Stroud's pursed her lips. “That's an unfortunately long wait. You informed him that the memories were urgent?”
Draco waved his hand dismissively. “You've seen the reports; based on the mind healer's analysis, the more crucial the information is, the more protected it is. Attempting to extract it prematurely could result in recovering nothing but non-essential information. Memories are not discrete; they overlap associatively. The memories the Dark Lord is most eager for will not be the first memories recovered but the last ones.”
Stroud prodded at the projection of Hermione's brain once more before banishing it. “Well, now that she's reaching the end the first trimester, she should begin eating and recovering physically. It may not be a concern for you, given that the child won't be the heir, but elevated cortisol levels can affect a baby. With the restrictions the surrogates have on their behavior, stress can manifest in unusual ways if unaddressed. Exercise is a crucial way of channeling it. You should command her to exercise as soon as she appears stable enough to manage it.”
Draco gave a short, indifferent nod of acknowledgement.
He escorted Stroud out a few minutes later. Hermione went over and pressed her ear against the door. She could hear Stroud's voice receding down the hallway.
“If you don't want to keep a female, the lab will take it immediately after delivery. The Dark Lord understands that not everyone wants the obligation of multiple children. The ones with good potential will be raised to contribute to the program's next phase, and the others will be useful lab subjects. There's still so little understood about early magical development…”
Hermione's tongue curdled in her mouth, and her stomach wrenched so violently that she nearly vomited in the middle of the floor. She shakily went and sat on the edge of her bed.
Draco would never let it happen. He would never let it happen to her, to their baby. But that wouldn't save the other surrogates or their babies.
She closed her eyes.
She hoped Draco would return soon so she could ask to have her books back. Otherwise there was nothing to do but worry, and worry, and worry.
It was impossible to do anything but worry and then worry over the fact that she was worried.
Elevated cortisol could impact the baby.
Stay calm, otherwise she might have a seizure.
Then Draco might not let her research.
Then—
She tried not to think about it.
She mentally reviewed healing spells and developed theoretical potions for counteracting hemophilia and stopping hemorrhage.
It was nearly an hour before Draco reappeared. As soon as she saw him, her mind immediately returned to the appointment.
It was going to be a girl.
Now that she knew the gender, she could picture it more clearly. Before, it had been more abstract, a baby. Now it was a girl. A baby girl.
There were portraits of Malfoy children in the manor, always blond and grey-eyed… and male.
The Malfoy line was predominantly — entirely male.
Hermione couldn't think of any portraits featuring female Malfoy descendants. An heir, and occasionally a spare.
Hermione didn't know if it were a genetic anomaly or, more likely, a selection process; perhaps the Malfoys didn't traditionally keep female pregnancies.
Draco stopped a foot away from her and stood. He seemed only partly-present, as though his mind were elsewhere. Hermione's hands were laid against her stomach, and she watched him carefully.
“So — it's a girl,” she said.
His expression instantly closed, and he gave a short nod.
Her mouth twitched. “I didn't know Malfoys had girls.”
“No,” he said, shrugging.
Hermione felt as though there were a stone lodged in her throat. “Does it — does that matter to you then? That it's not a boy?”
Draco blinked and seemed to be suddenly roused from wherever his mind had been.
“What? No.” He stared at her. “The gender has never mattered to me.”
The feeling in her throat was replaced by a heaviness in her chest. Hermione nodded. “Alright. I just wondered.”
Draco eyed her. “It's an enchantment on the bloodline intended to keep the estate intact. Malfoys require a marriage bond to produce an heir with a witch.”
“Oh,” was all she could think to say. After several seconds she added “Stroud doesn't know.”
He shook his head and looked down and appeared to be studying the polish on his shoes. “It never seemed worth mentioning, given that the necessity of an heir made my efforts appear earnest.”
Hermione looked away.
Get married. Have children. Grow old with someone.
There'd been a point when she'd been resigned to the fact she'd never have those things. She'd told herself that there'd be more important things to console herself with; Harry and Ron would still be alive, Voldemort would be defeated, the world would be better. That knowledge would be enough to fill the emptiness.
But Harry and Ron weren't alive. Voldemort wasn't defeated. The world felt so broken she didn't know how it would ever be better.
Now she felt the loss of the simple things.
“Can I have my books back before you go?” she asked, looking up at him again.
“I'll have Topsy bring them.”
She looked down at her shoes. “I'll try to go for walks again. Stroud was right, it is important for the baby, so I should do it.”
She looked up and gave a small smile.
Draco stared at her, and eventually her smile faded. She looked away towards the window. It was so — open. Her fingers twitched, and she slipped them behind her back.
“I'll go with you,” he said. “You don't need to go alone.”
He extended his hand, and she took it.
They went outside and walked slowly along a lane lined with fruit trees, their fingers entwined. The blossoms had faded and been replaced by leaves; their path was canopied by the arching branches.
“I used to climb these trees when I was a boy,” Draco abruptly said.
Hermione looked over him in surprise. He'd always been silent during the walks before. It was unfamiliar to have him be conversational.
He stared down the lane, his expression far away. “I was told not to climb them, but when my lessons for the day were done, I'd come and try to.”
He looked over at a gnarled apple tree near them. “I got stuck in that tree. It seemed enormous to me at the time. Topsy tried to get me down, but I wouldn't let her. I sat on that branch, shouting for my mother for an hour before she came home from Diagon Alley.”
Hermione studied the branch only a few feet above ground, and her mouth quirked up.
Draco turned. “If we go down this lane and cut across the field, there's a pond where I used to catch frogs. There are usually ducks and herons there. I was given a net for my fifth birthday, and I used to try to catch anything I could find. They were for my zoo. I used to say I was going to be a magizoologist when I grew up. I was very set on the idea that I would travel to Africa someday on an expedition. My father was horrified.”
Draco was expressionless as he spoke. Hermione felt a growing sense of unease.
“I was the terror of fairies and gnomes,” he added after another minute. “I got bitten once by a gnome, trying to dig it up. Bled everywhere.” He gave an empty laugh. “My mother was terrified I'd end up with a scar.”
He started walking slowly down the lane again, still holding Hermione's hand.
“I always liked flying. My father gave me a toy broom when I was two, despite my mother's objections. Theodore Nott and I used to race each other all over the estate. I nearly broke my arm crashing into the side of the manor when I was eight.”