Chapter Text
Rain clung stubbornly to the black wool of Hermione’s funeral robes, the heavy hem sodden where the churchyard path had dissolved into a gravely soup beneath so many feet. The dismal April sky hung low above the many rows of leaning headstones, and the damp seemed to settle into her skin, even the weather conspiring in grief.
Andromeda was laid to rest beside her husband, daughter, and son-in-law. Her death in particular was the only non-violent of the four, though still cruelly premature. Everyone simply assumed the widow would live well into a ripe old age after enduring such trauma.
One by one, the mourners Disapparated with little pops that echoed loudly in the silence, leaving behind only a handful of others amid the sharp scent of lilies and churned earth.
In the short time since the officiant concluded the brief but touching funeral rites, the churchyard had emptied out until there was scarcely anyone left.
Hermione stood beneath the sheltering shadow of an old yew tree, Ron beside her. He kept muttering darkly under his breath about the rain and mud ruining his shoes, as well as the general unfairness of holding outdoor burials in weather like this… as if such bleakness were not entirely appropriate.
Andromeda Tonks had been dead less than two days. Hermione, who’d grown into an unexpected sort of mother daughter closeness with the older witch (much gentler than the tangled feelings she often harboured towards Molly Weasley) was still reeling from it all.
The illness had come upon her with a terrifying swiftness, a fever that apparently started as a flush in her cheeks and, within two days, had carried her off before any Healer at St Mungo’s could stop it. Aged prematurely by so much grief, the woman held on as long as she could.
Hermione still couldn’t reconcile the memory of a tartan-shawl-wrapped Andromeda sitting upright in her armchair only a few weeks before with the polished coffin that had just been lowered into the ground. It all happened too quickly and cruelly.
“Shame the others couldn’t make it,” she said quietly.
Ron ran a placating hand across her shoulders in reply, though she wished he’d say something. Anything.
Harry and Ginny sent frantic owls from abroad, but Ginny’s Quidditch tour had taken them out of the country weeks before, and they would not make it back in time. She knew Harry would never forgive himself. In their absence, it had been she who spent the most time at the Tonks house, bringing Teddy books and sitting with Andromeda at the kitchen table over tea.
Across the path, Draco Malfoy stood beside Astoria Greengrass beneath a charmed umbrella. The rain was repelled so perfectly that not a single droplet came near her immaculate blonde hair. The image reminded her of an old Victorian painting.
Typical, Hermione thought bitterly, watching Astoria’s expensive looking low block heels remain untouched by the mud. Even that insufferable prat had the sense to ensure the woman beside him was kept dry.
Her own boyfriend could learn a thing or two about manners just from watching Malfoy even from afar. It needled her more than it probably should, but she couldn’t help feeling Ron was far beyond excuses for treating her like she’d always been there. They nearly missed the service when he couldn’t find his dress shoes, prompting her to tear their small flat apart only to learn they’d been left at the Burrow god knew when.
Beside her, he gave an impatient huff and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Well?” he asked, “ready to go?”
Before she could reply, a voice cut through the rain soaked gloom of the churchyard.
“Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy.”
Four heads turned at once.
Making her way carefully across the path was Andromeda’s solicitor, a tiny sharp-featured witch with silver pince nez perched precariously upon the end of a narrow nose. Her robes were crisp despite the weather, and she carried a leather portfolio clutched tightly to her chest.
“There is a matter regarding Mrs Tonks’s will that requires your immediate attention.”
Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, reminded instantly of their fateful conversation of a similar foreboding sort nearly three years prior concerning Dumbledore’s death.
“Maybe you’ll get some galleons,” he murmured somewhat sheepishly. Hermione held back the urge to smack his arm with all her might.
Ten minutes later they were seated stiffly in Andromeda’s lounge. The modest country house still smelt of handmade lavender hand soap and old photographs (of which there were countless). Toys lay scattered across the rug, and Hermione’s eyes snagged painfully upon what appeared to be the detached leg of a toy hippogriff near the hearth.
Teddy himself was upstairs with Molly, blissfully unaware that his entire world had shifted beneath him once again. How a toddler could lose both parents in infancy in addition to his guardian before the age of three was a travesty too difficult to wrap her head around.
The solicitor lifted her wand and unfolded a square of parchment with a bit too much flourish for one who seemed to entertain very little nonsense.
