When It Rains

All praise be the exalted Muse who has finally returned. A thousand pardons for any mistakes in spelling of names, places, etc. My beloved baby sister still has all of my books, leaving me with no reference. If anyone spots a mistake, please review me and me kme know so that I can make the necessary changes. As usual Harry and company belong to the amazing Ms. Rowling...

Chapter 3

Hermione’s suitcase was packed and waiting inside the front door when Devlin arrived home with Harry in tow. He eyed the leather case questioningly as he shut the door behind him.

“Mum! I’m home!” he called out. “This way,” he said to Harry as they moved through the foyer and up to the kitchen on the second floor. “Mum!”

“Dev, be down in a minute!” she yelled over the balcony. “Is your friend with you?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. “Just hurry, okay?”

The urgency of her son’s tone did not escape her and Hermione found herself tossing her ledger onto her desk and rushing downstairs.

“What’s going on, Dev?” she asked.

“Hello, Hermione,” Harry replied as he stepped out from the shadows.

“Harry!” she exclaimed with joy. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call?”

What under normal circumstances would have been a pleasant reunion of two friends who hadn’t seen each other in more than a year was tempered by the sad tidings Harry carried. Taking Hermione’s hands in his own, he lead her to the small bistro table set int alc alcove.

“Mione, Severus sent me.”

Her smile faded. “What do you...why would Severus send you?” she asked worriedly, her gaze settling on her son.

“Mione...look at me,” Harry urged. “It’s Albus. He’s dying, Hermione. He’s dying.”

Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill over. “Oh, Merlin, Harry. Tell me you’re joking. This is just a joke right?”

“I’m sorry, Mione. I know how much you care for him. We all love him.”

“He’s not truly dying, is he?” she asked. At Harry’s nod, she continued, “Tell me. How? Has he chosen to remain at Hogwarts or is he at St. Mungos?”

“Slow down, Mione. One question at a time. He’s an old man and it’s his time. Hell, Mione he was old when we were first years. We all knew that this day would come sooner or later. He’s at Hogwarts and he’s asked to see you.”

“I’m already packed,” she laughed sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“I was leaving tomorrow to see him. I needed to talk to him about...” her voice trailed off as her eyes met her son’s that were filled with unspoken questions.

“He wants you to bring him home.”

Hermione’s head whipped around. There was no need for her to ask who ‘he’ was. “You must be joking,” she said bitterly.

“No, I’m not,” Harry replied, handing her a piece of folded parchment. A double SS was stamped into the center of the black wax seal. “It’s time Hermione.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? It’s funny. I was going to see Albus to see if he could find a way to break the contract. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“It was meant to be this way, Mum,” Devlin said, speaking up at long last.

“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing will ever be the same again. Don’t be afraid, Mum. There won’t be anything to be afraid of soon. I promise,” he stated cryptically. “I’ll go and pack now. It’s good to see you, Uncle Harry. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

A sudden, insistent knocking at the front door stopped Devlin’s trek up the curved staircase. Bounding back down the steps, he jogged to the large, ornate iron and glass door. Pulling it open he was surprised to find the Head of Slytherin waiting on the other side.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he said in greeting. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Just as I didn’t expect to be here, Devlin,” Draco said. “I found that I couldn’t leave New York in good conscience without seeing your mother. Is she at home?”

Having also heard the knock on her front door, Hermione rose from the kitchen table where she and Harry had begun reminiscing about their days as two-thirds of the “Golden Trio.” Curiosity got the better of her and she excused herself for a moment before walking down to the lower level of her home. Hermione froze as a platinum blond head came into view.

“It can’t be,” she whispered, her breath coming in quick gasps. “It just can’t.”

“Can’t be who, Mione?” her mother asked, also curious about their mysterious caller. “Who is that man with Dev?”

“Draco Malfoy! You bastard!” she shouted before running down the steps towards the man in question.

The smile that had previously graced Devlin’s face faded at his mother’s exclamation and he knew a moment of regret at making friends with Mr. Malfoy along with him. His mom was coming towards them at a full out run, her face red with what he assumed was anger. Turning to Draco, he said, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, sir.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” Draco said then caught Hermione up and swung her around, her arms wrapped around his neck as she cried out her joy.

Laughing and crying, Hermione held onto Draco, her legs locked around his waist as he hugged her to him. Pulling back, she kissed him full on the mouth before saying, “Where the hell have been all my life?”

