unexpected

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31799176.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Character: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson,
Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Ron
Weasley
Additional Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers,
Developing Relationship, unexpectedly soft draco malfoy, Oblivious
Hermione Granger, Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Epilogue
What Epilogue | EWE, eventual DILF!Draco, some sexual content, Fluff
and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-06-07 Completed: 2021-09-09 Chapters: 13/13 Words:
66880

unexpected
by ambpersand

Summary

Hand drifting down to her abdomen, she knew. When she was younger, she’d known that
there was something different about her. About her abilities. Her certainty had been
palpable, and was only confirmed when Professor McGonagall had shown up on her
doorstep with that fateful letter in hand. And now, just over ten years later, she felt that
same sense of certainty again.
She was pregnant.

And it all because she’d gone and had a one night stand with the worst person in the
world… Draco Malfoy.

Notes

I was pining for more DILF!Draco and I did what I had to do. A big and wonderful
shoutout to Sofia, for needlessly encouraging my ideas when I didn't want to tell anyone
else, as well as the rest of the gang for your wonderful and unwavering support. Thank you
to Brit as well for the brainstorming and beta help!

EDIT, as of 2022... I'd like to update this with a few housekeeping items before we get
started:

1. The idea that this fic was born from was essentially "What would happen if Hermione
got pregnant after a one night stand with Draco and they didn't like each other? What would
happen if they were forced to grow together over the next nine months?" I say this because
it's an important caveat... At the beginning of this fic, they are not dating, they are not
friends; they are living parallel lives with their friend group as their only commonality and
are thrust together into this scenario. It's not an easy situation, and it's not an easy
resolution.

2. That said, this may be frustrating for some readers. It seems to be my most divisive fic,
and I'm okay with that. This Hermione is stubborn and protecting herself (and her unborn
child) from potential hurt and harm from a man that she ONLY knows as her former
childhood bully and former/reformed bigot. Draco is difficult and impatient, with
unfortunately high expectations. They are coming from two opposite ends of the spectrum
and are both suffering from complex issues from their pasts. Trust takes time and effort, and
even more so when a child is involved.

3. If you have come to read this fic after finding my other multi-chap, Contradictions, (or
really any of my other 20+ explicit fics) please be aware that these are two very different
stories with two very different directions. Though there are references to a prior sex scene
and one full scene later on, this is not a smut fic.
 Chapter 1

SIX WEEKS

She was going to kill Theodore Nott. She knew how to do it, too. She’d seen enough during her
time in the war and as a Ministry official in the DMLE. She knew how things went wrong, and
exactly what needed to be done to make it look like an accident. If there was anyone who could do
it, it would be the “brightest witch of their age.” Hermione snorted to herself at the old title, curling
into an even tighter ball on the bathroom floor. Her stomach was still churning, even though she’d
long since lost the tea and cream crackers she’d tried to choke down at lunch. If only they could see
her now…

Or perhaps she’d find a new charmed jar, and transfigure him into a bug. Keep him in there for a
while and give him a good shake whenever she felt the rising tide of nausea come back up her
throat. Which, it would seem, was every single day.

Yes, that sounded almost nearly as satisfying as throttling him to death.

Ridiculous Theo Nott and his charming smiles and his witty jokes and his stupid invasion into her
perfectly good life—she never wanted him as a friend, but he had insisted. And now look at where
she was. Curled up on the bathroom floor, sweating and sick. A price to pay for her own poor
butterbeer and firewhiskey-fueled decisions.

Entitled Theo, who just had to hang around while she assisted with the decommissioning of his
family manor. Who had been interested enough in the magic involved and followed her around,
tinkering on his own projects while she worked, asking her questions in a way that just bordered on
invasive, but only toed the line. And whenever she snapped at him, he would give her that same
little sheepish grin that reminded her so much of Harry.

It’s no wonder they got along like fools. All of them… almost.

Spoiled Theo and his ridiculous birthday “bash,” insisting that she and Harry attend after work and
drink until they couldn’t see straight. It didn’t matter that they only had a tenuous truce with his
other friends, ones who could still only barely contain their amused smirks at her whenever she
was around, and it was only supposed to be one drink. One drink that turned into three, four, five,
group traveling from the bar to Theo’s house and stumbling through the floo, laughing and
reaching for more alcohol… until it was too late.

Another cramp twisted around her stomach, and she stifled a groan, leaning into her knees as she
panted through the worst of it. Her mouth was watering, her tongue ached, and if she wasn’t so
certain that giving in to the urge to retch wouldn’t be a futile attempt at gagging over the toilet
again, she would have tried to give in to find some relief.

But as she’d learned over the last two weeks, this kind of nausea wasn’t temporary. She’d thought
so, at first, chalking it up to a bad sandwich from the Ministry cafe, then assuming it was a bad
stomach bug once the worst of it hadn’t passed. It had come on swift and sudden, but hadn’t gotten
worse. Which should have been her first clue, really, that something was amiss.

A bead of sweat tracked down her spine, and Hermione shivered. Sweet Circe, this was bad, and
the empty testing vials on her counter echoed the dawning horror in her stomach. It was buried
underneath the hot churn of stomach acid, but she could feel it there nonetheless.
It had occurred to her as a passing thought, a wisp of nothing that was as almost absurd as her
friendship with the former Slytherin and his gang of reformed bullies. She had been standing in her
kitchen that morning, sniffing the bowl of fruit she kept on her counter. The apples had gone bad,
considering the sickly sweet smell radiating from a good distance away. It had turned her stomach
even more than she’d already been dealing with, and even her tea smelled bitter.

Could it—No, she’d laughed, shaking her head. There was no way. She wasn’t— It felt like her
heart had stopped in her chest, and she immediately began counting the days back in her head.
Hands shaking, she set down her tea and leaned against the counter, shuddering through breaths to
try and stay calm.

Four weeks… Five weeks… Six.. Oh, Merlin.

It had been six weeks since Theo’s birthday debauchery, and she hadn’t even realized that her
cycle should have come and gone two weeks earlier. Her schedule was busy, yes, and sometimes
she skipped months—which normally wasn’t a problem.

Normally.

Because normally, she didn’t have drunken one night stands in an empty room of the Nott Manor,
pressed up between the wall and a lean, fit frame. One that eagerly shoved himself against her
writhing body, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck, practically growling as her clumsy,
drunken hands fumbled at the buttons of his trousers.

“Come on, Granger,” he taunted her, his long fingers pulling up the skirt of her dress until it
settled around her hips. “I figured you’d have sharper claws than this…”

A strangled moan from her throat made him chuckle, the sound vibrating against her ribcage, but
his hands only teased her further. This is what they did. They might not have been enemies
anymore, but they weren’t exactly friends. They pushed and pulled at each other, poking and
prodding any weak spots they could find, until one of them got so flustered and angry they would
leave.

But this time? They were doing it with less clothes.

“Gods, stop talking.” She bit his bottom lip and pulled with her teeth, giving in to the urge to be
rough with him.

When she finally worked her hand under his waistband and wrapped her heavy fingers around his
length, his teasing stopped. A hiss of air through his teeth, and he was back at her, ravaging and
pushing and pulling until she didn’t know where she stopped and he began.

This time, she couldn’t stop the heave that shuddered through her frame, and she dove for the toilet
just before losing what little stomach acid she had left. Moments later, with the back of her throat
and tongue burning, she stood on weak legs to rinse out her mouth from the sink. Eyes bloodshot
and watering, she eyed the vials of unopened potions on the counter and her stomach sank even
further. She didn’t need to drink them to know. If she did and she went to the bathroom, her urine
would be bright blue. She could even cast the diagnostic charm that Ginny had shown her years
before, or go to the muggle shop a few streets over to buy a test just to be certain.

Hand drifting down to her abdomen, she knew. When she was younger, she’d known that there
was something different about her. About her abilities. Her certainty had been palpable, and was
only confirmed when Professor McGonagall had shown up on her doorstep with that fateful letter
in hand. And now, just over ten years later, she felt that same sense of certainty again.
She was pregnant. And it all because she’d gone and had a one night stand with the worst person in
the world… Draco Malfoy.

Perhaps she’d transfigure him into a bug, too.

TEN WEEKS

Hermione took measured sips of her tea, trying to steady her breathing through her nose. The
morning sickness hadn’t gotten any better, but she’d found tricks to keep the worst of it at bay.
Ginger biscuits and plain toast seemed to be some of the few items she could keep long enough to
digest, and if she didn’t let her stomach get too empty, the retching wouldn’t come on nearly as
swift. Tiny bites throughout the day, and she would be lucky to only get sick once or twice.

It figured that Malfoy’s child would be a constant pain in the arse, as well.

A soft knock at her office door drew her eyes up from the memo she was writing.

“Feeling any better?” Harry’s question was cautious, and she could see the genuine concern in his
green eyes. He didn’t know—no one did—but he knew something was up. One didn’t get sick for
weeks on end and not look like they’d taken a few shots of Living Death.

She mustered a smile. “Getting there.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

For weeks, she’d been toiling over her options, researching magical and muggle pregnancies alike.
There was no telling how things were going to go, given her muggle parentage and Malfoy’s
pureblood lineage, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t know. Not yet, at least.

Not until she had a plan. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a clear one, no matter how much
she read or researched.

She had options, yes, but those were different. Although she was still in her early twenties and not
yet ready for any kind of settling down, the thought of termination made her chest feel achingly
hollow. She had a thousand things to do with her life, and even more things she wanted to make up
for from her lost years as a teenager, but something told her that losing a pregnancy would just add
to her pile of regrets.

With termination out, it left two equally hard choices… Adoption, or single motherhood. Both of
which made her skin crawl, but for very different reasons.

“Have you gone to see that specialist at St. Mungo’s I mentioned the other day?” Harry’s hands
tapped at the sides of his Auror robes, and he shot her another weary glance.

“Stop fussing, Harry, I’m fine.” She waved him off. “I think it’s just stress with this case, that’s
all.”

His look quickly morphed from concern into impatience. “I keep telling you to take some time off.
You shouldn’t be working this much anyway.”

Shrugging, she took another small sip of her tea. “I will, once we’re through the Bechman case.”

In approximately 7 months, give or take a few days.

That was another part of her plan that she hadn’t quite figured out yet. Work. Since getting hired as
a Specialist Researcher within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she’d yet to take
more than a handful of her allotted days off, and even those were mostly reserved for visiting her
parents in Australia on birthdays.

If she started taking time off, everyone would get suspicious.

“Speaking of, did you hear his trial got moved up?” Harry moved to the far wall, inspecting the
clock on her bookshelf. It was nearing the end of the day, which meant he was probably wasting
time and avoiding his own office, lest anyone need him for something after hours.

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. That was quick. Gerald Bechman had been laundering counterfeit
gold through businesses in Knockturn Alley, but they had just finalized their initial load of case
paperwork. “Really? But what about-

“There’s my two favorite Ministry employees!” Another voice resounded from the doorway, this
one much louder than he should have been for the small space. Like he didn’t care who overheard
him. Theo. “Hope you’re not scheming to come steal more of my family heirlooms.”

“Are you saying there are other Ministry employees in the running?” Harry quirked a dark eyebrow
at him and ignored the second comment. The Ministry was well aware of what Theo Nott did, and
did not, possess after the war. Half of his estate had been seized for reparations when his father was
sentenced to life in Azkaban, and the other half had been forcibly decommissioned of all dark
magic.

Not that he’d seemed to care much.

Theo paused, his features morphing into an easy smile, and shrugged. “You never know. Perhaps
I’ll make it a point to expand my network a little further, garner some good old fashioned political
goodwill. Seems like a good place to start, eh?”

Hermione snorted at his wink. He was incorrigible, and that was probably how she’d gotten
suckered into being his friend in the first place.

“However, I did come with a more important purpose. Did you not get my owl last week?”

Shying away from his question, she glanced back down at her tea. It was growing cold, but she’d
found that warming charms made it taste just the slightest bit sour. Something she’d never noticed
before, but her pregnancy hormones were making everything over-sensitized. Food, shampoo,
perfume—even her skin . Her breasts were swollen and aching, she felt bloated all the time, and she
couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. Honestly, if she was this miserable this early on in her
pregnancy, she didn’t have high hopes for the coming months.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s been a busy couple of weeks. Honestly, I’d love to come, but I really
need to get caught up—”

Shaking his head, Theo strode into the office and dropped his frame into the chair across from her
desk. “Ah ah, no way. I will not be accepting your refusal this time, Granger. You skipped my
Beltane celebration last year, too.”

“Theo-” she started, but he cut her off again.

“Harry, help me out here. Tell her she must come.”

Ever the good friend, Harry scratched the back of his neck and avoided Theo’s pointed gaze. “Ahh,
it has been a bit busy. Hermione’s been pulling extra hours to get evidence sorted for the case
we’ve been working on, and she really does need some rest. Look at her.”
Truth be told, Hermione hadn’t wanted anything to do with Theo’s Beltane party because it would
mean forced proximity with the one man she absolutely did not want to see. One who’s grey eyes
would inevitably zero in on her fatigued state and make some kind of sharp remark about how
awful she looked.

