guess?”
Hermione frowned as Robards nodded once. It was a lesson, a test. “We cannot step foot in Korea, magical or not. Russia is too big to floo across entirely so that only leaves… Seriously?!”
“How is your Japanese, miss Granger?”
Hermione gaped for a full three seconds before speaking. “You expect Mrs Malfoy to travel all the way to Japan?”
“No.” Hermione flinched. “I expect Mrs Granger to travel to Japan, accompanied by her sister in law. It would explain the fact that neither of you look the same. And of course should anything go wrong you will have familial ties so as to be able to claim custody via the muggles.”
“So if something were to go wrong, you would expect me to take custody of Draco Malfoy’s son?”
Harry looked ready to faint at the idea. As Robards had the audacity to laugh. “Only in appearance, Granger, don’t seem so disgusted.”
“I’m not disgusted, I just don’t like the idea of having a reason for Malfoy to be after me.” All three sat in a heavy silence after Hermione had spoken before she shook her head to clear it once more. “But if these past three years has taught me anything, it is that people can surprise you. Maybe Mrs Malfoy isn’t all bad?”
*
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CANNOT TAKE MY LUGGAGE?!” Astoria Malfoy screamed at the top of her lungs. Her words filling the atrium as her gaze fixed on Robards. “I have important things inside that need to come with me!”
“Mrs Malfoy please—”
Astoria cut Hermione off with a glare. “And if you think I am going anywhere with you then—”
“The floo is about to close!” Robards urged, pushing the woman and Hermione together into the green flame. “Say it, Granger!”
“Canadian ministry password: Gargoyle.”
The fire engulfed them and rather swiftly they were away, Astoria clinging tightly to Hermione despite her obvious disdain at the arrangements. She had turned her nose up at the plan, the back up plan, and the travel arrangements which made Hermione inwardly groan. She would have expected all the arguing from Pansy Parkinson, but from mild mannered Astoria? Never.
Hermione counted the seconds the pair spent engulfed in the flames, both of them taking shallow breaths to avoid breathing in too many fumes. Usually they would have passed fireplace after fireplace, but with it being a direct line, there were no fireplaces to pass. That, plus the fact they were crossing the Atlantic ocean. If there had been a floo opening to see rush past, then Hermione would have asked a whole slew of questions upon their arrival into Canada.
Astoria clutched slightly tighter, her one hand on the fabric of Hermione’s auror cloak and the other on Hermione’s left arm, just above the scar that still plagued her. Hermione swallowed down the memory that threatened to rise and instead used her hand to pat Astoria’s shoulder as warmly as possible.
Hermione counted thirty seconds, then sixty. Robards had promised them two minutes tops, but as Hermione counted, the feared the worst. They had planned for everything going wrong, but hadn’t planned for anything regarding floo travel. What if their destination was closed? They would continue to swing around the world trapped in a floo network until it opened for them.
How would they cope? Would they die?
Hermione shook the thought from her mind as she continued to count. She had made it to one hundred seconds before she felt them slowing slightly. She readied her feet and tightened her grip for landing as Astoria did the same.
Still Hermione counted the seconds. One hundred and eight, one hundred and nine, one hundred and ten.
At two minutes on the dot the pair arrived in the floo of the Canadian ministry in a torrent of smoke and ash that caused them both to splutter.
“Sorry about that,” a kind voice said as they stepped onto the hearth. “The direct line isn’t used very much so there’s never any expense wasted on cleaning it.” Hermione felt a hand brush ash from her shoulder as she desperately attempted to clean her lungs. Beside her, Astoria was close to choking. “She don’t look too good there, ey?”
Hermione whipped around to the man and felt her eyes blaze. “You tell the higher ups that thanks to their inability to maintain their lines they have just caused harm to a valued member of British wizarding society. A pregnant member!”
The mans eyes widened and he began to stutter a slew of words that Hermione missed, her attention returning to Astoria. “Water,” the woman gasped, gesturing to the man.”
“Oh, yeah, water.”
He vanished from the room, leaving Hermione and Astoria alone together. Hermione attempted to clear her nose of the smoke smell as she guided the still coughing woman to a nearby chair. “Deeper breaths,” Hermione urged as she rested her hands on Astoria’s knees. “Deeper breaths.”
“I—I can’t.”
