Punch Drunk Love

Part Two

//And all the pretty roses wilted up and paled themselves away today.
The guillotine of truth has fallen, somehow I'm the one you blame.//

"If you must know, he's my son."

Draco choked on the now cooled tea he'd been drinking. "Your... excuse me, what?"

"My son," she repeated, and then added sarcastically. "Offspring. Fruit of my womb."

"But Granger, you're only what-just turned thirty-eight? If he's eighteen...." Draco trailed off, doing some quick maths in his head. "Then right after Hogwarts? Jesus Christ, was it Potter? He has the look of him."

That would figure, Draco thought. She'd obviously gone and forgotten him after that night. He reckoned she'd probably thought she'd decided to move onto Harry, whom she'd really have wanted, after getting her first shag over and done with.

'Bloody prat gets everything he wants - and everything I want too,' Draco thought, scowling.

Hermione read the look on Draco's face and corrected his assumption. "No, it wasn't Harry."

Draco briefly entertained the idea that the boy might be Weasley's but dismissed it quickly; "Well it obviously wasn't Weasel, otherwise you'd see his hair a mile off. Who?"

"No, it wasn't Ron either, but they both helped me to raise him."

"Then who?" he demanded persistently.

Hermione averted her eyes, abashed.

"How old did you say he was?"

"Eighteen," Hermione whispered numbly. "He was born February 25th 1999."

Draco was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on Hermione's bowed head. "Nine months before... graduation?"

Hermione nodded dumbly, finding herself rendered speechless. How was she supposed to tell him *this*?

"No..." Draco shook his head in disbelief, "You can't mean..."

Hermione looked up, her eyes-glistening with tears-met with his. She nodded again.

"He's mine?"

They sat in silence, neither knowing what to say. A million emotions danced across Draco's countenance; a first for him, as he usually kept himself reserved.

"Wait a second," he burst out suddenly, "you named our son Val? What, like Valerie?"

"No," she protested, her cheeks stained pink, "Like Valentine!"

"Valentine? As in St. Valentine... lovey-dovey crap and fluffy bunnies?" Draco spluttered in rather unmanly disbelief.

"It's from Shakespeare, Draco."

"Shakespeare? Well *I've* certainly never heard of a Valentine in Shakespeare. You couldn't even name him after a bloody main character?"

"He's the main character in 'Two Gentlemen of Verona'."

Draco pouted. "Well, I haven't read that one."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to that. Nonetheless, she racked her brain for something that would smooth this over, or at least calm Draco down. "Listen, Draco - I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Granger?"

Hermione winced as he referred to her by her surname once more.

"Sorry that you got pregnant, sorry that you didn't tell me, or sorry that I found out your little secret?"

"I..." she stammered.

"No, don't answer that," he spat at her. "Answer me this: why the hell didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"

At this point, Draco had jumped up from the couch and was towering above her, arms crossed against his chest indignantly.

"I wanted to!" she proclaimed, "Well, not really, but I knew I had to do the right thing. But you were nowhere to be found - you disappeared, Draco."

They lapsed into silence again, and Draco began making laps around the room. "I still can't believe you named him Valentine," Draco mused.

"Well, you weren't here to help me make the decision, were you?" she answered bitterly.

"No," Draco argued, "Don't do that. Don't make it out to be my fault. I didn't know you were fucking pregnant, how was I supposed to be there for you and him when I didn't know?"

"You left England Draco, you left the bloody continent! How was I supposed to tell you?"

"It's called an owl, Hermione," Draco bit back sarcastically, "It's how we wizards communicate."

"Yes of course, how silly of me," Hermione answered sarcastically, "'Dear Draco, You remember our drunken shag? Yes, of course you do-you moaned enough during it. Well guess what, somebody-me-ended up knocked up. Any ideas for baby names? Yours, Hermione.' Yes Draco, bloody spectacular idea that one."

"It wasn't easy for me, despite what you think," Hermione added regretfully. "I did try looking for you."

"At the time I wasn't exactly too keen to be found, Hermione."