Yes, well, one would be expected to look awful carrying your spawn, wouldn’t she? Hermione
almost snorted at the retort as it formed in her mind, but she brushed it off and tried to school her
features before Theo caught it.

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Just a bit of a stomach bug, that’s all.”

Harry’s snort was pure betrayal.

“A bit of a stomach bug that’s lasted for a month now.”

When she shot him a heated look, he had the decency to at least appear somewhat sheepish. Gods,
she must be getting rusty. That look used to make him cower. “What? It’s true.”

“Is that why you skipped out on our standing reservation for drinks the other week?” Theo
referenced their normal outing, usually every two weeks at the pub just outside Diagon Alley.

Rolling her lips, she nodded. Nausea was beginning to brew in her abdomen, swirling around with
each passing moment. Don’t get sick. Don’t get sick. If she could keep breathing through it, she
might be able to hold off until they left her office.

Theo’s features softened. “Granger, you’ve got to—”

“Are you done in here yet?” A third, and more impatient drawl interrupted whatever he was about
to say, and stomach acid spiked up the back of her throat.

Malfoy. Standing in her doorway, hands in the pockets of his trousers, stood the man she never
wanted to see again.

“You know how much I hate it in here. It’s stuffy and it smells like mildew.”

Malfoy’s gaze tracked across her office, obviously unimpressed, until they settled on her face. She
didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, because she knew what would happen if she so much as
opened her mouth. His grey eyes tracked across her features, catching on her shoulders, then back
up to her eyes. They paused there for a moment, holding hers, until she blinked away first.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Theo said as he waved off his best friend’s impatience. “Nothing but the
freshest air for Draco Malfoy. It’s a wonder you survived in the Slytherin common room, what
with all your delicate sensibilities. Speaking of, Granger, perhaps that’s your problem. Too much
time cooped up with this awful work and it’s slowly poisoning your healthy disposition. Potter’s
right—you should take some time off.”

“What’s wrong with Granger?” Malfoy’s question was posed at Theo, despite the fact that she was
sitting a mere reach away.

Gods, he was infuriating. If he couldn’t even ask her a question directly, then he surely couldn’t
step up to be a father.

“She’s sick,” Harry supplied. Inching toward the door when she glared at him again. He knew his
time was running out. “Been sick for weeks, really. Won’t go see a healer, despite all of us telling
her to. Too stubborn even though she obviously needs the help.”

“And who comprises ‘all of us’?” Theo’s brows knitted.

Malfoy dutifully stepped out of the doorway when Harry neared. They weren’t as cold to each
other as they used to be, and were probably more congenial than she and Malfoy were to each
other, but they still gave each other a wide berth.

“Me, Gin, Molly, Ron, you know, the lot of us. Maybe she’ll listen to you instead since we can’t
seem to get through to her. Good luck, though!”

Before she could hurl her teacup at him, Harry ducked out.

“I don’t need help,” she insisted, standing slowly and swallowing back the worst of the nausea. “I
just need to get some sleep, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it was a few weeks ago.”

Draco went still. “A few weeks?”

Grabbing her bag, Hermione began to pack up her desk items, hopeful that the two men standing
before her would get the idea and leave.

She huffed, stuffing her case notes back into their rightful folders and setting her spare quills aside
to be sharpened in the morning. “Perhaps you should get your hearing checked, Malfoy. That is
what Harry and I both said. Or is it a comprehension issue?”

“Theo, may we have a moment?”

“Why?”

“Theo.” Malfoy’s voice garnered no room for debate.

Standing, Theo stretched, taking his time. “Sure, then. I’ll be just outside, definitely not
eavesdropping to make sure you two don’t kill each other."

When the door clicked shut, Malfoy pulled out his wand and cast a quick silencing charm. “Sit
down.”

“I will do no such thing,” Hermione replied as she rolled her eyes and continued packing up her
desk. “Or should I remind you that this is my office, and you have no power here?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied his hands flexing. His pale skin turned white against the
knuckles, and he drew in a frustrated breath before speaking again.

“You look like you’re about to faint, Granger, and I’d rather not witness you giving yourself a
concussion when your head hits the desk.”

“Mmm, sure.” His excuse was weak, at best. “Whatever makes you feel better, Malfoy.”

“You look like shite. When was the last time you ate?”

Ignoring the dig, she screwed the cap back on her ink pot and ignored the way her hands were
beginning to shake. “This morning, thank you. Although I fail to see why my dietary habits are any
of your concern.”

“Gods, must you be so purposefully frustrating all the time?” He stepped into her line of sight, his
hip leaning on her desk just a short distance away. This close, she was practically forced to look at
him. To look up at his face, features still sharp and angular, but not nearly as pointy as they were
when they were children. He’d grown, too, taller than both Harry and Ron, but kept his lean build.

A memory flashed in her head, of narrow hips thrusting against hers and long arms wrapping
around her waist to hold her in place.

No. She shook herself internally, her movements growing shaky. Don’t think about that. Not now.
It wasn’t the first time it’d happened in the last few weeks… Her hormones were so out of control
that some nights she woke up thinking about it, aching between her legs at the memory of him. It
had to have been the hormones, because before their one night stand, she’d never seen him as
anything except a pompous arse.

“Funny, that was about to be my next question to you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he reached up to push a few errant strands of hair back into place.
Another thing she’d noticed recently, as well, was how he carried himself differently from when
they were children. He’d filled out and matured into his features, yes, but he also kept his hair
parted to the side rather than combed back like his father used to. He still wore the same self-
imposed uniform of custom-tailored suits and robes, but they weren’t all black anymore. His suit
today was a beautifully cut charcoal piece, with a white shirt and diamond patterned navy tie that
shimmered just-so when the light hit it.

And at this distance, merely a touch away, she could smell every single note of his cologne. Like
bergamot and cedarwood and a light touch of leather, it resurfaced even more memories from their
night together.

But today, it almost pushed her to the edge.

Holding her breath, she stepped away from him on shaky legs. “Please, Malfoy. I need you to
leave.”

“Why?” he asked and took a step toward her, his eyes calculating. She continued her retreat around
the back side of her desk.

Steady breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“I need to—” bile began to rise in her stomach again, and she swallowed heavily, “—I need to go.”

She wouldn’t make it to the loo in time—it was too far down the corridor. Perhaps she could find
an empty rubbish bin in one of the conference rooms nearby—

Strong hands grasped her shoulders, and she realized that somehow, in the span of a few steps,
Malfoy had caught up to her and was now holding her steady. She was gasping for air, sweat
beginning to bead against her temples, but it only brought the scent of his cologne back into her
nostrils.

Ah, gods.

“I think I’m going to get sick,” she’d barely whispered the words, shutting her eyes just in time to
see his face grow pale.

He bit out a muttered curse, but before she could react he was shoving something into her hands.
Her rubbish bin. A cracked eyelid confirmed it, even if the texture of the cool metal against her
fingertips didn’t.
“Keep breathing,” his sharp instruction was the same tone she’d heard him use a thousand times,
but she didn’t have the energy to muster a retort. Not when she needed to focus on her breathing
and swallowing, alternating in steady intervals so she didn’t embarrass herself by puking on Draco
Malfoy’s pressed blazer.

“Come now, sit down.” His hands returned to her shoulders and he guided her back several steps
until she felt the cushion of her visitor’s chair hit the backs of her knees. With a slow nod, she sat
down and his hands disappeared. “I wasn’t kidding about you looking like you were going to faint,
you difficult witch.”

Her stomach heaved, and she gagged into the bin. “Your cologne—It’s—” She barely suppressed
another, thankful to the gods that she was keeping her tea down at the very least. “Too much.”

Eyes still closed, she heard fabric rustling and his quick Scourgify charm. “I’ve got to say, Granger,
you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought to physical illness just through proximity.”

When a moment passed without another heave, she chanced opening her lids. He’d tossed his
jacket into the corner, and the smell wasn’t nearly as overpowering. “The first of many, I’m sure.”

Gods, even her voice sounded pathetic, and she hung her head back down to hide her shame. There
weren't many things she considered herself to be embarrassed by, but this definitely took the top of
the list.

As the silence grew, so did the tension between them. She chanced a look back up at him, but
thankfully, his eyes were trained on the far wall. The muscle in his jaw was ticking out, in, out, in,
out, in, as he ground his molars together, and the strain was obvious in the stiffness of his
shoulders. After a moment, he spoke.

“I’d ask you when, but I think we both know.”

“What?” Although the worst of her nausea had passed, she still couldn’t track what he was saying.

“Ten weeks, give or take a day?” His voice turned hard, but he still didn’t look at her. “How long
have you known?”

Hermione’s chest tightened, her heart beating erratically in her chest. “What—no, Malfoy, this
is—”

His eyes cut straight to her, stopping the lies before they could fall from her lips. “Stop it. Don’t lie.
We both know what’s happened,” he said and cast a quick look toward her stomach, still covered
by the bin, and back up to her face. “I’m not an idiot. You might be able to fool Potter and Theo,
but you’re forgetting that I was only just behind you in marks during school.”

“I—” she swallowed past the lump in her throat, this time more for the stuttering nervousness that
was taking residence in her chest. “About four weeks ago.”

Malfoy released a sharp breath and stood, turning his back to her. “You’ve known… for a month?”

“How do you know it’s even yours?” His tone bristled, and she couldn’t fight the urge to stand up
to him. He didn’t get to come into her office and act like she had betrayed him somehow. “Perhaps
this is none of your business in the first place.”

At her words, he spun, taking two long steps toward her. “Is that it, then? Off shagging a different
wizard every weekend? Forgive me if I don’t quite believe it.” His pupils were black, blown out
with anger and suffocating any sliver of grey that remained.
If she could have, she would have stood, pushing him back a few steps to force him out of her
proximity. But as it was, she couldn’t risk another bout of sickness from the sudden movement, and
that meant deciding—her indignation from his ire, or the embarrassment of getting sick in front of
him.

“I could be in a relationship, not that it’s any of your business.”

Malfoy’s laugh was dry, and he flexed his knuckles, popping several in the process. “Sure,
Granger. If that’s the case, we can just head off to St. Mungo’s to make sure.”

The force of her gasp rocked her back.

“Surprised?” he continued. “Don’t think for a moment that I would risk taking any chances with a
potential child. Do you not realize the gravity of this situation? If you’re pregnant with my child,
that is the heir to the entire Malfoy fortune and I will not fall prey to whatever silly little games
you’re trying to play.”

“I’m not playing games, Malfoy,” she spat, finally moving the rubbish bin by her feet and standing
slowly. With a few steady breaths, she looked up to face his anger directly.

“You don’t get to waltz into my office and make demands of me. This is my body, and my right to
do with as I wish. I’m not up to some nefarious plot, either, where I try to steal your fortune. I have
no interest in that or you, for the record. This isn’t something I want. ”

Her voice cracked at the same time her eyes began to sting, and she blinked toward the ceiling.
Saying it out loud was different than hearing it in her own thoughts for the last few weeks, and as
soon as it was out in the open, she realized the gravity of it. This was why she couldn’t figure out a
plan or a solution.

When she finally looked back down at him, he was still staring at her with open hostility. “When
were you going to tell me? Or were you going to show up on my doorstep, infant in one hand and a
gift basket in the other?”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “As soon as I figured out a plan, you git. This
is a mistake and we both know it. I didn’t want to blindside you and not have some kind of
recourse ready.”

“You can’t research your way out of a pregnancy,” he hissed at her, reaching up to pull at the ends
of his hair. Like he couldn’t contain himself, he stepped out from in front of her, pacing the length
of the small office. “I can’t believe you—”

“Me?!” She choked out a humorless laugh. “If I remember correctly, you were the one sucking on
my chest while I tried to cast the contraceptive charm, and you thought it was funny that I couldn’t
get the wandwork right!”

As she remembered, he had. He’d made it into a game, trying to get her as flustered as possible. It
was no surprise that the charm had failed, if it had even taken in the first place. Between her
drunken reflexes and his mouth, she’d been doomed to fail from the very beginning.

“Not that,” he didn’t stop pacing. “I’m not surprised in the slightest. We were sloppy and made a
mistake—but you should have come to me first.”

“Because that would have gone so well. Here, let me see…” she started ticking off the reasons on
her fingers. “We used to be enemies, and you’ve hated my entire existence for how many years
now? Oh, yes, your whole life. And it’s not like we’re exactly friends now, gauging by your
response to me whenever we see each other with Theo. Add in the fact that I’m sure your mother
has some wonderful pureblooded witch just waiting in the wings for you to be the perfect Malfoy
wife, am I supposed to sit on the sidelines with your half-blood bastard and hope for scraps of your
attention? I think not.”

At the word bastard, he stopped pacing completely. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Why not?” she challenged. It was the truth, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Draco Malfoy of all people
would propose to her just because she’d gone and gotten knocked up. It was the practical way to
look at it—this was a problem they were both stuck in, and like it or not, that problem was a child
out of wedlock.