“You can. Look at me.” Striking blue eyes filled with tears met Hermione’s brown. “Just breathe.”
“Don’t touch me.” Hermione flinched away. “I don’t want to be touched by you.”
The two women stared silently. Nothing needed to be said, but Hermione felt it, the hatred, the word perched on the edge of Astoria’s lips, the word that burned on her arm.
Mudblood.
The man returned and handed them both a glass each which Hermione took gracefully but refused to sip until Astoria did. Oblivious, the man smiled and gestured behind him as Hermione and Astoria continued to lock eyes on one another.
“I passed a janitor on the way, he said he would take a look at the flue.”
Hermione pulled away from Astoria’s glare to look at the man. “Thank you,” she said politely before gesturing to the wand peeking out of the man’s top pocket. “Would you mind casting scourgify? We don’t have permission to use our wands yet.”
The man nodded and soon the two women were clean. Astoria had calmed and taken some sips of her water, prompting Hermione to down hers before setting the empty glass on the desk in the middle of the room she had taken a moment to admire.
Basic white tiles dotted with soot adorned the floor, but a large ornate rug sat before the fireplace the two had emerged from. The single desk in the middle of the room was aimed at the floo, an ideal welcome had travellers not been overwhelmed by years of collected soot. The rich mahogany door the man had left through seemed old, heavy, and full of ancient magics designed to keep people in.
Without visas or permission to use their magic, Astoria and Hermione would be unable to pass through the door. They were only intending to pass through the country, but after the chaos, Hermione made the executive decision to stay for a little while.
“Do you have a bathroom?” Hermione asked the man. He pointed to a second smaller door on the other side of the room and Hermione smiled in thanks. “Stay with her?”
He nodded and Hermione turned. “What’s her name?”
Hermione turned back and held her head high. For a moment her eyes flicked to meet those striking blue ones once more. “She is Astoria Granger, my sister in law.” As Hermione turned to make her way to the bathroom once more, she heard the man muttering to Astoria.
“Hi Mrs Granger, I’m Greg. Let’s get that water into you.”
Hermione could have screamed in the tiny room until her lungs burned, but without her magic the entire department would have heard her, and after filling with burning smoke, she intended not to have chest pain again for a long while.
While gripping the edge of the sink, Hermione stared at herself silently and solemnly as the word swilled around in her mind. Mudblood.
She recalled the first time she had heard it, spat from the mouth of Draco Malfoy in a heinous display of cocky pride. She hadn’t known the origin, the reason behind the slur, but she had felt the sheer hatred in both his gaze and the way he said it.
He had never apologised for any of his actions, not even when the wizenagamot threatened to incarcerate him in Azkaban. Harry and Hermione, together with Ron had petitioned for him to receive a shorter sentence, bringing into question his age and upbringing. They hadn’t been able to secure such luck for Narcissa who had served a year for her involvement, the rest of her sentence spent on house arrest for her saving of Harry in the end.
Hermione wondered if Draco had blamed them for not freeing his mother as easily as they had freed him and that’s why he had never apologised, but she shook that thought from her head. She knew him to be cocky and arrogant, spiteful and selfish, but it was obvious the boy had held his mother in high regard. He loved her, that much was sure.
At the thought of mothers, Jean floated unbidden into Hermione’s mind but she batted the thought of her away rapidly, unwilling to return to the high and mighty Mrs Malfoy with red rimmed eyes. Instead she did her business, washed her hands, and exited with her head held high and her emotions shoved deep down inside herself once more.
Greg stood before the lone fireplace as a wizard in uniform cleaned out the flue. As Hermione moved closer, she saw that instead of cleaning with a brush, the man had simply used a stick to shove a lone house elf into the chimney.
“That’s barbaric,” she spluttered before she could stop herself, bringing attention to all in the room.
Greg smiled and nodded. “I thought the same thing, but the flue cannot be cleaned using magic and the elves are the only ones that fit up there. Muggles used to use children I believe?”
Hermione gulped and nodded. “Surely there is another way?”
Astoria scoffed from where she sat. “House elves are meant for doing this, G—Hermione. We all know this.”
Hermione swallowed down her words and stuck out her chin in defiance. “I still do not agree with it.”
“My husband was right,” Astoria muttered. “Insufferable.”
