Chapter Text
In the year between graduating Hogwarts and being one of the first wizards- the first, if anyone asked- to sign up to be one of Voldemort's premiere Death Eaters (1953 to be exact, or the year that caused everything ), Abraxas Malfoy rebelled against pureblood standards and decided to sow his wild oats in the muggle world.
In the village of Sherston, not far from the Manor, he met a rather beautiful young woman- Lydia Jean Allsop- short, tan, and gifted with a wild mane of coiled red-brown hair. She was about to start her training as a nurse, something Abraxas gained from conversation as a type of muggle medi-witch. He found pleasure in the curvature of her shapley thighs and the perfection of her ass, which were absolutely nothing like that of the pureblooded women he often found himself surrounded by, as well as her delightful ability to think with her brain and not sound like a breathless idiot. Once or twice, the niggling idea that he could spend the rest of his life in her less than comfortable bed appeared in his mind, and it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
The intensity of their fling came to an abrupt halt one evening when, curled in Lydia’s bed post-sex, they spoke at the same time and in the same hushed tone- “I have something to tell you.”
It was at that moment that both of their worlds ceased spinning and their hearts started racing. Silent thoughts of well she didn’t like that did she, maybe she’ll tell me exactly how she’d like to feel my tongue if she doesn’t castrate me first and oh god, he’s finally going to tell me he loves me, he couldn’t have better timing swirled around the room. They laughed, but neither was prepared for the fallout that came after they whispered promises of telling their secrets at the same time.
“Lydia, I’m engaged to be married- not a love match, obviously, and we can still be-” was spoken precisely half a second before she blurted out those three life altering words:
“Abraxas, I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was both deafening and suffocating, and when the world rushed back, it was found by Lydia scrambling backwards, her foot connecting sharply with Abraxas’ midsection and sending him to the floor, tangled in her crisp white sheets. He landed on the hardwood with a heavy thunk and the words played again and his mind. He gasped out, “ Merlin, NO.” It took no time at all to wordlessly and wandlessly stupefy her, and in the moment that followed he berates himself for having the awareness of a gangly third year and forgetting the bloody contraception charm. This simply could not happen.
Thoughts of keeping her forever banished, and he started the grueling procedure of wiping himself from her mind. He tasked himself with binding the powers of his unborn child and, with a complicated permanent glamour, masked the very likely prolific blonde hair that the child would be born with. The spell, while effective, had an awkward side effect: it would make the child's hair nearly impossible to control, but there was nothing he could do about that now. His indiscretion had to be his most well-kept secret, more so than Lydia had been.
Feeling bad for the woman- he didn’t have feelings for her, at least that’s what he told himself, as Malfoy men surely didn’t develop feelings for muggles they certainly weren’t supposed to impregnate- he invented a husband (and an elopement) that died in an overseas war. Wedding rings and official (read: forged) papers were conjured and he greased several hands with coin in the muggle government to make her legally a widow.
His last glimpse of her was the eve of his wedding when, under the cover of disillusionment, he stood outside her bedroom window and observed her very obviously pregnant form lying back in bed, one hand on the stomach that was swollen with his child and the other thumbing a well-worn copy of The Winter’s Tale. He stared wistfully at her then turned on his heel and silently disapparated.
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1976
Jean Allsop was overjoyed to be finally taking her college boyfriend home to meet her mum. Richard Granger proposed just before graduation and she bubbled with the anticipation of telling her mum the news. He was the first boy- no, man - that hadn’t really minded that she was often eerily surrounded in the feeling of deja vu and was prone to worrying almost as much as she was to be found with a book in her hand.
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19th September, 1979 ( in Surrey )
Jean Granger pushed with all her might and a 7lb, 2oz baby came screaming into the world with white blonde curls stuck to its forehead and gray eyes so dark that they glittered like obsidian. The midwife swaddled the fresh babe and cheerily announced, “a daughter!” Then tucked a hat over her head and handed her back to her awestruck parents.
Jean and Richard looked first at each other, then at their newborn before whispering “ Hermione.”
( in Wiltshire, at the same time )
"Lucius...."
Lucius Malfoy looked up from his desk in the Manor to see his beautiful wife standing in the doorway, dressed in a sheer sea-green negligee trimmed with silver lace. His mouth promptly dropped open.