With slow, careful steps, he approached her again. “You have no idea the kind of man I am. And if
you think that’s what I would do, you are sorely mistaken. From this moment forward, consider
this as a promise or a threat, I don’t care which—but I will be involved, whether you like it or not.
You will not hide anything else from me, Granger. Are we clear?”
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

TWELVE WEEKS

“I told you, you don’t need to be here,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, trying to settle into
the uncomfortable chair in the waiting area of St. Mungo’s pregnancy ward. Her nausea wasn’t
nearly as bad that morning, but being surrounded by half a dozen other pregnant witches was
deeply unsettling in a way she wasn’t expecting. Was she going to get that big, too? “It’s just a
general check-in. There’s nothing they’re going to tell you that will be of any interest.”

Malfoy, sitting next to her, shot her an unimpressed look. “I thought we’d already settled this. Any
faith I might have had in your decision making skills was rendered moot when you decided to keep
this a secret from me.”

He emphasized the word, his grey eyes trailing down to her stomach and back up again with a slow
blink. She was only just beginning to show, but rather than looking pregnant, she looked like she’d
gorged herself on too many Christmas pies at the Burrow. Her trousers were starting to get too
tight in the waist, and soon she’d only be able to fit into some of her more forgiving dresses.

She huffed, but kept her voice low so as to not attract any attention from the other patrons in the
waiting area. “As if you trusted my decision making skills to begin with. You argue with me
purely on principle alone, and we both know it.”

It was true. It seemed like any time she made a decision while he was around, he felt the need to
immediately and endlessly critique it. Her choice of restaurant for weekend brunches with Theo,
Harry, Blaise, and Pansy. The dress she wore to the summer solstice party at Andromeda’s, where
he was also in attendance. Her job, which he repeatedly reminded her of as lesser than and a giant
waste of time any chance she so much as tried to mention something work-related.

After the war, they had all made their amends. It was a rough several years of public trials and
charge dismissals, followed by apologies and community service. Before she’d even met Theo,
Hermione herself had received letters from both Pansy and Narcissa, apologizing for their part in
the war and asking for forgiveness. It had taken her by surprise, but as she was realizing, nothing
was ever as black and white as it seemed. What she assumed and what was the truth weren’t
always the same things.

Not everyone had parents who made choices for the greater good. Who sacrificed themselves as
easily as the Potters had done. Who volunteered like the Weasley’s. Some, like Theo’s father,
chose to chase power with a single minded desperation, no matter the loss—including his own
wife, leaving Theo motherless as a child and alone in an empty, cursed manor. Some, like the
Malfoy’s, realized they’d made the wrong choice too late and scrambled to do whatever they could
to protect themselves and their families. Pansy and Blaise had fallen somewhere in the middle.

After two years of tentative outings together and regular dates for drinks or brunch, they’d all
reached a tentative truce of sorts. They all got along well enough, save for Malfoy’s penchant for
needling her at every opportunity. He had made his own public apologies to both the community
and her, and they’d moved on. And just like everyone else who had apologized, it was considered
water under the bridge, their bad decisions come and gone, people actively changing for the better
once the wreckage and rubble had been cleared away. Or, as better as one could be with the last
name Malfoy. But she was still closest with Theo, who sometimes floo’d directly into her flat to
rummage through her pantry, even though he had a fully stocked kitchen and hired elves to cook
him whatever he wanted.

“Yes, but you buy these muggle crisps I like so much,” he told her, happily tearing into a brand
new bag, obviously unaware that he could also buy them for himself.

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Theo, like his father, was a collector. But instead of
collecting cursed artifacts in search of easy power, Theo collected people. Friends. Family.

“Believe it or not, I actually think you’re the most capable witch I’ve ever met,” Malfoy’s low
voice broke her from her trailing thoughts. “If you weren’t so frustratingly independent, it might be
somewhat endearing. But I’m fairly certain you try to make everything as difficult as possible,
which is precisely the reason that I need to be here.”

“You—what?” It was the closest thing to a compliment that Malfoy had ever given her.

“Don’t be daft,” he said and straightened out his cuffs, not bothering to hide his bored expression.
“You know exactly what I mean. Your default state is to overthink everything, and it makes things
harder for everyone else. Theo almost made himself sick trying to suck up to you when you
showed up in his life, and even then you strung him along like you were too good to be his friend.”

She sat up taller. “I did no such thing. There’s a difference between ‘stringing people along’ and
being hesitant about forming friendships with—”

Her pause had him looking up, his eyes narrowing, but the words were stuck in her throat. Instead,
he filled in the gaps for her.

“The likes of us? Former Death Eaters? Sons and daughters of them? Slytherins in general? The
bad guys?” His voice grew low and taunting. “The father of your unborn child?”

There was something glinting behind his eyes, something sharper than the arrogant annoyance that
was painted across his face. Hermione stared at it, trying to read between the lines of his gritted
teeth and narrowed brows.

Hurt.

The realization settled strangely in her chest. But even if she was correct, and he was guarding
some kind of wounded nature behind his impenetrable armor of anger and pretentiousness, it didn’t
explain why.

Swallowing, she looked away from him. He wasn’t some puzzle she needed to solve, or a research
project she needed to get to the bottom of. “Don’t act like this is a one way street, Malfoy. You’re
just as guilty as I am.”

There was a beat of silence, and her resolve to not keep analyzing him almost broke. Seconds
ticked by, turning into minutes, and right before the healer in powder pink robes stepped out to call
her name, he spoke again.

“Perhaps, but I stopped hating you a long time ago. It’s obvious that the same can’t be said for
you.”

THIRTEEN WEEKS
Hermione groaned into her pillow, burying her face into the blanket that was draped across her
head in a weak attempt at blocking out the light from her windows. She would have cast a room
darkening charm, but her wand was currently laying somewhere across the room, wherever she’d
dropped it in her haste to fall in bed after leaving work early.

A strong, healthy pregnancy. That’s what the pregnancy healer had assured her the week before,
after fluttering around her body with diagnostic charms and scans and clapping her hands together
like it was the best news in the world. Healthy seemed like a stretch, though, judging by the
splitting headache that had been plaguing her for hours.

Her attempt to sleep off the migraine wasn’t quite working, with drowsiness coming and going in
fits while she tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. Every day it seemed a little more likely
that she would have to hex Malfoy for causing all this in the first place. He had been the one to kiss
her that night, after all. They’d been bantering for hours, losing the plot somewhere in between the
transition from elf-made wine to an old, practically antique, bottle of Ogden’s finest.

She might have started it by challenging him with an off-handed joke about all the effusive
columns in Witch Weekly regarding his eligibility status, but he finished it by waiting in the hall for
her to return from the loo when she least expected him. His strong hand shot out from behind one
of the many marble sculptures, pulling her into the nearest dark room before she even had a chance
to squeak out a response.

“Don’t, Granger,” his muttered warning stopped any refusal that she could have come up with, if
his next move hadn’t already rendered her completely speechless. With a move that spoke of
practiced ease, he pulled her close to his body and spun them both around in a quick series of steps
that had her feet automatically following his. Like a waltz, of sorts, that left them breathless and
pressed up against the wall.

“You seem a little concerned about my bachelorhood—perhaps I should show you just how well
I’m doing.”

With that, his lips were on hers, no doubt confident that she was both ready and willing to kiss him
back.

She couldn’t deny that she thought he was attractive. If anything, he was too attractive for his own
good, and it only served to make him even more overconfident than he had any right to be. It was
part of why she couldn’t stop herself from instigating her own fair share of their fight. No one
deserved to have that much going for them. He was rich, successful, and attractive, while everyone
else got to scrape the bottom of the barrel. It had taken him some time after the war to regain his
footing in society, but he did so through a myriad of careful investments… Investments that helped
to rebuild Diagon Alley back to its former glory, recover lost and beloved businesses, and reinstate
some of the Malfoy fortune that had been lost to war reparations at the same time. This time,
though, it was his—not old, inherited money from dirty dealings in shady corners—but new and
clean and shiny with the public’s stamp of approval.

Lucky, blessed Draco Malfoy. Of course he wouldn’t have to suffer through this, either. She would
be doing plenty of that for the both of them.

FIFTEEN WEEKS

“Oh, come on now!” Theo clapped her on the shoulder, pulling her closer to his body as he led her
through the pub and to the table he had reserved in the back. “It’s Draco’s birthday, and he’s being
sulky—just stay for one drink. I’ve barely seen you in a month. I miss both you and your sentient
hair.”

She had only wanted to duck in to say a quick hello on her way home from work, but the moment
he spotted her in the doorway, he made an instant beeline through the crowd with a determined
look on his face.

Running her hand over her curls, she frowned. “It’s not that bad.”

“Anymore, darling,” he corrected. “That smoothing charm Pansy taught you is worth its weight in
galleons.”

Hermione tried not to scowl at him. While it had helped, her hair’s improvement wasn’t only to
Pansy’s credit. Once she’d learned to wear it longer and stop brushing it after the shower, things
had gotten much better.

“My apologies if I had other things to do during my teenage years than worry about my hair,” she
said as she playfully elbowed him as they approached the table.

Theo snorted. “You must be in a right mood if you’re going to pull the war hero card tonight. What
do you want from the bar, then? My treat for the elusive Golden Girl.”

She paused, the words caught in her throat. Usually, she’d order a single butterbeer and be on her
way. But tonight, and for the foreseeable future, that was out of the cards.

“That’s okay, I’m really not that thirsty.”

Rolling his eyes, he refused to take no for an answer. “Fine, butterbeer it is.”

Before she could stop him, Malfoy’s voice did it for her. “She’s still looking like someone fed her
pickled gillyweed, Theo. Maybe something a little easier on the stomach?”

Turning to the booth, Hermione met his eyes. His gaze was trained on her, features meticulously
blank, his arm stretched across the back of the open seat next to him.

“Still?” Theo sounded dejected, but she couldn’t look away from Malfoy.

“Ah, yes,” she conceded, seeing relief flash across his features. It was barely perceptible, just a
relaxing of his eyes, but it was there nonetheless. “He probably doesn’t want to risk getting my sick
on him again.”

For effect, Malfoy gave an exaggerated shudder. “She’s not wrong.”

“Thank you, Theo.” Finally turning, she gave him a slight smile. “Water would be fine.”

“Fine, fine, just sit down then, and don’t let her scurry off while I’m gone.” He directed the last bit
at Malfoy, who gave a serious nod in response.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sinking into the open seat beside him, Hermione dipped her head. Pansy and Blaise were sitting on
the other side of the large booth, deep in conversation about some antique settee she was
considering buying for her flat.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t seem so surprised,” he said, turning away to grab his own glass. “I do have a vested
interest, after all.”

She was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, or what she could say in the presence
of their friends, when they spoke at the same time.

“Happy Birthday.”

“How are you?”

She grimaced, but he took it in stride.

“Thank you. I told Theo we didn’t need to come out tonight, but he refused to listen to me.”

“Sounds familiar.” She laughed just slightly. Theo was an unstoppable force when he became
determined. “Sorry I didn’t think to bring a gift.”

He made a humming noise in his throat, and took a long drink from his whiskey. She watched out
of the corner of her eye as the lines of his throat moved, swallowing, before his tongue dipped out
to erase any trace of moisture on his lips.

“And you’re… okay? You’re looking better.”

The question was quiet, and if she didn’t know any better, she might consider it unsure. But with a
glance, she realized he was only keeping their discussion discrete.

“Less nausea, more headaches.”

For the last week, any reprieve she’d found from her constant sickness was replaced with throbbing
headaches that made it feel like an unskilled Legilimens was trying to knife their way into her
mind.

His chin turned toward her. “And that’s… Expected?”

“It’s not uncommon,” she agreed, but conveniently left out the part where she laid in bed,
fantasizing about ways to make him suffer just as much. As it stood, this was one of the first civil
conversations they’d had in months, and something told her not to ruin it.

“Speaking of what’s expected,” Hermione started, clearing her throat and turning toward him, “I
think we should talk. About things, you know. Soon. Make a plan. If you want to, that is. Decide
what—”

His lips turned up, pulling into an amused smirk while she stumbled over her words.

“What?” She demanded when he didn’t say anything.

“I’m just surprised you’re interested in my input, is all. I was under the impression that you were
planning on writing out a three meter parchment and presenting it to me without negotiation. I
thought I’d have to fight you every step of the way, honestly.”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, she leaned closer to him. “Keep at it and I just might.”

Instead of scowling back at her, his smirk grew into a full blown grin. To their left, Theo emerged
from the crowd, drinks levitating in front of him.

“I’d assume the sooner, the better? I can floo by this weekend.”
With a quick nod, she scooted away from him slightly. It was only by the luck of the gods that no
one else had caught on yet, but anything that looked remotely like the two of them getting chummy
would be flirting too close with danger.

“Saturday at noon?”

His responding agreement was hidden behind a quick swig of firewhiskey.