Hermione whipped her head around sharply. “Would you rather me leave you here?”
“I don’t think your brother would appreciate that now, would he?” Hermione’s nostrils flared but she remained silent as Astoria turned her attention back to the man in the room who had busied themselves in false ignorance. “I apologise for her. You cannot choose family.”
Greg gave the pair a polite smile before adjusting his collar and heading to the desk. “I do have some things for you ladies to sign for me as Ralph does that for us.”
“And Peppy,” came a little voice from the flue.
“Thank you for your work, Peppy,” Greg said quickly as he organised the papers before him. “Now, the two of you are just passing through, you have no intention of staying and you are on your way to…?”
“Russia next.”
“And then?”
Hermione balked. “That, I’m afraid is confidential.” She saw Astoria turn to look at her in her peripheral vision but didn’t turn. “It is purely for medical reasons, I’m sure you understand.”
Greg smiled and gestured to Astoria’s protruding belly. “My wife is almost twenty weeks herself. May I ask?”
Hermione expected Astoria to snap and curse, to tell him to mind his own business. “I have four weeks left,” she said calmly, stunning Hermione.
Greg smiled warmly. “Not long to go then.” He returned to his papers and for a fleeting moment Astoria wore an expression that Hermione read to be sadness before it vanished. “Sign these and you two can be on your way.”
Hermione signed first, her signature one that she and her father had spent hours perfecting. “A witch must have a good signature for when she becomes minister for magic,” he would say. Hermione swallowed down the memory and passed the quill over.
She watched Astoria take the quill and sign “AG.” It wasn’t a lie, nor was it false. Had she written Granger the pen would have rejected her outright and all manner of aurors would have accosted them. But because her name had once been Greengrass, the pen accepted her.
Hermione had to admit it was a good cover Robards had concocted, even then it still wasn’t enough for her to like it.
The two stepped into the floo and Greg handed Hermione a piece of paper with the private password for them to continue into Russia. He stood back and waved them farewell before Hermione opened her mouth and spoke, Astoria holding the floo powder ready to drop it.
“Yakutsk ministry. Russia. Password: Babushk—Babushka?!”
But before she could question it being a joke, Astoria dropped the powder and the two were away. Hermione counted thirty seconds before realising Greg had not given them a time estimate to expect. The two were travelling time blind and Hermione did not like it.
*
They landed in Russia after sixty seconds of counting. It was a less chaotic landing than in Canada and the pair stepped out onto the hearth clean and ready. Before them a weedy woman stepped out from behind a desk, the room similar to Canada’s in the way it was small and enclosed with a single desk in the middle.
“Dobro pozhalovat’,” she said as she neared them with papers ready in hand. She held out a hand to shake and Hermione took it warmly. “Welcome welcome. Simply sign and you can be on your way. Do you have need for the facilities?”
Hermione shook her head and reached for the quill that had floated towards her. “Where do you need us to sign?”
“Just here,” the woman said before her attention shifted to Astoria. “You seem unwell, do you need to sit for a moment?”
Astoria gulped before covering her mouth with her hand. “Bathroom,” she said simply and quickly. The woman gestured and Astoria half ran though the door, the sound of her retching came a few seconds later.
Hermione signed and allowed the quill to float once more as she headed towards the still open door of the bathroom. “I shall ask for some water, there’s no rush.” Astoria groaned something that sounded like a thanks before retching once more. Hermione pulled the door almost closed before turning to the woman.
“I shall get a glass,” she said unprompted in her broken English.
“Thank you.”
The woman left them alone once more and Hermione sighed. “Maybe we should request a room for the night here. I told Robards I wasn’t comfortable transporting you so far in such a short time span. He told me you could take it and I believe that any other time in any other circumstance you could. But you are so heavily pregnant, anything could go wrong. You've already almost choked to death and now--"
Another retching sound caused Hermione to pause.
“This is exactly my point. Does you—your husband know this was the plan? Or does he think you are in France too?”
A mumbled “he knows” came before another round of retching.
“Im not judging, but how much did you eat in the past few hours? It sounds like you aren’t bringing up anything.”
“I’m not.”
Hermione started slightly at the glass of water being handed to her, having been oblivious to the woman’s return. “A bit of water and ginger did wonders for my mother with my sisters,” the woman muttered quietly.