“Across the pond, love. Merlin, but I’ve missed you, Mudblood.”

“And I you, Malferret.”

Devlin stood transfixed, not daring to move for fear that he was under some strange spell. He had never seen his mother behave in the fashion she now was. And to hear Mr. Malfoy call her a mudblood without eliciting a hrom rom her? Just what was going on here?

“Er, Mum?” he said, clearing his throat.

Seeing the shocked faces of her mother and son, Hermione realized two things as she glanced around her. One, that she was her doorstep in full view of the entire street with her arms and legs wrapped around Draco Malfoy and two, Ron was apparently back in town. He was standing not twenty feet away, his face ashen.

Carefully, she disentangled her body from Draco’s and turned to face her son first. Taking Draco by the hand she pulled him away from where Ron still stood, unnoticed as yet. “Devlin, this, I assume you know is Draco Malfoy. He and I were quite close in school. In fact, he was my highschool boyfriend.”

“Your what?” Devlin asked, incredulous. Could Draco be his father? Reading the unspoken question in the boy’s eyes, Draco moved to answer only to be interrupted by Ron as he stepped forward, making his presence known.

“No, Dev. The ferret here isn’t your dad.”

“Good to see you too, Weasley,” Draco sneered.

“Wish I could say it was a pleasure, your lordship, but I’ve been on the road for two months straight. If you’ll all excuse me?” Ron said as he trudged past Draco, knocking into the other man, shoulder to shoulder as he made his way inside Hermione’s townhouse.

“Um, well,” Hermione said, not missing the way Draco’s eyes followed her friend as he departed. “Let’s take this drama inside, shall we?”

....................................................................................................................................................

It was late evening by the time Hermione had readied herself and her son for the tripk tok to her native country. The initial shock of Harry’s announcement had long since worn off, leaving determination and resolve in its wake. Her heart was heavy with the news of her former headmaster’s failing health but wary with trepidation at the same time. Whs Ses Severus suddenly insisting that she bring Devlin back with her? And what did his message mean? Her instincts told her that the answer to both would not be easily found.

Draco had left sometime ago, having learned the news of their former headmaster’s decline from Harry. He said his goodbyes quickly and after glaring heatedly at Ron apparated out of her living room. The reunion was awkward but had left Hermione feeling as though she was doing the right thing. It felt good to be with her friends again, to know that they didn’t despise her for leaving.

Now as she carefully and methodically selected additional garments and shoes for the journey, which would most likely include a dear friend’s funeral, memories of her old life began to assail her. While pulling an calf-length designer kimono from its hanger in her closet, she closed her eyes, remembering a similar robe she’d been given the day Devlin had been born. The embroidered silk had been a gift from Severus, secretly rendered without any amount of flattery or pretense. It was simply a token of respect given from one person to another.

Flashback, Fifteen Years Earlier......

With skill born of too many years service to the Dark Lord, Severus Snape crept silently into the sleeping girl’s bedchamber. He had slipped past the warded door undetected and stood now at her bedside, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. A sudden stirring in the basket in the corner caught his attention and he moved soundlessly across the room to examine it’s contents. Leaning down, he placed one hand on the edge of the crib as he looked down on the child within. The neatly wrapped parcel he held under his arm slid unnoticed to the floor, landing with a soft thud. The baby, a dark-haired boy, was clothed in a blue gown and was flailing his arms angrily, his face scrunched up as he began to wail.

At the first high-pitched scream, Hermione shot up in her bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in her body. Turning her head in the direction of her newborn son, she was startled to find her Potions professor there and was shocked further still when the usually distant and aloof man gently picked the baby up and held him close to his chest. Murmuring softly, Severus began to rock the boy back and forth. Without speaking, Hermione stood and slowly walked towards them, her white cotton gown swishing about her ankles.

Sensing that the child’s mother was now awake, Severus looked up and was surprised to find her already standing next to him. He had expected her to immediately take the chawayaway from him but was taken aback when she handed him a small, white blanket instead.

“Here,” she said, as she extended the fleece to him. “Cover him with this.” Taking the blanket form her outstretched hand, he shifted the boy in his arms as he covered him from chin to toe.

s bes beautiful, Hermione,” he said at long last.

“Yes, he is,” she replied, brushing her fingertips across the now quiet infant’s scalp.