“Are you two still going on about that awful couch?” Theo set down the drinks with a flick of his
wand and pulled up a chair to the end of the booth. “Enough about that—Hermione, what good
Ministry gossip do you have? It’s been too long since my last fix and I’m sick of hearing about
Pans’ interior decorating.”

Gods, she thought. It’s going to be a long night.

That Saturday, Draco Malfoy stood in the living room of her flat, five minutes before noon.

“You’re early.” She had just come from the kitchen, tea cups and kettle floating out in front of her
torso, when the floo had filled with green flames.

“You made me tea?” He ignored her comment, eyes focusing on the china she delicately set down
on the coffee table. It was the set that Theo had gifted her for her birthday the previous year,
complaining about her heavy mugs whenever he visited. “It’s time you got some taste, Granger,”
he told her. “With friends like me, it will be expected.”

She’d laughed in his face.

But earlier, when she was pacing through her kitchen wondering just what was going to happen
when Malfoy showed up, it seemed like the logical choice. He probably expected it, right? It
wasn’t the fanciest of tea services, and would probably still earn a sneer from Narcissa herself, but
it was the best she could do. That she would do.

“It’s no shot of firewhiskey, but I figured it would help.”

Malfoy breathed out a laugh, turning to look around the space. “This is smaller than I expected.”

“Yes, well...” She settled in, forcing herself not to follow as he stepped closer to the bookshelves
she’d set against the farthest wall. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. “Not all of us can afford the
Malfoy lifestyle, you know. Generational wealth and all that.”

As soon as the words fell from her lips, his shoulders went tense. Guilt bloomed in her stomach,
and she knotted her fingers together in her lap. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I suppose I asked for it,” he replied but didn’t turn around, instead choosing to continue his
inspection, glancing through the entry into her eat-in kitchen, then down the hall that led to her
bedroom, bathroom, and the single spare room she used as an office. “And you’re not technically
wrong. I’m just wondering how one would raise a family in this shoebox you call a flat.”

She didn’t bother with a response, and waited for him to finish his inspection before he turned back
to the living room. Although it was the weekend, he was still dressed more formally than she was
—where she’d chosen her loosest fitting denims and a jumper, his oxford shirt was as crisp as the
lines of his tailored blue trousers.

Taking a seat in the high-backed chair near the window, he gave her a blank look. “I don’t suppose
I’ll be able to convince you to move elsewhere.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a joke, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing nonetheless.

“Absolutely not. What do you expect? That we’ll move in together?”

The muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s better than what my mother will expect once she hears the
news.”

“And what’s that?” Hermione prompted, uncertainty fluttering around in her stomach like a swarm
of pixies. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider what Narcissa might do, to be honest. Lucius was
currently serving out a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, but there was no telling who she’d become in
the years since the war.

“Marriage.”

This time, she didn’t laugh. Her jaw dropped open and she gaped at him, eyes growing wide
enough that they began to burn. He couldn’t be serious. Marriage? There was no way he would be
expected to, or even want , to be bound to her—

“If your mouth is going to hang open, you should at least use it to breath.” His drawl barely
registered, but when it did, she recognized the blooming pressure in her chest.

Sucking in a lungful of air, she blinked away, pressing her hands to her stomach.

“I’ll take that as a resounding no, as well.”

“Is that—” Her voice sounded shaky and weak, even to her own ears, “—is that something you
want?”

Was that why he reacted so badly that day in her office? The idea seemed preposterous—he still
practically hated her, and there was no way on Merlin’s green earth that he would ever want to
voluntarily bound himself to her for life.

Well, she mentally corrected herself. It might be a bit too late for that. If it was what Narcissa
expected, then perhaps there was some pureblood custom that she wasn’t privy to… There weren’t
many unwed single mothers around in the wizarding community, but that didn’t mean she would
be the first.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear this isn’t about what I want.”

Steeling herself, she looked back at him and spoke the words she’d been burying for weeks. “I
didn’t think you’d care.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, his grey eyes unblinking. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting
his elbows on his legs to hold her gaze.

“I think you’ll find that I care very much about many things, this included. And while I know
you’re used to being the brains of the operation with Potter and the Weasel, I would appreciate it if
you could find it in you to afford me whatever slight respect necessary to at least acknowledge that
we are both equally involved.”

Oh. Hermione bit her lip. Was that what she was doing? She’d spent the last several weeks
researching magical and muggle pregnancies alike, noting the different symptoms and timelines to
know exactly what she would need and when, but Malfoy’s potential opinions or interest hadn’t
even occurred to her.

“Well we don’t exactly like each other, so I wasn’t—”

“Tell me, Granger,” he interrupted her, leaning back into his chair to mimic a casual pose once
more. “Did it seem like I didn’t like you when I was snogging you senseless in my best friend’s
home? Or when I was covering your mouth so they wouldn’t overhear those noises you were
making and get us caught?”

The breath that escaped her sounded more like a half-moan, and she grimaced. “Well, no, but—”

“There’s no ‘but.’ I like you just fine. It’s you that seems to have the issue here, not me.”

His facial expression was stony, but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from raising her voice. “Is
that what you call it when you’re constantly sniping at me for every decision I make? Criticising
my clothes and my job and my life? Fighting with me at every opportunity when we’re together?”

“Don’t act like you can’t take it,” he spat. “You’re the only one who can and we both know it.”

“That doesn’t matter!” She stood, pointing her finger at him. Her chest was heaving with labored
breaths, and she struggled not to scream and pull her hair in frustration. Why did he have to be such
an arsehole? “Just stop pretending and admit it!”

“Gods, fine,” his muttered words were almost lost in how quickly he moved, sweeping his long
frame up from the chair and into her space in the span of just two steps. “How’s this for liking you,
then?”

Before she could blink, his lips were on hers, his fingers gripping her jaw to hold her in place. Her
breath caught, a panicked, fluttery feeling swooping through her chest, and she was helpless
against him. It was a hard kiss, bruising in its intensity, and he moved his mouth against hers as she
struggled to keep up.

The first time they’d kissed, he swept his tongue across the seam of her lips, slow and sensual with
a smoldering sort of laziness that had her panting and breathless. This time, he didn’t hold back; his
teeth nipped at her lower lip, tugging and pulling before he lathed the sting with his tongue, and
she was all but forced to open for him in response. Every part of her bloomed under his touch, heat
building in her abdomen, heavy and wanting, and she clawed at his hands in a desperate attempt to
get closer. She pressed her body against his, instinctively moving with him, and tried her hardest to
keep up.

It wasn’t until she let out a soft, needy moan that he seemed to come to his senses, stiffening
against her and pausing, but not letting go completely while she shakily exhaled against his lips.

Pulling back just slightly, he came into focus. “Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get on with
it.”

With a nod that bordered on businesslike, Malfoy retreated back to his seat and sat down with an
expectant look, leaving her gaping and speechless.

“We should discuss when you’d like to announce. I don’t care how you want to tell our friends, but
we will be telling my mother together. In person.”

It was enough to fire her brain into motion. “I will not be returning to your home.”

The idea extinguished any residual arousal like an aguamenti charm to the face.
“Of course not.” Malfoy waved a hand in the air like it was a given. “We can do it wherever you’d
like, as long as it’s not in public. I don’t want to risk her fainting in the middle of some cafe in
Diagon Alley if it’s at all possible.”

Hermione squared her shoulders, still standing where he’d left her just moments before, but too
restless to settle in. “Because I’m a muggle born?”

His visage turned sharper, meaner. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” she demanded.

“I wasn’t kidding about the marriage suggestion. She will expect it, as all pureblooded families
would. We don’t have children out of wedlock.”

With a sardonic laugh, she turned and paced to the window, desperate for the ability to wake up
from the nightmare she found herself in. She was pregnant, with Draco Malfoy’s child, and would
be expected to marry him. On top of that cruel sense of irony, not only was he now claiming to no
longer hate her, but he seemed to be developing an annoying little habit that involved catching her
off guard and kissing her senseless before she had time to figure out what was going on.

None of it made any sense whatsoever.

Oh, and before they could go about figuring out how to navigate this new life where they would be
stuck together for close to two decades, they also had to sort out the right way to go about breaking
the news to their family and friends. All their loved ones who would laugh and scoff and think they
were joking, because the entire situation was just that preposterous.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she took a shaky breath to
stay calm. It was all too much.

“If you would like, we can tell our parents together. If it makes it any easier for you.”

Her breath exhaled so sharply that it turned into a sob.

“No,” she spoke through the tears that gathered in her eyelashes, trying desperately to keep her
voice from warbling. It wasn’t the first time she’d cried about this, and it wouldn’t be the last. “We
can’t. My parents—”

Her throat caught, tightening around the word, and she leaned into the windowsill as another wave
of tears overtook her. Through her shaky breathing, she felt him approach behind her. He was
practically silent, his careful footsteps muted on the rug, but she felt his strong presence
nonetheless.

“I thought they were alive,” he said, obviously confused. She couldn’t turn to face him, but his
voice had gone quiet. “Theo said he helped you send them a gift last—”

“They are,” she sniffed as she spoke, wiping at her face, but it didn’t stop the wetness from
gathering back up. “They just don’t remember me. Not as their daughter, at least.”

When she finally found the courage to face him again, his complexion had turned ashy. " What? ”

“Theo didn’t tell you?” Her surprise that he’d kept that to himself was enough to stem the last of
her tears, since it was one of the first things he found out in the early days of their friendship. A
man desperate for love from parents who didn’t want him, and a woman with parents she wanted
desperately but could never have again.
 Malfoy shook his head, then glanced away. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”

“It’s—” Swallowing, she willed herself to not fall back into that familiar pool of grief. He would
need to know sooner or later, and now was as perfect a time as any. “It’s fine. Maybe we should sit
back down.”

“I’ll reheat the kettle.”

Together they moved back across her living room, and Hermione settled into the corner of her
couch while he charmed the kettle to boil, wishing that the act of him making her tea was the
strangest thing to have happened that day. If she wasn’t feeling so overwhelmed and raw, she might
have questioned his motives on such a kind action when he was the guest in her home, but as it
stood: she just didn’t want to. Not now, at least. Maybe tomorrow.

“I obliviated them,” she finally said once the warm cup was in her hands, her fingers gripping the
delicate china so it didn’t shake. “Before we went out searching for the horcruxes. I knew it would
only be a matter of time before they would be targeted, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Sitting quietly with his own cup, he didn’t respond, so she continued.

“I knew it was a risk, and that there would be a good chance I couldn’t reverse what I did, but it
seemed like my only option. So I removed every memory they had of me and gave them new
identities so they could be happy somewhere else.”

“Australia,” he said softly, filling in the gaps.

“It seemed far enough away that no one would be able to link them back to me. I went back after
the Battle, but too much time had passed at that point. I tried approaching a few mind healers, but
even they couldn’t help.”

The silence around her felt heavy, and Malfoy sat so still that he could have been a statue. “Maybe
one day I’ll try again, but for now they think I’m a distant cousin. I—I won’t be able to tell them
about the pregnancy. It’s just me right now. Alone.”

Minutes passed before he cleared this throat, sitting forward with a look of determination.

“Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it.”

Chapter End Notes

Not even a midnight trip to the ER last night could keep me from posting this today.
Happy Saturday!

Come visit me on tumblr @ambpersand!

 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

Thank you for all the well wishes! I'm still working on getting caught up on replying
to comments from the last update, but please know that I am sending copious amounts
of love and appreciation for all of you.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

SEVENTEEN WEEKS

Standing near the fireplace in her flat, Malfoy held his arm out to her. “Are you ready?

When her caseload at work had suddenly tripled the week before, Malfoy had taken the lead on
planning their lunch with Narcissa to break the news. He had assured her it would be someplace
private and well far away from the Manor, but didn’t exactly say where.

Hermione approached him with caution, glancing down at her dress and heels for the fifteenth time
that morning. The shoes were only slightly uncomfortable but the dress was new, nipped higher in
the waist with a silk tie and a loose skirt to hide the small bump that was rapidly growing by the
week. It was pretty on it’s own, but she’d made sure to charm it into a deep red color after buying it
from a local muggle shop just to drive the point home.

Malfoy seemed to be convinced that his mother wouldn’t care about her identity or blood status,
but Hermione wasn’t so sure just yet.

“If you keep fussing we will be late,” he said with a stern look. He was dressed just as sharply as
ever, in a three piece suit that spoke more to business meetings and formal dinners rather than a
Sunday luncheon with his mother.

“Can I at least know where we’re going now?”

When she was settled beside him, he took a handful of floo powder from the small container on the
mantle. Looking down at her, his lips turned up slightly.

“You said no to the Manor, but you didn’t say it couldn't be one of our other properties. We’ll be
meeting her at our home in France.”

“France? ” she choked. “My floo isn’t set up for international travel!”

“It is now.” Shrugging, he looked away as if it was something unimpressive. “I had it connected
this morning. If It hadn’t taken you so long to finish getting ready, I would have told you sooner.”

“Something tells me you’re lying about that last bit,” she said with a scoff. Of course he would
march into her flat and start messing with her floo without telling her—what would be next, the
wards?