"What?" she sneered at him, "Too mortified that you had slept with a lowly Mudblood?"

"Jesus Christ, Hermione! You know that wasn't it; I never once regretted that night."

"You were drunk, how would you even remember it?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"You think that was it? That I was drunk and horny and you were the nearest vaguely shaggable girl? I'd been thinking about you for *months*. It killed me when I woke up alone the next morning."

"Draco..." She whispered softly, "I didn't know... I'm sorry, I-"

"No," he interrupted her angrily, "*I'm* sorry."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, to apologise again and try and solve this mess they were in, but was silenced when Draco banged his mug on the coffee table and stalked out of the room, slamming the door into the hall way behind him.

Hermione remained sitting on the couch, her eyes wide and filled with tears. Her lips trembled as she waited for the inevitable slamming of the front door and Draco's exit, possibly-given his mood-out of her life forever.

But the loud slam never came. Hermione's curiosity got the better of her, so she leapt to her feet and padded her way across the carpeted floor through the living room in the direction of the hallway.

On opening the door to the hallway that Draco had slammed, Hermione felt her heart melt at the sight that greeted her; across the hall Val's bedroom door lay open and Draco stood in the doorframe, bathed in the light of the full moon that flooded in from the curtains Val had neglected to close. Hermione cautiously stepped closer so she was able to see Draco's face.

He must have noticed her presence behind him, she was sure, yet he did not flinch, nor blink away the tears that she could see building in his eyes. Hermione took another step closer yet to Draco, and smiled slightly as Draco's hand sought out hers, gripping it tightly.

Hermione resisted to the urge to grin; here stood Draco Malfoy, former badass Slytherin, awed into silence by the sight of a teenage boy snoring loudly in his filthy bedroom.

"Draco," Hermione whispered, "though Val's absolutely gorgeous when he's sleeping, I know, he's a bit of a light sleeper. If he catches us here, he'll throw a hissy fit."

"My son would throw a hissy fit?" Draco pondered indignantly. No Malfoy ever had the word 'hissy' attached to his name.

"Ron's influence," she answered, laughing.

She led him back down the hall to the living room so they could talk further.

"Draco," Hermione said cautiously, as soon as they were both sitting, "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I am sorry. I never meant for things to go this way. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so scared - to be pregnant at eighteen, without anywhere to go or anyone to turn to. And I couldn't find you...."

"I never imagined..." Draco started, but was cut off by Hermione.

"I know, Draco. It's not your fault."

"But you had to raise him on your own, Hermione," Draco protested, "*Our* son, and you had to raise him alone."

Hermione sighed and clutched his hand in her own, "It was difficult at first, I'll admit, but he never went without, and I wasn't the only influence in his life. Harry and Ron have always been around. Lord, I don't know what I'd have done without Harry. I was a wreck when I found out I was pregnant, especially when I couldn't find you... Harry helped me through it, he's been an angel through everything, from being there while I gave birth right through to holding my hand while I sat home worrying through Val's first date."

"Wait a minute," Draco halted her, "Potter knew?"

Hermione nodded, "I never told him, but he figured it out-he saw us together that night, remember?"

"Potter knew that Val was my son? Potter knew? He fucking knew?" Draco exploded, and leapt from the couch in anger.

"Draco I don't understand, why is Harry knowing such a big deal?" Hermione asked, but feared she already knew the answer.

"I was in Venezuela in 2003. I bumped into Potter in a bar, we didn't talk much or anything, but we exchanged a brief conversation. And you know what's funny? He neglected to mention I had a four-year-old son! Not married or even dating, was he? Too busy raising *my* child to bother about his own family or letting me know that I was a father!"

"Draco..." Hermione pleaded, laying a hand on Draco's arm and leading him back to the couch, "Don't blame Harry, he was only doing what he thought was best for Val and me."

"You knew, didn't you?" Draco asked in a disbelieving rhetoric, "You knew Potter had seen me... you knew where I was!"