“Was it a difficult birth?” Severus asked as he absently patted the baby’s bottom, lulling him to sleep once more.

“Compared to what?” Hermione reached out and took the baby from her professor’s arms at long last and settled him in his crib before continuing. “I suppose it was. It was certainly less painful than his conception.”

“Hermione,” Severus began, his voice breaking apologetically as he took a step towards her.

Holding up one hand, she said, “No, Severus. I’m not blaming you. I blame HIM. I blame all of THEM. But not you, never you. I know that you were as helpless as I was. We were both pawns, casualties of war. There is no room for blame here. There’s Devlin to think of now.”

“Devlin? Is that what you’ve named him?”

“Yes, after my grandfather. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No, not at all. It’s a good name,” he said, looking into the crib once more. “I must go. I just wanted to see him...and you before I returned to Hogwarts.” Reaching down, he picked up the forgotten package and placed it in her hands. “This is for you. Don’t open it now, wait until I’ve gone. Also,” he said as he placed a sliver key in her palm, “There’s this. For the boy. For Devlin.”

“For our son,” Hermione corrected.

Flinching visibly, Severus said quietly, “Goodbye, Hermione.” Then after placing a hasty and uncharacteristic kiss on her cheek, disappeared through her bedroom door and into the night.

Sitting back down on her bed, Hermione released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. After counting to ten to calm her fraying nerves, she pulled on the coarse twine that was wrapped around the package, untying the simple, childlike bow and began to tear into the brown paper wrapping. When the parcel’s contents were at last revealed, she held the garnet colored silk to her chest and buried her face in it, a small, but heartfelt smile on her lips.

Present

The fleeting feeling of comfort the memory had brought her was quickly doused by the anger she had been feeling earlier that same morning. For the past five years she’d been going mad, the desire, no the need to tell her son about his father eating away at her, day by day. And now, suddenly without warning or preamble, she and Devlin were being called back to Hogwarts and into a society that had shunned and discarded her. The burning ache she felt inside her at the mere thought of Albus dying was fading as the flame of her anger grew. Just what in Hades did Severus mean by “it’s time” anyway? He couldn’t possibly mean it was time for them to tell Devlin about his father. All of his letters pointed to the contrary.

Stepping out of her closet and back into her bedroom, Hermione walked to the foot of her bed and knelt before a hand-carved cedar chest. Carefully, she opened the heirloom trunk and rummaged through the belongings held lovingly within. Near the bottom she found what she’d been looking for: a suede pouch housing nearly sixty letters. Letters that had been written four times a year, each year since Devlin had been born. The document on the top of the pile had been written and sent by port-key posting not two weeks prior. International letters were not all that common as they had to be sent via port-key and then redistributed to owls to be delivered to there recipients. American witches and wizards were losing interest in the old customs, becoming far to reliant on muggle means of communication. But the letters Hermione received were sent at regular intervals with a predictability that was almost amusing. Each letter the the same as the one before. Each checking on Devlin’s health, his progress in school, his likes and dislikes. And each letter reminded Hermione that she was bound by contract to never tell Devlin of his father or of how he’d been conceived.

With a bitter shake of her head, Hermione replaced the letters in the suede pouch and set it back inside the chest. As she moved to pull her hand back, a scrap of scarlet cloth caught her attention and Hermione found herself clutching that silk robe once more. The anger she’d been fighting reasserted itself at that moment and she thrust the garment down slamslammed the lid of the trunk.

“Tell me how you really feel,” a voice drawled sarcastically from the doorway.

Looking up, Hermione found Ron lounging in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb. “Ever hear of knocking?” she asked, brushing off her jeans and pulling herself to her feet.

“Would have if the door had been closed. I take it you’re all packed?” he asked, striding into the room and flipping open her suitcase.

“Gods but you’re a weird one, ‘Mione. Tell me that’s not shrink wrap on your clothes.”

Snapping the leather bag closed, she replieNo, No, Ron. It’s not shrink wrap. They’re plastic bags, to keep the clothes from getting damaged.”

“So, you’re saying it’s shrink wrap.” The lopsided grin he wore squelched the lecture on tidy traveling tips she’d been about to give him.

“Will you be joining us tomorrow or are you off on another assignment?” Hermione asked, deftly changing the subject as she kicked off her shoes and crawled up on her bed.