His smirk turned into a full blown grin at the accusation but he didn’t respond, and within moments
they were transported in a swirl of green flames. Once landed, she barely had time to take in the
room when the large doors to her left opened, revealing an older witch trailed by two house elves.

“Draco, my dear,” Narcissa was a vision in pale lilac robes, a smile spreading across her face at the
sight of her son. “You look dashing.”

Hermione dropped his arm when his mother approached, kissing him on either cheek when he
leaned down to greet her.

“Why didn’t you just Apparate directly? Tilly let me know only just a short while ago that you’d
connected the floo,” even confused, Narcissa’s features held a delicate patience that Hermione
would never be able to replicate.

Stepping away, he reached for Hermione, bringing her back to his side. “Mother, you remember
Hermione Granger.”

Hearing her full name come from his lips in such a gentle and polite tone had her stomach fluttering
like an addled pixie. At the introduction, Narcissa’s eyes followed, lighting up in surprise.

“Miss Granger, so lovely to see you again.” She dipped her chin in a demure hello. “When Draco
mentioned bringing a guest home, I wasn’t sure who to expect.”

But it wasn’t you, she filled in the unspoken meaning. Forcing a smile to cover her grimace, she
dug her nails into Malfoy’s arm.

“He can be full of surprises, that’s for sure.” At her dig, he coughed, the pale skin above his collar
turning slightly pink.

“Should we head to it? I wouldn’t want the warming charms to wear off the food,” he suggested
stiffly.

“Great idea, darling. Tilly, please prepare the tea service for us.”

At her direction, the house elf gave a quick curtsy and disappeared with a soft pop.

As Narcissa stepped toward the doors she’d entered through, Malfoy lifted his left hand and
pressed it over her fingers against his sleeve, ensuring she wouldn’t lift her hand as he guided her
through the house.

His skin felt warm against her own, but he didn’t notice the glare she sent once his mother’s back
was turned.

“How have you been, Miss Granger? It’s been several years since I’ve seen you last.” The woman
slowed her steps once they entered into a grand drawing room with cream colored walls and large
windows. “Theo tells me you’ve started a very successful career at the Ministry.”

“Theo?” Hermione asked in surprise. She wasn’t aware Theo was conversing about her with others,
but Malfoy confirmed his mother’s words with a slight nod.

“He’s very fond of you,” Narcissa said with a kind smile. “Though I think we all are, after the
things you and your friends were able to accomplish at such a young age.”

She tried not to let her steps falter. Whether it was whiplash from learning that she was the subject
of positive conversations between Theo Nott and Narcissa Malfoy or the fact that the latter had just
thanked her for essentially helping to imprison her husband, Hermione was spinning.
While she had been able to testify on Narcissa and Draco’s behalf for their actions, she wasn’t able
to do the same for Lucius and no amount of pleading for fair justice and understanding could keep
him from Azkaban. He was lucky not to be sentenced to death, but his case was an example that
the Wizengamot wanted to make nonetheless.

As they made their way through the drawing room and out into the hall, she tried for the most
neutral answer she could find. With every step closer to the gardens, it felt like her final walk to the
gallows. “Ah, I’ve been well, thank you. The Ministry has been keeping me very busy.”

“And you, Draco? I feel like I’ve barely seen you the last few weeks.”

Malfoy paused to let her step through the threshold into a large solarium, his arm dropping from
her hold only long enough to rest his hand at her lower back as he guided her through.

“I’ve had a few unexpected projects pop up.” He paused, his fingers tightening through the fabric
of her dress, but his voice remained steady. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

The solarium housed an incredible flower garden, with delicate blooms and vines covering most of
the windows underneath the spring sun, and a small table set for three in the middle of the room.
The weather was clearer than it was in London, and Narcissa had obviously put a great amount of
care into arranging and preening the flowers within the room.

“Isn’t it beautiful? This is my favorite room in the entire house.”

Noticing Hermione’s awed look, Narcissa waited for Malfoy to leave her side and pull out her
chair. Then he moved to the second, his gaze turning expectant.

“Oh! Thank you.” Rushing forward, she sat quickly. “Yes, it’s incredible; I’ve never seen so many
different flowers before. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Once they were seated, Narcissa began to prepare their tea. “I brought many of the plants from the
garden at the Manor, but it does seem they prefer the weather here instead. As do I.” Her laugh
sounded like a light twinkle.

“Do you spend a lot of time here?” Hermione’s eyes darted around the room. It didn’t look too well
used, but then again, neither did the rest of the house. Everything was pristine and arranged in a
way that spoke to a vast amount of wealth, and made her flat look like a hovel in comparison.

“More so than I used to. We remodeled the Manor after the war, but I’ve found that it’s more space
than I need currently. I tend to split my time between the two, as it helps to give Draco a bit more
freedom from his nagging mother.”

She sent her son a kind smile, who pressed his lips together in exasperated amusement.

Once he felt her eyes on him he turned; his grey gaze held her own for a long moment. Almost
imperceptibly, he nodded. It’s time.

The action made her stomach drop, anxiety spiking in her chest with such a sudden amount of force
that it knocked the breath from her lungs. Now? She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it
happening so quickly—she assumed it would be later on during the meal, after Narcissa had
chattered away over cultured niceties until they ran out of subjects to delay themselves with.

“Mother,” he started, but didn’t blink away from her, and she watched as his eyes raked over her
features; down her nose, around her mouth, then back up to her eyes. “I’ll admit that I asked you to
this lunch for a very specific purpose, and I don’t think it deserves to be deferred any longer.”

“Oh?” Narcissa paused, setting down her teacup. Hermione’s sat steaming in front of her, the color
a perfect golden brown, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for the sugar or cream.

Her throat felt like it was closing, nausea building in her stomach, but the moment he looked back
toward his mother she felt instantly unmoored.

“We have some news.”

She looked over just in time to see Narcissa freeze, her icy blue eyes widening just slightly before
she smoothed her expression.

“Draco-” Her mouth tightened in warning.

Warmth enveloped her hand, and Hermione glanced down just in time to see Malfoy lean over to
wrap his long fingers around her palm. She didn’t have time to figure out why before he jumped
right in.

“We’re having a child.”

If she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, she would surely have been sick. As it was, the nausea
and panic swirled together into something so potent and overwhelming that she had to force several
long, slow breaths through her nose while she stared down at their intertwined hands.

She couldn’t look at Narcissa. Not yet.

When there was no response from his mother, he continued. “You’re the first to know. It was
unexpected, obviously, but we’re making the best of it. I expect you’ll have questions, which is
why we didn’t ask you to lunch publicly.”

How he was talking so calmly to his mother, she had no idea. It was as if he was explaining a
quidditch rulebook to her, rather than dropping the bomb that she was having his illegitimate half-
blooded child.

“You’re pregnant?” The quiet question was directed at her, and she finally found the courage to
look up. Narcissa’s face was painted with shock, but there wasn’t a trace of anger.

“Yes,” Hermione said after she managed to swallow, clutching his hand tighter. He gripped her
fingers back, and a small flood of relief at his touch washed away some of the lingering doubt in
her mind. “I’m just into my second trimester.”

Her blue eyes turned cold and darted to Malfoy. “And you didn’t tell me sooner?”

He grimaced, features turning apologetic. “As I said—it was unexpected, and more than a bit of a
shock. Hermione’s health hasn’t been the greatest, and I wanted to make sure she was feeling better
before pushing this conversation. I hope you understand.”

Something in his words made her sit back, her shoulders going straight, and something like concern
drowned out any trace of shock.

“Are you alright? Is the baby healthy?” Narcissa’s gaze darted down to Hermione’s stomach,
which was obscured by the table.
With a nod, she spoke again. “Yes, I’m fine. The baby is perfectly healthy. Just-” Something
deeply uncomfortable made her lips begin to curl up into an inappropriate smile. It was all just so
absurd, and she would all but give up her wand to not be sitting in front of Malfoy’s mother, talking
about how he’d knocked her up so well that she couldn’t stop getting sick for weeks straight. “The
healer said it was a very strong, healthy pregnancy. I read that magical pregnancies are often
harder on the woman’s body, and given your bloodline it makes sense that my symptoms would be
worse than normal.”

Narcissa raised a trembling hand to her face and her eyes drifted closed, taking a moment to
compose herself. “I’m not sure what Draco has told you-” she paused, and Hermione shook her
head. He hadn’t told her anything about his family after she’d explained her situation with her own
parents. They’d simply kept the discussion strategic, and how he could assist her through healer
appointments and getting her second room ready for the baby when the time came.

“I had a very dangerous pregnancy, and I almost lost Draco shortly before birth. It was enough of a
risk that I was advised to never become pregnant again, as much as I had originally wanted several
children. I would hope that you don’t suffer from the same ailments.”

“Oh.” She blinked back surprise at Narcissa’s tender admission. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s in the past, and I’m very blessed with the son I was bestowed with,” she replied, lips
stretching into a watery smile. “I would hope, however, that you would consider keeping me more
informed as time goes on.”

It wasn’t a request, and Hermione suppressed another smile. It was a much more polite version of
the same thing Malfoy had said to her before as well.

Picking up her tea, Narcissa took a light sip. “So, I expect you’ll be making a trip to the vaults
soon? I didn’t know you were together, but I believe we can arrange something rather quickly-”

Now it was Malfoy’s turn to grip her hand tighter, but he didn’t move. “About that. Mother, I'm
sorry, but... We won’t be getting married.”

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that he’d thrown down the sword of Gryffindor
into the middle of the table. Narcissa flinched so hard her cup rattled against the saucer in her hand,
and they all froze.

“No,” she argued, shaking her head. “That is unacceptable.”

Hermione sat back, surprised at her sudden change in demeanor. All pretenses of politeness were
gone, and her eyes were sharp on her son.

“We’ve discussed it, and—”

“I don’t care,” his mother practically hissed. Hermione was all but forgotten as the two of them
stared at each other with hard eyes, fighting an unspoken battle that she had no place or standing to
witness. “There are standards, Draco, and while I am willing to overlook the rushed timeline and
the improper courting period, I will not bend on this.”

Clearing her throat, Hermione sat forward to interject, but didn’t let go of the hand entwined in
hers. It steadied her, grounded her, and made it physically apparent that he was right there with her.
Almost like they were a team. Was that why he’d grabbed it?

“It was my choice. I was the one that said no. We discussed it, but I don’t think it would be
appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” Narcissa let out a sharp laugh. “You obviously have no idea as to what is and is not
appropriate if you think that you can be an unwed witch in today’s age. I cannot speak for muggle
society, but you will be hard pressed to find any support in wizarding London once people begin to
find out.”

“It’s her choice, Mother. Whether we like it or not, and I will not force her into marrying me just
because of some old custom. We both agreed we were done with that life, did we not?”

Hermione’s chest fluttered at the strength of his words, and warmth bloomed in her stomach. They
had their fights and differences, yes, but there was no doubt in her mind now that he would stand
up for her when she needed him to. Narcissa’s features stayed pinched but she looked away, her
eyes focusing on the bundle of white blooms to her right.

“We’ll see.”

“That could have gone better,” Hermione sighed and slumped into the chair in her living room,
dusting a few errant ashes from her skirt. Malfoy followed closely behind, lowering himself into
the seat next to hers as he loosened his tie.

“To be honest, I expected much worse.”

When she shot him an annoyed look, he simply shrugged. There were stress lines bracketing his
eyes and mouth, and his carefully combed hair had gone messy once he’d started pulling at the
ends. The standoff between him and his mother had gone on for the rest of lunch, with Narcissa
trying desperately to convince Hermione to reconsider, or for her son to take her side. It had taken
everything to choke down the small finger sandwiches that Tilly had prepared so they could leave
quickly, and by the end of it, Malfoy looked ready to hex someone.

Now, sitting with his long legs stretched out in front of him on her couch, he looked exhausted.
“What time are we meeting with everyone later?”

Glancing at the clock, she cringed. Just a few hours and it would be round two, but this time they
would get to face Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Telling them all at the same time
seemed like the most neutral way to approach the subject, just so no one would get jealous. Theo
and Ginny specifically. “At six.”

“Wake me up in an hour, will you?” He closed his eyes, resting his head on the cushion behind
him.

“Wait—you’re not really going to nap on my couch, are you?” she sputtered, shocked that he was
making himself at home so easily.

“Yes, Granger, I am.” He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “I would much prefer a bed, but I doubt
you’ll let that happen so this will have to do. And when I wake up, I’ll order us some take away so
you don’t have to eat greasy pub food and have it upset your stomach. ”

He said it so easily that she couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through her chest and up to her
cheeks. It was just food—she shouldn’t be so flattered by the idea of it.

“Is there a problem?” One eye cracked open, a spot of grey against blonde lashes. “Or do you plan
on staring at me while I sleep?”