"Yes, Draco, I did," Hermione asserted, peering straight at Draco. "Things had changed for me, though. I was on my feet, raising Val with Harry and Ron to help out; I had a job and I didn't have to be afraid anymore. And, frankly, I didn't think it was fair to push this responsibility on you. I was fine doing it on my own."

Draco looked affronted, and he raised his voice a notch higher than it had been before. "Who are you to decide what is and isn't fair to me - you had no clue what I would and wouldn't have wanted."

"What?" Hermione scoffed at him, "Like you would have welcomed having a half-blood for a son with open arms? I didn't think you'd be exactly thrilled that the heir to the Malfoy dynasty was the product of one drunken tryst with a Mudblood."

"Hermione, though I may not have been *thrilled*, I would have welcomed him with open arms - he's my son! And, contrary to what you seem to believe, I am not the prejudiced, heartless bastard that you make me out to be," Draco declared angrily, though his expression softened slightly as he continued. "And it wasn't a drunken tryst, Hermione. You make it sound dirty."

"It was hardly the romance of the century," Hermione replied wistfully.

"What ever it was," Draco smiled, almost nervously, "It resulted in something good, right? You have a son..."

"*We* have a son, Draco," Hermione corrected. "Just because you missed out on the first eighteen and a half years of his life doesn't mean you won't be a part of it now."

"I want you to tell me about him, tell me what I've missed..." Draco's tone had an almost begging quality to it, and although it was one A.M and she was both physically and emotionally exhausted, she could not deny him. "Start at Hogwarts, tell me what he's like as a wizard."

"He was sorted into Slytherin, much to Harry and Ron's chagrin," she began. "I didn't mind, it just reminded me of just how much like you he is; he excelled in Potions too. You can only imagine the heart attack Snape had when he realised that a Granger was in Slytherin."

"So, wait a second. You're telling me that, not only was my son Head Boy at Hogwarts, but that he was a Slytherin as well?"

"And Captain of the House Quidditch Team," she mumbled.

"And Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team!" he practically shouted. "Well, this is bloody brilliant. My son is the fucking Golden Boy and I wasn't even there to see it."

"Draco, please calm down. You'll wake him up," Hermione hushed Draco impatiently, "You should be proud of him, not angry, God knows he's in awe of you."

"Of me? How does he even know who I am?" Draco asked, his temper abiding to give way to his pride and curiosity.

"He was in Slytherin! By the time he got to Hogwarts you were practically a legend. Of course he'd heard about you - he wanted to *be* you. You were everything he wanted to be, and he didn't even know how close he was to being you."

"I'm sure," Draco responded in a despondent tone, "that should he find out his ancestry his opinion might be swayed. I'm sure that if he's a bright kid-and given your love for books I'm sure he is-he'll know well enough what the Malfoys are like."

"Well, yes he does, Draco. But he's in awe of you, not your family. He's proud of what you did."

"Me? And what did I do that was so spectacular?"

"Don't you know?" she asked him softly, amazed that he didn't seem to understand what he could mean to her son as a Slytherin. "You're the Slytherin who chose the other side - the one who went against what he was to defy Lord Voldemort. You proved that it truly is our choices that make us who we are, that ambition and cunning can be used to do good. You made it acceptable to be a Slytherin again. You're a hero to him, Draco."

"Oh," Draco said, dumbfounded that he could be so important in such a way. "I thought maybe he'd heard what an excellent Quidditch player I was."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, well, yes. He heard about that too. Although it was mostly in the context of how Harry used to play against you. Val thought your Dementor prank was priceless, though Harry didn't seem to think so."

"Potter, eh? What was he doing recounting his old Quidditch glory to *our* son?" he smirked at her.

"Harry would tell him stories when he was going over strategy and moves. He taught him how to play."

"You let *Potter* teach *my* son how to play Quidditch?" Draco queried, incredulously.

"But he played like you, Draco," defended Hermione, "He has your style."

"And what's that to being tutored by the famous Harry Potter?" Draco continued bitterly, still rather angry about Potter's whole relationship with his son and his own lack thereof.