"Darling... you look..."
"Tonight is the night, Lucius, I can feel it."
"Really?"
"The stars are aligned, I'm ovulating and I've taken my fertility potions. Put an heir in me."
Lucius got up so fast his chair topped to the ground. If it wasn't for the fact that Malfoys never stumbled, he'd have probably followed its example.
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March 1994
Draco sat at his grandfather's bedside in a modified full-body bubble-head charm, protected from the dangers and extreme contagiousness of dragon pox. Granted leave from Hogwarts to see his grandfather once more (it truly paid to have one's father on the Board of Governors), Draco talked to the weak older wizard about school. His focus starts on the most recent quidditch game- Slytherin against Hufflepuff- and ends on the annoyance of an everlasting thorn in his side, Hermione J. Granger and her personal sidekicks, Harry Potter and the Weaselette.
"I think the boy doth protest too much, Draco."
"What do you even mean by that, Grandfather? They are so annoying and they get away with everything? Dumbledore's precious trio, it's sickening." Draco sounded every ounce the petulant teenager he was.
"You seem to have particular hatred for the Granger girl; even more so than the others. Is there any particular reason?" Abraxas may be old and on his deathbed, but he wasn’t daft.
"You mean apart from being a mudblood?" Draco sneered.
Abraxas nodded, and coughed.
"Her hair is a complete rat's nest. Anyone with half a brain would think it had been subjected to magical reverb, but it's always been like it.” Draco examined his fingernails and flicked invisible lint from his perfectly pressed collar, eyes narrowing at the thought of her. “Bloody annoying that her hair is as pale as ours, too. It's odd because father always told me that our hair color has something to do with our family magic and…”
"Get your father!" Abraxas cut him off, his eyes suddenly wide and his breathing more erratic. Draco ran off and fetched Lucius, not one to openly question the ailing Lord Malfoy.
Draco soon returned trailing behind Lucius, who promptly reapplied the charm to Draco and himself then sat back in the chair beside Abraxas’ bed, one ankle poised over his knee. He stared at Abraxas pointedly, an eyebrow arched, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, looking ever the picture of pureblood perfection. "I had hoped to take this secret to my grave, however… it appears we may have a problem." At this declaration, Lucius stilled.
"What is it?" Draco asked.
"Many years ago, I had a... moment of weakness... before I married your mother.” Abraxas’ voice was barely a rasp, and Draco and his father strained to hear it. He cleared his throat and continued. “I had spent time in Sherston before turning to my duties as Malfoy heir, and I met a woman- a muggle .” Draco's eyes widened at his admission, but kept his mouth wisely shut. “We spent the summer tangled in an affair- and as I broke the news to her that I was to be married, she told me she was pregnant. I made the only sane decision possible- I stunned her. I believed I was careful in covering my tracks but apparently the magic I placed to bind my secret dissolved after the birth of the first generation." Abraxas trained his eyes on his son’s face, tracking the myriad of emotions flowing across it.
"What are you saying, Father?" Lucius asked, stained and between clenched teeth.
"I am saying, Lucius, that you have an older half-blood sister." His son’s face, normally pale but full of life, turned stark white. He bit out a request for his father to explain then sat utterly still and silent while he listened to the rest of the absurd tale.
"What prompted you to tell us all this now?" Lucius drawled, attempting to feign as though he was unaffected.
"I am not long for this world and were I sure nothing would ever have come of it, I would not have. However, Draco seems rather obsessed with Potter's mudblood friend. He explained her intelligence and magical power but what really made me worry was her hair- the masking spell I placed on my unborn child would have caused a magical reverb creating unequaled frizziness. That, along with Draco's description of the colour, and I fear there is no other possible explanation."
"You can't be serious? Granger is my... my... cousin?" Draco spat out, looking like he was going to be sick.
"But I've... I..." He turned a darker shade of green and found that he couldn’t continue.
"And this is what I was concerned about, Lucius. It seems hormones have run rampant in your son in the most inappropriate of directions."
" Draco ?" Lucius’ skin was a shade no Malfoy man would be caught wearing- precisely the color of deep, Gryffindor red.