“Not at all,” she laughed and looked away, grabbing a book from the side table and settling in.
Hermione paused, her hand on the door to the pub. The bustling crowd was muffled by a silencing
charm, but she could see through the windows that it was filled from wall to wall with wizards and
witches alike.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Malfoy paused just behind her, leaning over to peer through the leaded glass. “You’ve had a lot of
bad ideas, Granger. You’ll have to elaborate.”

Scowling, she smoothed her hair. It only made sense that now that they were out of her apartment,
he was back to his sarcastic quips. She’d almost gotten used to the other version of Malfoy, the one
who was kind to his mother and ordered her take away so they could eat together at her tiny
dinette. Over dinner he asked her questions about her plans for work after the baby, nodding with
every answer. Never pushing or angry, either, just quiet. Calculated, maybe, like he was gathering
information for his own needs. When she’d tried to ask him his opinions, he turned evasive.

“Whatever you want is fine.”

“If any of them make a scene, the entire population of London will know about this by morning,”
she rested her hand on her lower stomach, ignoring the way his eyes darted down to follow the
movement.

“I hate to break it to you—” He reached around her and placed his hand above her on the door
handle, "—but it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. Now come on, there’s no sense in
waiting any longer.”

Without waiting any further he pulled open the door and rested his other hand on her back to guide
her in. It was the second time he’d done it that day, and the heavy sensation of it made her want to
lean in to his touch.

It’s just polite manners, she tried to tell herself as she stepped through and into the mass of people.

“They’re going to be suspicious that we’re arriving together,” she raised her voice so he could hear
her over the noise.

A deep, warm laugh sounded from behind her, but when she whipped her head to look at him, only
the ghost of a smile remained on his lips and sparkled in his eyes against the low light of the pub.
He… laughed? She’d never heard him genuinely laugh—sarcastically, yes, with a sharp sense of
humor that he often turned toward her—but never like the one she just heard.

Leaning down, he dropped his voice low so he could speak directly into her ear. “Then just wait
until they hear about what happened after I shagged you.”

Her gasp turned into a choked cough, but the moment she saw his grin she couldn’t stop herself
from smiling in return. With a playful roll of her eyes, she turned back forward to continue walking
through the pub. She didn’t quite know what to do with him like this; she could handle him when
he was angry, or snarky, or impatient. She could even handle him when he was polite. But it was
when he turned flirty and roguish that he truly left her speechless.

In the back corner, several tables sat pushed together, two groups on either side. It wasn’t as clear
of a divide as it once was, but Hermione still noticed it nonetheless. Blaise sat quietly, his
calculating gaze watching each person closely but not directly interacting. Pansy was speaking
across the table to Ginny, who was quickly growing frustrated by whatever sharp tone Pansy was
most likely using. The two fought like sisters, snipping and trying desperately to one-up each other
any time they were together, but there was at least a tentative sense of respect on both sides. Ron,
on the other hand, spoke very rarely to any of them except Theo and only cordially entertained the
others.

At the head of the table, Harry and Theo sat huddled over something small and gold, and it wasn’t
until they were at the edge of the table that Hermione could hear Theo’s animated voice clearly.

“Listen, it’s not technically illegal—”

Harry laughed and scrubbed his hands down his face. “That doesn’t mean I need to see it, Theo.”

“You have to admit it’s impressive, at the very least.”

“I’ll give you that, but I should still confiscate it—”

“You wouldn’t,” Theo gasped, snatching whatever it was close to his chest.

“Surely you remember how Potter only breaks the rules when it benefits him,” Malfoy spoke first,
bringing the attention of six pairs of eyes right to them. He didn’t remove his hand from her back.

Harry snorted. “And when the safety of the wizarding world was at stake. But sure, that works.”

She could practically hear the smirk from beside her. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Harry’s dark eyebrows shot up, but his expression remained amused. Before he could find another
retort, his eyes dropped down to Hermione’s waist, then to Malfoy’s figure standing
incriminatingly close behind her back. His features twisted into something carefully suspicious, but
Malfoy smoothly stepped away to pull out a chair for her before he could open his mouth.

“Thanks.” She nodded quickly before taking the seat, but by the time she was sitting, everyone at
the table was quiet.

“‘Mione,” Ron started carefully. “You okay?”

“Someone ask her a question only the real Hermione would know.” Ginny narrowed her eyes.
“What happened with the polyjuice in second year?”

Shooting Malfoy a hard look as he settled in beside her, she gritted her teeth. Theo, Pansy, and
Blaise were wearing identical looks of suspicious curiosity, but she wasn’t about to start spilling
those secrets tonight.

“It’s me, calm down.”

“No no, please—I insist.” Malfoy's voice from beside her was a little too encouraging for comfort.
“I think I’d like to know that story as well.”

She shook her head, tossing the curls over her shoulder to see him more clearly. His body was
angled toward her, one arm on the back of her chair and his head bent so he could watch her
closely.

“I don’t think so.”

His tongue dipped out to sweep across his lower lip, and he gave her a long look. “That’s fine. I’ve
got time.”

Heat suffused her lower half, and she couldn’t look away until Pansy’s voice cut across the table.
“Does anyone know a charm to check to see if my drink has been spiked? Because it looks to me
like those two are flirting, and I know for a fact that I must be hallucinating.”

“They flirt all the time,” Theo said with a chuckle, and patted her hand until Pansy swatted him
away. “It’s just not usually this obvious. Draco can usually keep it in his pants a little better.”

Malfoy’s frame stiffened beside her.

“Oh, enough,” Hermione finally snapped. Looking around, almost everyone was sporting equally
confused or concerned looks, save for Blaise.

He looked almost amused. His honey brown eyes were darting between her face and the man
beside her, and his lips were beginning to pull into a slight smile. “What’s going on, Draco?”

Although the question was directed at his friend, Blaise continued to look at her directly. It was a
similar move to what Malfoy had pulled in her office, asking Theo about her while looking
elsewhere. What is it with these men? Weren’t they supposed to be cultured?

Pushing the hair back from her face, she blinked away from his challenging stare and back to the
table. “We’ve got news we wanted to share with you all. Together.”

“Oh, sweet Circe,” Ginny whispered, grabbing her drink and quickly downing it. “This is going to
be bad.”

“What?” Ron spun to face his sister. “What did I miss?”

“I’m going to need another drink for this. Has anyone seen a waiter?”

“Will you two shut up? ” Pansy hissed.

Ginny simply stuck her tongue out in response.

“Go on,” Malfoy urged her in a quiet voice only she could hear. “You were the one who wanted to
do this with them all together.”

Traitor, she thought. Although in all honesty, he had taken the lead with Narcissa earlier that day,
and it was her idea to get each of their friends together at once.

“I—” The words got stuck in her throat, and she tried again. She was going to need to spit it out at
once or else she’d never find the courage to work up to it. “I’m pregnant.”

Despite the noise around them the table went completely silent, every sound and response sucked
into a vacuum that no stranger could penetrate. Seconds ticked by, six faces morphing into various
responses; shock, surprise, confusion, concern, disbelief, all until Pansy broke the tense
atmosphere with a loud laugh.

She threw her head back, short hair just barely grazing her shoulders, and cackled, her palm coming
down on the top of the table while her body shook with uncontrolled laughter.

“Oh my Gods,” she giggled.

“Pans,” Theo sat a little straighter. “She’s not joking.”

Pansy wiped at a tear forming in the corner of her eye and shook her head, refusing it. “Come on,
Theo—that’s just too good.”
Harry coughed, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “No, I’m pretty sure they’re serious.”

“They can’t be—”

Malfoy cut her off. “I can give you the details to prove it, if you’d like.”

“Please, no,” Ron gasped, his face growing as red as his hair.

“When?” Blaise was the only one who didn’t seem nearly as offended, but his curiosity still
rankled. When she didn’t answer, Malfoy did.

“February.”

With a sharp smirk, he looked back across the table at his best friend. It looked oddly challenging,
and Theo narrowed his eyes in response.

“My birthday.”

“I really don’t think we need to go into this level of detail—” Hermione tried to pull the
conversation back in, but the attempt was futile.

“In the south reading room, to be precise.”

Theo’s face scrunched up. “Not on my favorite sof-”

“Stop.” Hermione spun to face Malfoy, who was still staring Theo down. “That’s enough.”

With an agonizing slowness, he finally blinked back to her but his eyes held only smug
satisfaction.

What in Merlin’s name was going on?

This was going horribly, and she didn’t have the time or the energy to figure out why Malfoy was
suddenly becoming so combative about it.

Once she was certain he wasn’t about to start up again, she turned back to their friends and cut
straight to the point. “Yes, we slept together, and now I’m pregnant. I’m due in November.”

Harry finally spoke again, looking just as dazed and overwhelmed as he had the day they’d taken
their N.E.W.T.S..

“But you’re not… together?”

“No,” she confirmed and shook her head. Ron let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank Merlin.”

Malfoy stiffened again, turning away from her. “Watch it, Weasel.”

“Oh sod off, Malfoy.” Ron was unimpressed with his threat. Although they’d gotten past their
original dislike for each other, they’d never quite become friendly. “You went and knocked up my
best friend, so forgive me for thinking she’s better off not settling just because she has to.”

“Thinking about trying to swoop in and save the day, then? Like you used to?” Malfoy had
apparently turned his challenging stare to Ron, and was leaning forward with a disturbing amount
of intent. “Try it.”
 “For heavens sake, I am not a piece of livestock to fight over!” Hermione shot to her feet. “That is
enough, from all of you. I fully understand that this isn’t ideal, but you—” she paused, looking
down at Malfoy, “—are acting like a child. And the rest of you aren’t much better. If you can’t be
kind about this, I will leave.”

Ron had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry, Hermione.”

Malfoy’s version of an apology consisted of sitting back into his chair and extending a long arm
behind hers, and a simple nod. “If he’ll refrain, so will I.”

It wasn’t a real apology, but it was a start. Lowering herself back down, she met the eyes of
everyone else at the table. “Now, does anyone have anything else they’d like to say or can we get
on with it?”

“I think we’re all good,” Blaise spoke, impressed.

“Wait—one more thing.” Ginny sat forward. “I’m going to be the godmother, right?”

Pansy’s hand curled into a delicate fist on the table. “Over my dead body.”

Instantly the two of them began to bicker again, drowning out Harry, Theo, and Ron’s concerned
exclamations about who would be godfather.

Gods, Hermione let her head drop into her hands, her fingers threading through the curls at her
scalp while she hid behind the curtain of her hair. What a nightmare.

From beside her, Malfoy chuckled.

Chapter End Notes

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 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

A big, giant, heartfelt thank you to Brit for cleaning up my bad dialogue habits.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

NINETEEN WEEKS

Knock. Knock knock. One rap of knuckles against wood, followed by two shorter taps. Hermione’s
mind registered the noise, but her eyes didn’t move from her quill as she quickly scribbled notes
across the parchment.

The Evanston case was the department’s most urgent priority, and she was behind. She’d
accidentally fallen asleep in the archives that morning, growing drowsy in the nest of books and
newsprints she had stacked around her table, and only woke up when her stomach growled so
loudly that it shook her awake.

32 year old male, brown hair and brown eyes. Last seen at a shop in Halstead with a female
accomplice, both wearing dark robes and not concealing their wands. Apparition was reported
nearby during daylight hours in an open air market.

Emile Evanston was on the run after a series of break-ins by use of dark artifacts, leading to a chase
across London in which he’d disappeared with a woman, who Aurors assumed to be his wife.
Hermione was in charge of finding out exactly where he could have gone, and what sorts of
properties could be potential hideout spots. So far, she’d found four listed addresses related to the
Evanston family within the last fifteen years, and was quickly outlining a potential fifth.

Knock knock. Another two raps, sharp and loud this time.

If she could just get past this stage in her research, she would be caught up enough to start on the
next—

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice startled her, and she gasped when she registered his looming figure so
close.

Pressing her hand to her chest in an attempt to settle her racing heart, Hermione sat back in her seat.
“Gods, Harry, I didn’t even see you come in.”

He chuckled, stepping back and dropping a container on her desk. “You didn’t hear me, either. I’ve
been knocking for minutes.”

“Sorry,” she said, and sheepishly pushed away her quill with a sigh. “I’m just so far behind, and it
feels like someone slipped me a sleeping draught. I’m just so tired this week that I can barely stay
awake.”

Usually, she thrived on her schedule. Her days were packed with work and research and reading,
and left very little time to sit around and do things like nap. But every night that week, she’d barely
been able to keep her eyes open once floo-ing home, and all of her additional reading sat untouched
on the sideboard in her flat.
“I can’t say I’m surprised, given… you know,” he blinked away, suddenly very interested in the
still life painting on the wall behind her. “Everything.”

With a slight laugh, she shook her head. In the week since the failed, and incredibly chaotic,
attempt to share her news with their friends, everyone was either pretending like nothing was
different or they were completely obsessed with the news.

“What’s this?” She poked at the container with her finger, gently lifting the lid to see delicate
tendrils of steam escaping.

“Compliments of Molly. Gin and I just had lunch at the Burrow. She's stress cooking.”

“Oh no,” Hermione grimaced. “I was hoping to tell her separately.”

