“Don’t move, Harry.”
“Guh, my head. What happened?” Harry asked.
Somewhere above Remus chuckled as he handed Harry a pain-relieving potion. “You’re just not getting a break this week are you, Harry? Alastor was wondering if you’d survive this war with your nose intact.”
“Where’s Ron?”
“He’s sulking about; after he punched your lights out, he went after Draco. However, I don’t think any of us were counting on Hermione experiencing a random outburst of magical energy in order to protect the Malfoy boy.”
“What? Magical energy? Protect that git?” asked Harry as the pain began to dissipate and he began to think clearly.
Remus chuckled again, clearly amused. “You’ll have to ask Ron about it, Harry, since no one was around to witness it except Draco and Hermione, but neither is talking. Alastor was the one who found him hanging upside down though. It was quite amusing.”
Harry rubbed his eyes from exhaustion. It was one thing to have Malfoy to watch out for; having to watch his back for Ron throwing blows as well was going to wear him out. He just hoped that Malfoy hurried up and found a solution to this mess.
“Stay away from her!” Draco cried out angrily as he walked back into the living room where he had left his charge playing with Meow. He had only left to get her a biscuit, but he wasn’t overly surprised to find the Weasel hovering around her all the time. It was with a self-satisfied smug that Draco watched the red-head change into incredibly amazing shades of red and purple every time she would say “go away, Won-Won” which would be followed quickly by “Fewat make Won Won go away!” or his favorite, “I don’t like you Won-Won! Fewat!”
Over the past couple of days, Draco and Granger had fallen into a nice companionable relationship of guardian/charge. He was surprised that Potter hadn’t come around to ‘kick his arse’ but he had also heard whispers late at night that the Weasel and Potter had a falling out the day the red-head came back and found Granger in her current state.
The fact that Potter sported puce splotches of skin on his face made Draco smirk with glee. The Slytherin thought for sure that the two-third of the Trio left would have teamed up against him, but was surprised they both sulked around in the shadows. He walked over and picked up the toddler who was crying, clinging to Meow. He scowled at Ron.
“What did you think you were doing, Weasel?”
“Sod off, Ferret! She’s my fiancée in real life. I only wanted to talk to her, just because you’re taking care of her right now and she doesn’t remember me, doesn’t change that fact! So don’t forget it, you bloody wanker”
“Ronald Bilius Weasley! You watch your language around children,” scolded the red-headed matron as she walked into the room.
Scowling, the Weasel took off into another room upstairs. Draco stared after him. He turned around and genuinely smiled at Granger.
“Fewat! Did you bring my biscuit?” she asked happily, patting his robes searching for a cookie.
“Yes, I did Granger, but you need to finish practicing your letters.”
She pouted. Draco noticed the familiar telltale signs of a tantrum appear on her face.
“COOOKKIEE!” she began wailing.
“Enough, Granger! Go to your corner!” he admonished sternly, putting her down on the floor, and pointing in the general direction of the kitchen.
Glaring contemptuously, the little girl stomped to the corner of the kitchen before sticking her tongue out at him. He watched her to make sure she followed his punishment before going back for the parchment, ink, quill, and books they had been using. Draco splayed them out in the old wood table, and began sorting his materials from Granger’s. After the first time they had ‘tea’ and realizing that Granger didn’t like the blood traitor either, it had been easier for Draco to stick to the routine he had established for the young Gryffindor. As he watched her sulk in the corner, chewing in her gruesome hair, he contemplated their routine and how they had adjusted to it:
Every morning before she woke up, he’d get up and fix her breakfast. Then he’d go get her, help her change into her miniature clothes, and then carry her down the stairs as she caught some last minute winks of sleep. He still wouldn’t go near her hair, though. Even he had standards.
After that they’d spent every morning in the library pouring over books, taking notes on spell-reversal. Or at least, he was. The first couple of days, Granger had drawn but being the formidable person she was, regardless of age, she quickly tired of that game. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, Draco handed her some ink, a quill, and some parchment; he made her practice writing her numbers, letters, and spelling out her name. He had also asked her to practice on her lisp and requested she stop sucking on her thumb. The book on parenting he had found described it as a filthy habit that usually caused problems with teeth growth later in life.
They’d have lunch around noon each day, and usually Mrs. Weasley was kind enough to fix it for them. He’d cut her food, and then spend the rest of lunch scolding Granger on her eating habits. However, she had gone from a messy eater to having impeccable table manners in only a few short days. He couldn’t help but puff out his chest in pride at that knowledge.
After lunch, he and Granger would play children games from ‘hide and seek’ to ‘pat-a-cake.’ Of course, he made sure that neither Potter nor the Weasel was around to further humiliate him. At some point after playing, he’d put Granger down for a nap, and he’d read a bit more on the potion they had managed to concoct. He had found several potions that fit the description of Granger’s condition, but so far only one had a reversal-solution that was too complicated for him to try on his own. If Granger were of normal age, they would have been able to create it without a problem. That information usually served to remind him of how incredibly stupid he had been to lose his temper. The reversal-solution called for two skilled potion makers, and the buffoons he lived with could hardly slice bat wings as it was. He had already decided that Potter crew either needed to find Severus, or he’d have to raise Granger all over again. There was no way he was willing to risk brewing the potion on his own. She could die if it wasn’t done right. Not that he cared about her state, he often told himself, he just didn’t want to be murdered by Potter or the Weasel.
Sometime in the evening, Granger would wake up and they’d have tea before joining whoever else happened to be staying at Grimmauld Place for dinner. This was often the most humiliating part of the day for Draco, because even though he had managed to create some structure and routine into his hectic life with Granger as his charge, he usually didn’t have to behave like a parent in front of everyone else.
Every night, the Order members present would gawk and throw glances at him and Granger. It made him uncomfortable. Not to mention that this was usually when Granger behaved the worst. He’d often stare at her when she’d go from sweet and loving for Mrs. Weasley to broccoli throwing monster towards the werewolf.
After dinner, he’d help her wash up, and usually did this with his eyes closed. The first couple of times he’d wash Granger, he had left her soapy and she ended up scratching herself raw. Mrs. Weasley had given him a stern lecture on proper bathing skills. He had glared darkly at the woman, before spouting out he was a boy for Merlin’s sake! Mrs. Weasley had then burst into hearty laughter, patted him on the shoulder, and said, “You’ll have to learn, Draco.”
Usually he got Granger into bed by 8 p.m. and he’d go read in his room. However, he always woke up with Granger sleeping next to him; Her tiny body curled up around him, holding on tightly to Meow.
Draco stared at Granger for a long time before saying, “Ok, Granger, are you going to throw a fit again?”
“No.”
“Ok, then, come sit down, and practice your letters. I’ll go get your some milk for that biscuit,” he said, watching her scuddle over to him where he was holding a chair for her.
“Thank you, Fewat!” she happily cried out, grabbing her parchment and quill. Her tiny fingers deftly working the ink bottle cap, and carefully dipping the quill into it. He smiled and began walking towards the kitchen when he heard it, “I love you, Fewat!”