"Father, I'd have never actually done anything about it. Not with her being, well, a mud-"
" Don't call her that! " Abraxas hissed.
Draco averted his gaze and nodded, mumbling a "yes, sir" quietly. The room was silent for too long, all three men rendered unable to be the first to speak.
"Protect her," Abraxas rasped before closing his eyes and drawing his last, shaky breath.
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31st August, 1994
Hermione Granger stood before the dresser mirror of her childhood bedroom and stared back at her reflection. Fourth year, in her opinion, had the promise of being the absolute best- besides returning to her friends and the allure of learning new magic, she stood to gain something else entirely- she was turning fifteen .
While not necessarily a major landmark in the wizarding world, Hermione found herself thrumming with energy, excited by the prospect of her parents loosening their reins and realizing that their daughter, while secretive and magical, was both studious and trustworthy. This year had to be better than last year- what with the werewolf, dementors, and aiding a deranged criminal (Sirius Black, to be exact) in their escape on the back of a stolen hippogriff. Okay, that part had been funny- especially since it was the same hippogriff that “maimed” the poncy Draco Malfoy.
She took the time to separate her wild hair, chaotic curls the color of bleached straw, and braid it into two thick braids as she cataloged her trunk and tried to think of anything she was missing. Pleased with her meticulous job of packing and unafraid of leaving anything behind, Hermione climbed beneath her sheets and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of a normal year and maybe even her first kiss.
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1st September, 1994
Draco Malfoy stood staring at the body of the Hogwarts Express decidedly not pleased, hands stuffed in his pockets and his parents flanking his sides. His mother wore the air pureblood perfection like she was made of it, draped in long, silvery robes that were entirely too warm for the suffocating September weather. She busied herself with straightening Draco’s luggage then moved to the collar of the white button down shirt he wore under his charcoal gray sweater. He tried to dodge the attack of her fingers and stepped backwards into his father in the process. “Mother, please. ” He tried not to sound exasperated because Malfoy’s did not take that tone, but found himself incapable of schooling his voice. He could feel his father’s glare on the back of his head and the glaring target his eyes burnt into it.
“Draco, a word?” Lucius drawled, and Draco sighed.
He found himself already not looking forward to the school year, and it had barely started. Narcissa tilted her head back to look at her son and brushed her lips against his pale cheek in a cold, chaste kiss. She brushed the backs of her fingers against the spot she kissed and reminded him to write to her before bed that night, then nodded to her husband and left in the direction of the public floo that would return them to the parlor of Malfoy Manor.
“I trust you remember what your grandfather told you.” Draco nodded. “It is of utmost importance that you protect the Granger girl. Do what you must to earn her friendship. It will be difficult this year when the truth of her…” Lucius grimaced, “ breeding comes to light.”
Draco thought his father looked rather like he swallowed something rotten. He’s taken the news of his only child status being revoked rather poorly- in fact, the look Lucius had worn upon receiving the news reminded Draco of the look Marcus Flint wore when Loony Lovegood told him that his head was absolutely riddled with wrackspurts, whatever they were- a mixed look of revulsion and confusion. As his grandfather let out his dying breath, Lucius summoned a new bottle of Ogden’s and drained half the bottle sans glass in one dredge.
Draco returned to glaring at the side of the train and nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“Merlin knows her friendship with the Potter boy is likely to cause her more trouble,” Lucius drawled on, unaffected by his son’s lack of attention. “As you’ll know soon enough, Hogwarts will be home to some-” Lucius paused and swallowed hard- “changes this year.” This piqued Draco’s attention, but he refused to acknowledge it, and instead focused on the feeling of dread and nausea growing in the pit of his stomach.
He heard it then- the unmistakable laughter of Hermione Granger and her friend, the youngest Weasley. His hands flexed in his pockets, balling into tight fists, and his father palmed his shoulder. From the corner of his eye he saw her approach the train and he groaned. Over the summer holidays his cousin had developed things that his once woefully ignorant mind had studiously imagined. He screwed his eyes shut and muttered to himself, determined to only think of Gregory Goyle in his underwear. Maybe if he equated seeing his relative with seeing his hairy friend’s bare arse he’d stop his body’s traitorous bloody reaction to her.
All Draco Malfoy could think at that moment was that fourth year was going to be the absolute worst.