"But what's that to having Draco Malfoy for a father?" Hermione replied sweetly, hoping to win him over.

"But I never was his father, was I? I never got to watch his first steps or hold his hand as we walked down the street or teach him to shave or... Hermione, I missed out on everything..."

"Draco, you know now..." she said, trying to appease him, "You've got a chance to make things right with him. He's still so young, you've plenty of time to spend with him."

"You don't get it, do you?" he shouted angrily, "I can't make anything right or recover any of the time I've lost that I could have spent with him. His childhood's gone and I can't ever-"

"I know, Draco. I... I fucked up, okay. Is that what you want to hear? I made a mistake."

"Damn right you made a mistake!" Draco exclaimed. "And I'm the one who's had to pay for it. I'm the one who's been alone every day for the past eighteen years, while you've had a happy little family with Potter, Weasley, and Val. And frankly, Hermione, though I love all the fluffy bits you're telling me, I'm more than a little pissed off."

"What is all the fucking shouting about?" demanded a sleep-bleared voice from the hallway. Unbeknownst to Draco and Hermione, they'd disturbed their sleeping son.

Hermione mentally chided her son for his language, but felt it was not the time to tell him off out loud. And apparently, she mused, his colourful language was something he must have inherited from his father as she'd taken care not to swear in front of him, and had forbidden Harry and Ron from doing the same-perhaps it was a Malfoy gene. Of course, it may also have just been the result of adolescence.

"Val, love... I- we didn't mean to wake you," Hermione rushed, worried that Draco might not be exactly in the right frame of mind to meet his son properly for the first time.

"Yeah?" Val grunted, and strode across the living room into the kitchen clad only in boxers and a well-worn Quidditch shirt, "Well, you did."

He emerged from the kitchen seconds later with a glass of water in hand. He eyed Draco suspiciously.

Draco seemed to shrink back into the couch, and eyed Val back. His grey eyes were wide and wary.

He could see himself in this kid. He had the same confidence, grace, and temper that he had. In hindsight, Draco couldn't believe he had ever pegged him for Potter's child - Val had his eyes. The hair was Hermione's, not Harry's.

"Val, love, why don't you come over here for a minute," Hermione soothed her son and motioned for him to sit in the armchair that sat beside the couch. Reluctantly Val complied, sitting down slowly, never tearing his eyes from Draco's.

"As you're up, I should introduce you to my... friend," Hermione smiled nervously at her son, stealing a glimpse at Draco to be sure he was all right with this. He nodded silently.

"This is Draco Malfoy, sweetie."

Val's weary eyes flew wide open as his mother finished speaking. His cold look shifted suddenly, to be replaced by one of extreme eagerness.

"Draco Malfoy?" he questioned, not entirely believing that this could be the famous Slytherin. "*The* Draco Malfoy? Wow. I... it's an honour!" He offered Draco his hand as he had earlier that evening, but this time Draco accepted it. He found it very funny. Val was addressing him as if he were a famous athlete or something. On arriving home that night Val had considered the stranger's first name, but had been put off by his stand-offish attitude. Now, it seemed, he was fully prepared to gush.

"Val..." Hermione continued nervously, "there's more; Draco was more than a friend at school, he was--"

"Do you still play Quidditch?" Val interrupted, speaking eagerly to Draco.

"Val, will you listen to me for a moment?" Hermione demanded impatiently.

Val looked abashed to be to scolded by his mother in front of the legendary-and therefore eternally cool-Draco Malfoy, "Sorry, Mum."

The feeling that he experienced at hearing those words surprised Draco; hearing his son call Hermione 'Mum' brought home the realisation that this boy was in fact his son; his own flesh and blood and quite possibly the only good thing he'd ever been a part of in his life.

"At school Draco and I were..." Hermione continued, and looked at Draco for support. Draco raised an eyebrow, but did not come to her verbal aid. Hermione carried on, "Val, this is so hard for me to tell you - but Draco is your father."

**