It wasn’t that she thought Molly Weasley would be upset , per se, but she’d always held on to the
idea that Hermione would somehow end up an official part of the Weasley clan. Even though her
relationship with Ron ended amicably just a few months after it started, there always seemed to be
just a glimmer of hope that they ‘just needed more time.’

Harry chuckled, moving around to drop his body into the seat across from her desk. “Ron went
ahead and took care of it for you. Don’t worry though, you’re still invited to Christmas—that
woman can’t say no to a baby, even if it is half-ferret.”

“Thank goodness for small miracles,” she teased, digging out the spare set of cutlery she kept in
her desk for days when she didn’t have time to run out for lunch. Inside the container was what
appeared to be roasted chicken on a bed of potatoes and green vegetables, and it smelled divine.

Pointedly ignoring the fact that she’d already eaten through her packed lunch two hours before, she
dug in. Her appetite had only recently returned, and with it came a newfound sense of hunger that
made her stomach feel like a bottomless cauldron.

“Speaking of,” Harry started, his grin impish. “Do you think the baby will come out all blond and
scowly? It could be genetic.”

Hermione flicked a pea at him with a laugh. “It could be worse… It took me years to grow into my
teeth, and even then we still had to shrink them down.”

“Either way, I think we’re all in trouble,” he gave an exaggerated shudder.

“What do you mean?”

Leaning forward, he dropped his voice lower, even though it was just the two of them. “Hermione,
you know I love you, but between your brains and his irritatingly pompous personality? That child
is bound to be insufferable. Just a bit.”

He pinched his fingers close together and scrunched his nose like it made any difference at all.

“Harry!” Before she could throw more vegetables at him, he ducked in his seat, but they both
quickly devolved into matching fits of laughter.

“It’s true! You’re both the biggest set of know-it-alls I’ve ever met, and that child won't stand a
chance. My child won't stand a chance. He’ll look like an idiot in comparison.”

“Oh come on,” she breathed through another set of giggles. “Ginny brings plenty to the table, even
if you don’t. Plus your child is bound to come flying out of the womb on a baby broom—just wait.
Your hands will be fuller than mine.”

“She brings everything to the table,” he grinned. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Has she calmed down, then?” Hermione hedged. The fiery redhead hadn’t exactly been pleased
when she and Draco had decided on dividing the godmother duties between her and Pansy,
equally.

Harry shook his head, a dazed expression flashing over his eyes. “She’s taken it as a challenge,
actually. May the best godmother win.”

“Wonderful,” she said with a lighthearted groan, and shoved a forkful of chicken into her mouth.
“That will turn out well.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about Theo and me?” he offered as a slight consolation. As with
the godmothers, it seemed only fair to split the duties for godfather between Harry and Theo as
well. It was unconventional, but the only compromise Malfoy had insisted on. Everything else so
far he’d deemed almost completely up to her.

If Malfoy doesn’t get into any more strange moods and challenge him to a duel, she thought. The
rest of the night at the pub had been tense, but by the end of the night Theo had all but moved on
from whatever aggressive spell his best friend had been temporarily jinxed by. He ignored
Malfoy’s pointed stares, his sharp retorts, and any other signs of hostility, all in favor of asking
them rapid fire questions about the baby.

Where will you be delivering? Do you have any names picked out? Can you name him after me,
then? Oh, of course it will be a boy. There’s never been a firstborn Malfoy that wasn’t, you know.
Do you need any help getting things prepared? I can reach out to Narcissa to get a backup nursery
arranged.

Theo’s natural excitement for their child was contagious, if not a little over the line. But that was
the way Theo always was with her; just barely toeing the boundary of appropriate and not, stepping
over it on occasion and then jumping back behind it when he realized he’d gone just a touch too
far. This was no different, either; his enthusiasm and automatic support for the unplanned
pregnancy was more overt than the rest of their friends. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were supportive,
yes, but it was in the quiet sort of way that they were used to being with each other. It was natural,
a foundation that they’d built on for years, and didn’t need to be so loud and forward. It was
unspoken.

“I hadn’t had a chance to ask, yet, but…” Harry trailed off, bringing her attention back to him.
“You’re okay, right? I know this must be hard.”

Hermione set down her fork and thought for a long moment. It was the same question she’d been
asking herself for weeks, but things hadn’t slowed down enough for her to really figure anything
out yet. “I think so. I was angry in the beginning. It was such a stupid mistake, and it really
shouldn’t have happened in the first place but… I think I’m going to be okay with it. I don’t know
how it will all work out, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You always do,” he said, his smile warm and genuine.

She glanced down at her lap. “I always wanted to have children. This is just sooner than I
planned.”

It wasn’t something she’d had time to think about much in any specific sort of way when she was a
teen, especially during their time on the run, but once the war had been won and life began to move
on, she was certain. Then, once she realized the extent in which she’d lost her parents the desire
had only compounded. Although she had plenty of family with Harry and the Weasley’s, she
wanted one of her own, one that she created through love and blood and dedication to each other.

This would just have to be close enough for now.

“Well, if anyone can handle him, it’s definitely you.”

She knew Harry wasn’t talking about the baby anymore, but she still couldn’t stop the smile from
stretching across her lips.

TWENTY WEEKS

The room was spinning. Fast.

“Oh.” Hermione blinked and reached to grab the arm of the lounge chair she just stood from,
steadying herself while it felt like the floor tilted beneath her feet.

Theo shot up from his own chair and was standing next to her in an instant, one arm on her elbow
and the other between her shoulder blades.

“There now,” he said, as he guided her back down with light pressure. “Are you alright?”

As she sat, the room steadied again. “I think so,” she breathed. “I just got a bit dizzy.”

“Has that been happening lately?” Theo’s concern was evident, and he didn’t quite step away from
her once his hands dropped back to his side.

She shook her head. “Not much. I think I’ve been sitting too long.”

They were spending the afternoon together in the drawing room at Nott Manor, picking away at a
tray of pastries and fruit while they read. Well, while she read. Theo would start off with a book,
but would end up losing interest in favor of tinkering with whatever his latest project was, seeing
how far he could charm different items before they stopped working completely. His latest attempt
was a trick golden snitch that was supposed to disappear once the seeker touched it, then reappear
several feet away.

If he was ever successful with any of his experiments, he would be the Ministry’s worst
nightmare.

They usually sat together in amiable silence, but it had been weeks since their last chance to spend
any time together and she’d already overstayed her scheduled time.

“Do you need any more to eat?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. I just need to get to Diagon Alley before the bookstore closes.” With slow
movements, she stood again, then exhaled with relief when her vision stayed steady. As she
approached the halfway mark in her pregnancy, her symptoms were shifting wildly. Nausea was
replaced with strange and sudden cravings for sour candies or middle-of-the-night hunger pangs,
but everything seemed to be giving her heartburn. Bouts of dizziness would come and go, and each
day her breasts seemed to grow more tender and her ankles swelled to a new size.

Theo made an annoyed sound. “Let me grab my jacket, then. Draco won't hesitate to jinx me if I
don’t escort you.”

“He would not,” she huffed. She had just seen Malfoy the day before at her latest checkup, and
everything seemed strangely… normal. There hadn’t been any more sudden or surprise kisses, but
he wasn’t nearly as antagonistic as he used to be. The most she would get from him any time they
were together would be a few flirty quips, but that almost only seemed to be because he liked
seeing her flustered.

Like Malfoy, Theo seemed to prefer to dress in a finer style, even on the weekend. Although his
wardrobe didn’t lead directly into an impressive collection of waistcoats, his own suit this weekend
was a closely tailored blue piece that complimented his eyes.

“He would.” Theo shook his head once he’d shrugged his jacket back on over his white oxford,
and held out an arm. “He’s been more prickly than usual, lately. It seems that your little blessing
here has turned him into something of a…” he paused, “what do the muggles call it? A mother
bear?”

Hermione let out a sharp laugh, tucking her arm into his for the side-along to Diagon. “A mama
bear?”

“Yes! That’s it! Any time I mention you these days he gets very touchy.”

Her slight smile turned down into a frown. He didn’t seem touchy when she’d seen him the day
before. “He’s probably just stressed.”

“Close your eyes and hang on.” Theo paused before Apparating them, the swirling force beneath
Hermione’s feet reviving the familiar dizziness from moments earlier. She leaned into his tall
form, breathing through her nose for a few long moments until the worst of it passed, then opened
her eyes again. The apparition point was empty, and she gave him a thankful nod.

Once they started walking, he picked right back up where she left off. “Oh, he’s definitely stressed,
but this is more. He’s downright territorial at this point. Honestly, if he wasn’t my best mate it
wouldn’t be nearly as funny.”

Her frown deepened. “Maybe Narcissa is pushing again. Have you seen her lately?”

To date, Hermione had received several very lovely, albeit strongly worded, letters from Lady
Malfoy with the obvious intent to sway Hermione’s decision against marrying her son. She hadn’t
responded, but they were beginning to pile up on her side table. Each one was filled with the older
woman’s careful penmanship, with swooping letters in silver ink begging her to reconsider going
against tradition and precedent . Narcissa was growing desperate, and the letter she received just
that morning had referenced the baby specifically, and how a marriage into the Malfoy family
would be the best way for Hermione to ensure familial security for her grandchild. Hermione
snorted at the thought of it. She was plenty secure on her own, thank you. While the idea of
marrying Malfoy wasn’t nearly as shocking or off putting as it was when she first heard the idea, it
was still absurd. They weren’t even dating.

Even if it was pureblood tradition to get engaged under such strange circumstances, she wasn’t a
pureblood. It was as simple as that.

“Just last week, actually. She and Pansy are both incredibly excited.”

“Oh no,” she groaned, letting her head fall back as they turned the corner and approached the
bookshop.
“Oh yes,” Theo laughed. “Welcome to high society, darling. That baby is going to be welcomed
into the world on a silk pillow and there’s nothing you can do about it. If they have their way, the
baby shower will be the event of the year.”

He opened the door for her and she nodded in thanks, despite her displeasure at his words.
According to Ginny and Pansy both, while witches and muggle women alike were expected to host
a celebratory shower before the baby was born, pureblood tradition mandated it. Pansy had
graciously offered to host the gathering and pay for the festivities as a gesture of godmother-ly
goodwill, but Hermione was certain Ginny was planning a coup to reschedule it at the Burrow at
the earliest opportunity.

“I still think I might come down with a very sudden case of morning sickness that day,” Hermione
whispered as the shop owner greeted them.

Theo’s amusement was clear, and he patted her arm. “That won't stop them and we both know it.”

While she paid for the books she’d placed on reserve, Theo browsed the aisles nearby.

“Lovely to see you again, Miss Granger. I’ve got some new fiction books in the back this week if
you’d like to take a look,” the shop owner, an older man with greying hair at his temples, said as
he gave her a kind smile.

“Maybe next week? I’m feeling a little fatigued today.” She was already exhausted in general, and
the multiple bouts of lightheadedness within the last half hour hadn’t helped in the slightest.

“Any time.” Once the books were carefully tucked into her bag, the shop owner’s eyes drifted over
to Theo’s distracted form. “It’s very kind of your date to escort you in if you’re under the weather.
Next time I can leave his name on your order slip if you’d like to send someone in your stead?”

Theo? Her date? She began to laugh, shaking her head to dispel the misunderstanding. “Oh, no,
that’s-”

A loud commotion sounded from outside, a sharp series of pops followed by multiple voices
shouting, then glass breaking. All of the noise was muffled through the glass of the front windows,
but Hermione was at alert instantly, tossing her bag back over her shoulder and running outside
with her wand at the ready.

“Hermione, no!” Theo’s attempt to stop her was lost in the noise as soon as she took in the chaos
that was quickly unfolding in the street.

Flashes of spells and hexes were flying, a rainbow of colors lighting up Diagon Alley like
fireworks in the middle of the afternoon. Families were ducking into stores, screaming as glass
shards rained down on their backs from nearby windows and taking cover wherever they could. In
the center of it all, between Madam Malkin’s and the cauldron shop, were two figures cloaked in
black and throwing rapid spells at a man taking cover outside the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Go! Get inside,” she yelled as she pushed a young couple into the quill shop, dodging out of the
way when a yellow streak obliterated the sign above their heads.

Theo caught up with her, huffing and out of breath, but managed to throw up a shield charm in
front of her. “Are you insane? We need to-”

“I can’t!” She shouted an expelliarmus at two dark figures, but the spell stopped short. She would
have to get closer. “Call Harry. We’re going to need backup if I can’t-”
The taller of the two spun, looking for the source of the disarmament spell, and Hermione stopped
in her tracks at the familiar mop of mousy brown hair and narrowed eyes.

Emile Evanston.

“Stop! By order of the Auror’s Office of the Ministry of Magic, you-”

At her words, Evanston’s eyes went wide, and he wasted no time turning his wand in her direction.

“ Stupify !”

The spell was blocked by Theo’s shielding, but only just barely. Evanston continued his attack,
undeterred, and his wand twisted sharply through the air as he fired offensive spells at her. Theo
gritted his teeth at the force of each one, and held on to his wand handle with both hands.