A lump formed in Hermione’s throat to think of Andromeda including her in the will at all. She assumed Malfoy would inherit something given his apparent post-War reconsideration of what family meant (according to Andromeda, at least, who didn’t entertain any ferret slander). As a result, she kept her thoughts on Draco Malfoy private, not wishing to upset the widow when she had her round for tea.
Beside her, Ron shifted restlessly on the cushion. His stomach gave a rumble; it was a quarter past the time he usually had his lunch. The Auror training programme had generously given him the day off for the funeral, but neither of them had expected it to run through mealtime.
The solicitor cleared her throat. “Mrs Tonks has named joint magical guardians for Edward Remus Lupin.”
Silence descended upon the room so abruptly that even the ticking of the mantle clock seemed suddenly deafening. Surely this was merely a formality, and the witch needed to read off the entirety of the will before getting to the part where Hermione inherited some precious old books or other sentimental items.
The witch adjusted her spectacles and read aloud: “Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
For one long moment, nobody moved.
Then Ron barked out a disbelieving laugh, almost guffawing with how absurd the pronouncement was. Conversely, Astoria Greengrass made a sharp, strangled sort of choking noise that might’ve been funny in any other context.
Malfoy stared at the solicitor as if she had calmly announced he inherited a nest of blast ended skrewts. “I beg your pardon?” he replied in a voice so cold it might have frosted the windows.
Raw panic began to take hold as Hermione’s mouth opened then closed again. “There must be some mistake.”
As far as Teddy went… well, of course she’d wondered where he was meant to go upon her death. However, her mind supplied the easy idea that he deserved to be adopted into a loving Wizarding family, with two parents and maybe even siblings to call his own. Surely that made the most sense, as Lupin’s family was no more and the late Tonks had no siblings to speak of.
“There is no mistake,” answered the solicitor crisply. Her voice was tinged with finality that suggested she had already fielded similar reactions in her line of work, or at least anticipated them. She glanced again at the parchment as if daring the others to question its legitimacy. “Mrs Tonks believed you two were, and I quote, ‘the only pair bloody-minded, capable, and fiercely protective enough to ensure Teddy is both safe and properly challenged.’”
Ron suddenly exploded, face turning an unbecoming shade of pink. “This is mental! You cannot seriously expect her to raise a child with him.”
Astoria, having recovered enough to find her voice, rounded on Draco with narrowed eyes. “You are not actually going to agree to this, are you? Playing house with Hermione Granger?”
He turned to her, his expression chillingly solemn upon his ashy face. “She has just been buried.” Every word was clipped and lethal. “No one is playing anything.”
“Good,” Astoria snapped, colour rising in her cheeks. “Because if you think I am going to stand by while the Malfoy name is attached to another woman’s child-”
“Teddy is hardly another woman’s child,” Hermione cut in, fury sharpening every syllable to the point where she was certain her own face was turning pink now. “He is a three year old boy whose grandmother has just been buried!”
You selfish cow, she wanted to add.
The room fell taut with silence once more until Ron gave a loud scoff from beside her. “You are not actually considering this, are you? We’ve got plans!”
In a state of profound shock, she turned to him slowly. “Plans?”
He threw up his hands, exasperation plain across his face. “Yes, plans. Us. Marriage, children, our own lives.”
The words hung in the room like his Great Aunt Muriel’s daisyroot perfume, cloying and stifling and impossible to ignore.
Then from upstairs came the bright peal of a toddler’s laughter, followed by the thunderous thud thud thud of tiny feet racing across the landing. Molly Weasley, saint as she was, volunteered to watch him for what they all initially expected to be a fifteen minute meeting at most.
Hermione’s chest gave a painful lurch at the sound.
Malfoy looked equally stricken, though whether from anger or the first dawning weight of responsibility, she honestly couldn’t tell.
The solicitor drew their attention once more. “The boy will need to be placed imminently. His guardians, presumably the two of you, inherit the house as well. The family vault holds a little under six thousand galleons, which should be sufficient for raising one child until he’s old enough for Hogwarts and can access his trust. If it turns out he’s a Squib… well, there are other options such as Muggle schools.”
Astoria went rigid at the suggestion.
Malfoy muttered something low to her, though his gaze shifted across the room even as he spoke urgently with the beautiful witch by his side.
Hermione was well past feeling insecure for staring. Could he note the rising fear reflected back? Stormcloud grey held hers, as if urging her to keep holding on until they sorted out a solution.
For once, she felt the long-held antagonism between them had been eclipsed by something far more unnerving: shared disbelief. And beneath that, possibly far more complicated… the understanding that Andromeda Tonks meant every blasted word in that will.