“Just flooed Dad and he said under the circumstances it would be okay if take a few days off. Cleared it with my editor already, so, yeah, I’ll be going with you,” he replied as he toed off his own shoes and climbed in beside her. “‘Mione, can I ask you a question without you getting angry at me for asking it?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, “Here we go again. Ron, after twenty-plus years of friendship, I think you’d know the answer to that. Of course I’ll probably get angry, but go ahead and ask anyway. At least if I’m angry, you’re getting an honest an.”
.”

“Okay, then I’ll just ask,” he said then paused before continuing. Looking straight ahead, his features carefully masked to give nothing away, he asked, “What the hell was Malfoy doing here today?”

“Somehow, I knew we’d get around to that,” she replied tiredly. “Apparently it is a very small world. Devlin met him in Central Park today and invited him over. I was quite shocked.”

Remembering the way she had thrown herself at the other man, Ron sneered, “Yes, I could see that,” earning himself a punch in the shoulder.

“Look, Ron, I know you and Draco have never been friends,” she began and at her friend’s snort, continued, “But he is my friend.”

“You haven’t talked to him in fifteen years,’Mione. What kind of a friend is that?”

“A long lost one?” she quipped. “But never mind all that. He was there when we needed him, when I needed him. Merlin’s beard, he even saved your skinny ass once, Ronald Weasley.”

“And lost me my Quidditch scholarship to boot.”

“You’ve no one to blame for that one save yelf.elf. I’ve heard you blame Draco for ages now when we both know if was your own lack of attention that caused that accident in the first place.”

“Can’t get anything past you, can I?” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Not a damn thing. Now get out of my bed and out of my room. I’m going to bed as soon as I check on my son.”

Reluctantly, Ron put his sneakers back on and strode from the room after saying a quick “‘Night, ‘Mione”. With a wave of his hand he was trudging back upstairs to his own bedroom as Hermione headed down the hall to Devlin’s. Hearing the stereo booming within, she tapped on the door, lightly at first then with more vigor to be heard over the loud music.

In answer to her knock, Devlin opened the door slightly, revealing only a portion of his face and torso. “Yeaum. um. What’s up?”

“May I come in?” she asked, secretly hoping that he would allow her entrance. He had to be confused by the day’s events and she wanted to make certain he understood why they had to go. It was after all, the middle of term and he would be missing a good deal of school.

“Sure” was all he said with a slight shrugging of his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Hermione answered softly as she stepped into the room. Taking up a chair across from where he’d chosen to sit on his bed, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Dev, we’re leaving early tomorrow. Are you packed and ready?”

“Yeah, I’m all packed. Are you sure I can’t bring any of my cell with me?”

“Even if the Ministry were to let you keep it after we arrive, it would be pointless to do so. No reception where we’re going.”

“Okay, then. So are we flying there? Uncle Harry said he took a jet over here.”

“No, love. We’re going to travel by port-key to a prearranged location in London and then take the Knight Bus from there to Hogsmeade.”

“What’s a Night Bus?” Devlin asked, curious at the differences between his culture and that his mother had been raised in.

“It’s Knight, with a K and it’s sort of like a cab,” his mother explained.

“Why don’t we just apparate. It would be a lot quicker.”

“I don’t want to advertise your advanced learning just yet. People can be pretty hard on those of us who move along faster than the majority.” Hermione regarded her son as he absorbed her response and noticed that he appeared to be holding something back. “What’s the matter, Dev?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s definitely something. Tell me about it.”

“It’s just that, I feel left out. Everybody seems to know my father except me. That’s not fair, Mum. Even Mr. Malfoy seemed to know him, even though he never came right out and said so.”

“You’re right, Devlin. It’s not fair. I’ve wanted to tell you about him all your life, but a long time ago I promised that I wouldn’t.”

“Why? Why would you promise something like that? Don’t you know how important this is to me!” Devlin surged to his feet and began to angrily pace the length of his room.

Her eyes brimming with unshed tears, Hermione replied, “I can’t tell you that, Dev. But I do promise you this. Before we return to New York, you will know your father and he will know you.”

A/N: As there were a number of complaints with my original penning of this tale regarding the relationship between Draco and Ron, I’m asking for feedback from you, the reader. It is my intention in this story to develop a relationship between the pair. It is up to you, as the reader, to determine the nature of said relationship. As I plan to aggressively pursue the end of this fic, I am setting the feedback deadline for Thursday, September 23. Thank you.