Hunter and Prey

There was greyness and a dull awareness of someone speaking. Hermione concentrated on the sound. A man’s voice reading the paper, she gradually deciphered. Her dad had read to her when she was sick, making the flu and tonsils almost bearable. The lavender smell was gone replaced by vanilla and the soothing undertone of something floral. Gardenias? She was thinking of white flowers but that could be the influence of vanilla.

Not the barn, the distillery, her home, the Burrow, her parent’s house, Hogwarts, St Mungo’s or a muggle hospital. Hermione mentally reviewed all the places she had woken unexpectedly. She settled on Malfoy Manor and opened her eyes. Guess confirmed, for there was Draco looking very much Lord of all he surveyed reading the Prophet.

“Still pleased with their reporting?” Hermione asked. There was a strange taste in her mouth, compounded of potions and not brushing her teeth. She felt not too bad. A little tired and looking at her hands, she did not wonder why. Her nails were faintly purple. Investigating herself she noted the pallor of her skin as well as her own pyjamas. They fit again more or less, saving her the bother of having to go shopping.

“The editorials are still drivel.” Draco folded the paper and shifted to her bedside, bringing with him a carafe of pumpkin juice. He gave her a glass. “I put in a birth notice. Very austere and formal, as expected of a Malfoy. After the debacle at St Mungo’s I spoke with Madam Pomfrey.” He frowned. “She had been so coy in her communiqués that the Healers thought your infants were at risk of lycanthropy due to a curse not by parentage.”

“The old wizarding reticence.” Hermione drank the juice and arranged her pillows. There were about dozen all as fluffy as clouds. “The letter I gave them was full of medical details of trauma and adverse reactions. I had assumed they would put two and two together.”

“Unfortunately the two they put together were us. That’s why I was there. While you were Dreamwalking, your lawyer finalised your divorce.” Draco gave her a smile of congratulations. Personally, he would have handled the matter by making Hermione a widow. “As we have taken pains to let everyone assume I knocked you up, I was dragooned in to attend the birth.”

“It usually isn’t that dramatic. Ginny had James in four hours and was back home the next day.” Hermione had not missed his slight shudder. She put a hand on Draco’s arm. What should she say? Sorry you had to see me bleed?

“You lost nine litres of blood.” Draco informed her tersely.

“I don’t have nine litres of blood.” Hermione protested. An adult human had approximately five litres in their circulatory system. The loss of more than one litre caused symptoms and more than two litres was a life-threatening injury. There were charms to stop bleeding but restoring blood by direct magic took skill. She tried to calculate how many Haemal potions would be necessary to remedy that sort of prolonged bleeding. A lot. “Bloody Hell.”

“As you say.” Draco responded dryly. He looked her over. She had been unconscious for only a night then asleep for most of the day. During her extended dreaming, her body had leisure to concentrate on the growing babies so the complications of pregnancy had eased. The Healers, after they finished commending themselves, had reassured him and the Grangers and the countless other hangers-on that she would recover quickly.

Potter had been all for moving her to Grimmauld Place. Her parents had wanted Hermione shifted to a proper hospital. Longbottom, sundry Weasleys plus various Hogwarts and Ministry staff had also ventured opinions. Draco had won by fighting dirty. He had roped in Florentyna Meach to use his legal position as putative father of Hermione’s children then had got the Grangers on side by asking them to recommend a physician to supervise their daughter’s care. Daring Potter to refute paternity in front of Hermione’s friends and family had got the Golden Boy to back down.

Draco explained everything in a businesslike manner, guessing Hermione would want to be reassured rather than coddled. For her part, Hermione ticked off a mental list as he gave her information in between Healer prescribed potions, a trip to the bathroom and a light meal.

Her superstition had proven correct. All three babies had been born on Halloween though the second boy had only managed to squeeze in by forty minutes. Courtesy of their innate healing ability, they were in better shape than she was despite being six weeks premature. Their arrival had been fortunately timed during the dark of the moon when they would least show their lycanthropic heritage. So the secret was safe for the time being.

“I want to feed them.” Hermione insisted and insisted again when Draco said his house elves were attending the triplets closely. He wisely gave in. The process required some practise but eventually she found a position that suited; two of the babies resting on pillows suckling and the third with a bottle until the first needed burping then swapping places.

The feeling of over-fullness in her breasts eased. Hermione could not say she felt an instant connection with her children. That was for soap operas. But she did count their fingers and toes, marvelling at their minute perfection. Her children. Naming them would be a good idea, she thought with a wry laugh.

Draco held number three quite competently. He would never confess it but he had got a quick course on how to manage an infant from the house elves. They were old hands though he had been the last child they had needed to mind. He was fastidious enough to hand the baby over to an elf when it started to fuss.

“I won’t impose for long. I’ll stay another night if you don’t mind then shift to Grimmauld place.” Hermione remarked, her attention on the house elves returning the babies to their nursery. She would not go Dreamwalking again at least not until she some solid qualifications. A month adrift in her head with little perception beyond some time passing was not worth the risk. In tandem with Esme to locate the damn werewolf might be safe enough. But only under supervision.

“You are not imposing.” Draco observed from the vicinity of her lap. She absently ran her fingers through his gossamer fine hair. Her gaze drifted to the window and the setting sun. It was a beautiful sight. Hermione was thinking she should let everyone know she was alright when she felt lips brush her skin.

She glanced down as Draco shifted forward a little and caught one of her nipples gently between his teeth. His tongue flicked over the terribly sensitised bud. Hermione shivered. He sucked lightly wondering if he would get a taste of her. He had not had his fill of the witch yet.