Hermione nodded. “We will take that advice in mind.” She smiled before entering the bathroom and closing the door to keep at least a little of Astoria’s dignity, despite the fact the woman was becoming rather well acquainted with the porcelain throne. “Here.” Hermione held out the glass for Astoria to sip before resting it on the floor and reaching for some toilet paper.
“You must think me a fool.”
“For vomiting? Don’t be silly.” Hermione wetted the wad of paper under the cold tap before dropping carefully to her knees and dabbing it gently to Astoria’s brow. “We all vom—"
“For needing help.”
Hermione paused briefly before continuing to wipe the sweat from the woman’s brow. “Something I have learned is that everyone needs help at many points in their life, all they must do is ask for it and it shall be given.”
Astoria raised the glass from the floor and clung to it like it was her lifeline. “Since when did you quote Dumbledore?”
Hermione scoffed a laugh. “I tend not to make a habit of doing that.” She had attempted to keep her opinions of the man to herself but something in her expression or her words had pulled Astoria’s attention.
“You speak as if you did not love him.”
Hermione smiled sadly as she watched the woman take a tentative sip of the liquid in her glass. She watched it swirl and remembered what Harry had told her of the night Dumbledore died, the poison, the desperation to find water.
“I did not love him. I admired him, yes. But love?” Hermione shook her head.
“Did he do something?”
Hermione steeled herself before shaking her head. “It is not a conversation for today, but simply know that I won’t let anything happen to you, despite our differences.”
“You mean that?”
“You seem surprised.”
“I have been cruel to you.”
“Yes.”
“I have almost said things that—”
“Yes, but you are pregnant. That will give you a pass, but just this once.” Hermione held out her hand. “Do you think we could start again?”
Astoria released her death grip on her glass and tentatively shook Hermione’s hand. “I would like that.” She smiled at Hermione through tear filled eyes. “You swore to help me before I started a scene about my bags. You swore to protect me and my baby.”
“Yes,” Hermione said most sincerely.
“I have a blood maladiction.”
She had said it so bluntly that Hermione almost didn’t believe her. “But… that—”
“I might die giving birth to my baby, I am too weak for any of this.”
Hermione resisted the urge to punch the air and scream “I told you so” just loudly enough for Robards to hear from across the world. “But why are you telling me now? This is something you have to tell your doctors when we get to Japan.”
“Hermione.” Astoria’s gaze was locked on Hermione’s as their still connected hands tightened. “I won’t make it to Japan.” Her gaze flicked down, urging Hermione to do the same.
Hermione’s blood turned cold at the sight of the fluid covered floor. Birth was never something she had prepared for or read about. It remained something she assumed herself to be able to tackle in the nine months of her own pregnancy that she hoped would be in the very far future. Her breath quickened and her heart raced, but Hermione steeled herself and took a calming breath.
“I am here, I have got you. Do you hear me?” Astoria nodded. “I am not going to let anything happen to you or to your baby.”
“Scorpius. I wanted to name him Scorpius.”
Hermione nodded and patted the woman’s hand. “I swear to you and Scorpius, I am not going anywhere.”
The Russian ministry had not needed much convincing to allow the two women access to their magic and the ability to leave the office. One patronus to the British ministry had informed Robards of the change in plan but there was no time to get Astoria anywhere other than a side office with the most room. The sofa transfigured into a bed and healers were summoned, but what everyone had failed to realise was that thanks to the floo travelling, Astoria’s birth had progressed a little quicker than usual.
With no healers, no training, and only her cloak as a blanket, Hermione readied herself to catch the baby as the weedy office woman, Minnie, held Astoria’s hand and stroked her hair. Hermione had no time to feel anything other than sheer terror at the sight of Astoria groaning in agony as her baby came rapidly into the world.
“It’s too soon,” she repeated desperately. “I don’t want to die. Draco is supposed to be here!”
Hermione seconded the feeling. It wasn’t supposed to be her delivering the baby of her childhood bully. It was supposed to be world renowned healers and an onslaught of midwives. But at the sight of Astoria’s tears, something in Hermione burned. She didn’t see a powerful, pure-blood woman. She saw a scared woman, a child in her own right. A child that didn’t want to die.
“Astoria look at me,” Hermione said, her voice firm. “Look at me.” When she held that striking blue gaze once more Hermione nodded. “You are not going to die. Breathe with me. In and out for five seconds. Minnie you do it too.”
All three women conjoined their breaths and something in the room clicked into place. Hermione felt calmer and readier, Minnie seemed stronger, and Astoria smiled. Then she released a groaning bellow that broke the spell and returned them to the present as the baby came into the world, covered in vernix and screaming.
Hermione laughed as she wrapped the babe in her cloak and used her wand to secure the cord before cutting it. She used the corner of her cloak to wipe the boy’s face and reveal his pale skin. Atop his head was platinum gold fuzz and when he opened his eyes, she noticed them to be the same colour as his father’s. Grey.
“Hello Scorpius,” Hermione said as she looked up to Astoria. “You were right, his is a—”
But Astoria’s lips were already blue and her skin clammy. Minnie stroked her forehead, but her tears fell fast. Astoria Malfoy was dead. As if realising the fact, the boy in Hermione’s arms began to squirm and cry once more, pulling her attention back to him. She was all he had. Her. He was suddenly hers.
“The boy will need to go to his father, miss Granger,” came a voice from behind Hermione, a deep voice. “He is here to come and claim the boy.”
Alarm bells rang in Hermione’s head. Draco was in France, Astoria had confirmed it.
“He can come and get him himself,” she said, silently daring them to step forward.
Hermione watched Minnie raise her head from Astoria, her tears gone and a smile on her lips. “Give us the boy, Hermione,” she purred in perfect English, her hands outstretching.
Hermione steeled herself and silently cast a protective charm around herself and Scorpius. Out the windows she would see the streets of the city before her and braced to spot the furthest her eyes could see. Statuate of secrecy be damned. They were not getting Hermione’s boy. She had made a promise.
Her eyes lingered on Astoria’s body and in her mind she held onto the memory of their brief time together. She heard the male behind her take a step and nodded once to the body. “I swore an oath,” she whispered before her eyes flicked towards the view in the window once more.
She apparated to the street in front of a group of muggles before turning on her heel and bolting through the streets. She apparated again when she caught sight of a distant field and landed before a rather confused cow on the outskirts of the city. She took a moment to catch her breath before sending a patronus directly to Draco.
“Russia. Astoria is dead. I have Scorpius.”
Her otter nodded before shooting away, leaving her and the baby alone in the field once more.
She tried to remember information about the city of Yakutsk. It was the home of the second ministry in Russia and where they had flooed to. Hermione had seen images of the place and learned a brief article on the history, but had never expected to be allowed past the door. The city before her was beautiful and she could smell the water from where she stood.
The wind was rather icy prompting her to cast a warming charm over herself and the naked baby in her arms. She regretted not transfiguring something like a pillowcase into an outfit for him, but she had been preoccupied. Against the bitter wind she began to walk in the direction of southeast where she knew Japan to be.
She had no intention of walking there, she had no reason to be there, but apparating home was out of the question. Returning to the ministry was the stupidest idea she could fathom, and she couldn’t apparate forever without risk of splinching the baby.
She had sent word to Draco, he would be on his way. Word would get back to Robards, they sent a patronus to him. But Minnie had been the one to tell her that, and Minnie had been one of the ones that had attempted to steal the baby. Hermione realised immediately that Robards would have sent someone, at the same time she realised if there had been no patronus to Robards, there would have been no call to a healer.
Despite the fact Astoria had given birth and died in those conditions because of vicious people, Hermione blamed herself. She chastised herself for not double checking the people, the room, the surroundings. She shouldn’t have allowed Astoria to travel further than Canada.
But Robards had insisted.
Hermione shook the thought of Robards being involved from her head as she continued to walk through the field, past a farmhouse, and onto a lone country lane. She used her magic to warm herself and Scorpius again as she spotted a tiny village in the distance.
One final apparition, she told herself. Just one to get them safe. But as Hermione cast the spell she felt the familiar feeling of her magic draining from her. The temporary allowance of her magic faded as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving the woman officially in Russia illegally, without magic, cold, and alone… sort of.
The baby in her arms grizzled and squirmed as the cold swept over the pair once more, but Hermione bundled him tighter against her chest. Unable to apparate or use her magic Hermione could only walk, so walk she did.