“I hope you have a plan, because I’m absolutely rubbish at dueling and this isn’t going to hold for
long,” Theo panted. At a glance, she noticed there was a swipe of sooty ash against his brow, but
he wasn’t injured.

“Emile!” his wife called, taking his back to protect them from the man outside the Leaky Cauldron.
“We’ve got to go!”

“Not yet!”

Hermione grabbed Theo’s arm, wrenching his body just behind hers as she inched forward,
ducking in and out of doorways with as much speed as she could manage. Her heart was pounding
so hard she could feel it in her fingertips, but there wasn’t time to push past the panic that was
rapidly tightening her lungs. There was only time for her to remember her training, and she
wouldn’t be able to do it from behind the thin glow of Theo’s protective barrier. Her timing would
have to be perfect.

“On the count of three,” she dropped her voice, flinching as another red blast of light came down in
front of them. “Drop the shield.”

“Oh my gods, you really are out of your mind.”

“One,” she started, tightening her grip on her wand handle. Her fingers were shaking and her palm
was sweaty, and she set her shoulders back. “Two...”

As she opened her mouth to cast her spells, Theo’s shield dropped.

“ Flipendo!”

“Incarcerous!”

“Expulso!”

A blinding light slammed into the window beside her, blowing glass, stone, and wooden shrapnel
through the air around her. Her eardrums popped as she flew backwards from the force of it,
sending splitting pain through her head, and all she could hear was the sound of a muffled shout
before everything went black.

“I don’t give a shite if I’m on any list or not, I’m the father of her Gods damned child and I will be
going in there-”
Hermione came back into awareness to what sounded like an incredibly pissed off Draco Malfoy.
What—that can’t be right... Her eyelids were heavy and gritty as she blinked them open, flinching
against the bright light above her head, and a slight laugh drew her attention to her left.

Theo? He was sitting in a chair beside the bed she was currently laying in, snickering into his fist.

“Oh, come off it mate,” he leaned back, tipping the chair onto two legs, and called through the
open door. “She’s awake now.”

Another, more panicked female voice chimed into the conversation outside. By her surroundings, it
looked like she was checked into a bed at St. Mungo’s. “Sir, you can’t just-”

Before the poor healer could finish her protest, Malfoy’s tall frame filled the door and he cut across
the room in several long steps to reach her bedside.

“Draco.” His name was raspy against her dry throat. “What are you-” a cough wracked her frame,
rough and rattling through her chest.

His hand came down around hers, wrapping his long fingers around her palm, and his grey eyes
raked over her face as if he was taking stock of something. Was she bleeding? How bad were her
injuries? Her mind was still struggling to catch up with what had happened, and her memories
seemed blanketed in thick fog.

“Get out.” Although he was looking at her, the instruction was directed towards Theo.

“Really? This again?” Theo snorted, but Hermione couldn’t look away from the strange expression
on Draco’s face. His brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were tightened, but there
was something else there in addition to the strain. Something darker and more complicated than
she’d seen before, but her head began to pound when she tried to catalogue what it might be.

What a complicated man.

Theo’s protests continued. “I did save her, you know. If my shield charm hadn’t gone back up
when it did, she’d have bled out in the middle of Diagon Alley. I should be hailed as a hero—
quick, someone call the Prophet!” he shouted toward the open door, and she flinched at the
volume. “This will do wonders for my reputation...”

Anger flashed across Draco’s features, and it was finally enough to draw his full attention. “If she
had bled out in Diagon, you would be just as dead beside her, I assure you. Now leave.”

“Draco,” she tried again, licking her lips. They were cracked, so she spoke slowly. “Stop. I’m okay.
He helped.”

She was taking his word for it, really. But even with a growing headache and foggy memories, it
seemed to track. She remembered his shield charm, and his incredulous trust in her when she
suggested he put them both at risk so she could try to disarm Evanston…

“You’re not okay,” he hissed. “You could have died .”

She mustered a slight smile, but it felt tired and weak. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And it really wasn’t that serious,” Theo chimed in.

Draco’s fingers tensed around her hand, squeezing until it bordered on painful, then released her
entirely to pace to the window. He muttered something to himself, quiet enough that she couldn’t
quite hear him, but Theo chuckled again.

“Thank you, Theo, for your assistance.” Draco’s shoulders were tense under his all-black attire.
Standing against the light of the sun outside, his silhouette seemed almost otherworldly. With his
pale blond hair shining in the rays and his imposing stature, she couldn’t be sure if he was
supposed to be a warning or a blessing.

“You’re very welcome.” Theo threw her a quick wink while Draco’s back was still turned.

“Now, may I please have a moment alone with my—” he paused, “May we please have a moment
alone?”

“Ooh, such manners,” Theo teased, but stood from his chair with a long stretch. “You may. I’ll go
check on her discharge paperwork while you sort out whatever’s got your knickers in a twist.”

A growl sounded from Draco’s chest. “They wouldn’t let me in because he was considered your
one visitor.”

“Sounds like he was here first,” she shrugged, but a spike of pain in the back of her neck made her
wince.

At the sight of it, he reapproached. His gait was much slower, more careful, but his eyes stayed
locked on her as he took the seat Theo just vacated.

“You were out together.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. Obviously they were, but this new sense of prickly anger
toward Theo didn’t need to be encouraged.

“I could have taken you, you know.”

The sentence was so soft that she almost missed it, and it took several seconds for her mind to
catch up with the meaning behind his words.

“To the bookshop?” Why?

His eyes turned harder and more determined. “Anywhere. I should have been there, with you.
Protecting you.”

“Dra-” her voice caught, and her lips slammed closed. Somehow, in the midst of her sleepy
confusion, she’d started calling him Draco.

Oh, sweet Merlin… Her cheeks began to heat, and she looked away.

“Theo shouldn’t have even been there,” she corrected, the details growing clearer in her mind. “We
were catching up at his house this afternoon and he insisted on taking me. I felt dizzy when I stood
to leave, and he told me you would jinx him if didn’t escort me.”

Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he lifted an eyebrow toward the door to the hall. “He was
right.”

“Then perhaps you might owe him an apology?” she prompted. Her head was beginning to pound,
but clarity was slowly returning. She could deal with the pain so long as she could remember what
happened.

Flashes of Theo’s panicked face filled her mind, reaching out and casting another shielding charm
over her body as she slammed into the ground. She couldn’t hear the words he shouted as he turned
and cast several more spells toward Evanston, and once she was unconscious, he must have
continued.

Malfoy gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t apologize.”

She couldn’t help but knit her eyebrows together. “You do to me.”

Years before, when his mother had written her an apology letter, he had chosen to give his to her in
person. It was stunted and awkward and felt forced at the time, but he’d held her gaze through his
short speech, drilling in each word to let her know that he meant it. They’d never spoken of it
again, but she hadn’t forgotten.

“Yes, well,” he said and straightened his cufflinks. “You’re different. It’s obvious I have no control
over myself when I’m around you. It’s a problem.”

Before she could respond, a healer knocked on the door. “Miss Granger? I’m here to check on you.
I tried to wait as long as I could, but your pain potion will be wearing off soon…”

Her voice was familiar enough that Hermione realized she was the one who tried to stop Malfoy
from coming into her room, but when she glanced at him he didn’t look bothered in the slightest.

“That’s fine,” Hermione said with a nod. When she moved to sit up, Malfoy’s hand reached out
before he managed to stop himself. He let it drop to his knee and averted his eyes when the healer
approached.

“Just a few quick scans and you should be on your way,” the woman said softly. A yellow glow
cast over her body with a few areas lighting up, and she tisked as she worked her way through the
exam.

“You’ve got some bruising and a few cuts, but it seems that the shield charm Mr. Nott used
protected you from most of the damage you could have sustained. You’re likely to have a bit of a
headache for the rest of the evening, but it doesn’t appear that you have a full concussion.”

Hermione held still while the healer’s wand moved across her body, mending the slight cuts and
tapping lightly on the bruises until they felt less tender than when she woke.

“And the baby?” Malfoy impatiently prompted when the healer didn’t elaborate.

“It was the first thing we checked,” she pursed her lips. “Everything is still healthy and as it should
be.”

“Thank you.” Hermione swallowed a twitch when the healer’s wand reached a particularly deep
cut on her arm. Judging by the unimpressed look on Malfoy’s face, he wasn’t about to say it.

“You’re not showing too much considering how far along your records say you are,” the healer
mused. “But Mr. Nott made sure we knew to check your charts as soon as you arrived with Mr.
Potter and the other Aurors.”

“Harry’s here?”

Malfoy shook his head. “He was. Apparently there’s too much paperwork at the Ministry and he
had to initiate Evanston’s arrest, so he left you in Theo’s very capable hands.”

There was a certain amount of sarcasm buried underneath the words very capable, but she
 pointedly ignored it. Instead she hummed in acknowledgement, lifting her head when the healer
moved to fix her facial cuts, and closed her eyes against the tingle of magic on her skin. Her own
stack of paperwork would be a meter high come Monday morning, and Harry still wasn’t the best
with hospitals after the Battle.

“We’ll send you home with some more pregnancy-safe pain potions for any aches you might have,
but it might be a good idea to have someone stay up with you tonight if they can.”

“I thought you said she doesn’t have a concussion?” Malfoy asked sharply.

“She doesn’t,” she paused carefully. “But it’s just a precaution since she hit her head on the
pavement. We would rather be cautious and overprepared, considering.”

Considering…. Her pregnancy? The extensive and horrifying list of her former injuries? Her
firsthand experience under dark spells and curses? Before Hermione could figure out exactly what
the healer meant, Malfoy said the exact thing she least expected.

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, feel free to stop by my tumblr to say hello.

 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

We're really earning that E rating this week, folks.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione was beginning to learn that Malfoy was absolutely incorrigible when worried. Theo was
right, she thought, watching as the man in question poked around her apartment to make sure she
had everything she might need for the night. He is a mama bear. The only difference, and it was a
large one at that, was that she was realizing that his protectiveness wasn’t about her.

It was about the baby.

It made sense in retrospect, once she saw it all together. His anger at her when she didn’t
immediately tell him about her pregnancy. His insistence on being around at every appointment
and checkup. Making sure they told everyone together, most likely so he could ensure that he was
a visible part of the equation and control the narrative so it went the way he wanted or needed it to.

As if she wouldn’t have told anyone the baby was his, she almost snorted. She didn’t have anything
to hide, and she most definitely wasn’t ashamed of him, but his actions seemed to be so stiffly
territorial and protective that it could be the only option.

“Is my kitchen really that dangerous?” she asked once he began to inspect the inside of her cabinets
for the third time.

Pulling his head back, he shot her a dry look. “No, but all these expired cans of soup appear to be.”

With a shrug, she stepped forward to close her pantry door. “You’re exaggerating. Now, stop
fussing in my kitchen. You’re making me anxious.”

He seemed agreeable, stepping away and toward the living room, but she should have known it
was too easy when he strolled through the archway with his hands in his pockets. “We could talk
about that mountain of letters from my mother if you’d prefer.”

Hermione let out a sigh. She really had meant to put them away, but it seemed like a new one
arrived every few days.

“She’s... persistent,” she hummed.

“Who do you think I got it from?” He leaned closer to the side table where the letters were stacked
in a messy pile, the black wax seal of each broken Malfoy crest taunting her. “Although she didn’t
tell me she was writing to you, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Malfoy didn’t touch the letters, and instead moved away to lower his body into the nearest chair.
His long legs stretched out in front of him, and there was an air of tiredness around him that she
hadn’t quite noticed before.

“I did want to ask…” Hermione started, now that he’d brought up the subject of Narcissa. “She
keeps mentioning familial security. What does that mean?”
His entire body went stiff, and his eyes snapped to hers. “She wrote that?”

Hermione nodded, growing confused by his sudden change in demeanor. He’d gone from almost
sluggish to strung tight in an instant.

“What else did she say? If I may be so bold as to ask?”

The way he phrased the question was clear… She could answer him, or he could snatch up the
nearby letters to see for himself. She was half tempted to tell him to have at it, as it wasn’t much of
anything they hadn’t already discussed with Narcissa in the solarium, but a smaller part of her
appreciated his respect for her privacy.

“Most of what we already went over at lunch with her. A lot about duty and adhering to time
honored traditions. That no other Malfoy child has been born out of wedlock.”

His jaw ticked just slightly and he looked away. His lashes were so pale against his cheekbones
they almost disappeared, and he let out a slight breath that deflated his chest.

“She’s right. We will be the first.”

His words settled deep into her chest, sinking into her abdomen like a heavy stone. “Does… Does
that bother you?”

Cold realization dawned on her. She had been so blind, so caught up in her own feelings and
anxiety about the pregnancy that she hadn’t stopped to think past the immediate situation at hand.
She assumed that he wanted nothing to do with her, because that’s how things had been before
their one night stand. She assumed he wouldn’t want an arranged marriage because she didn’t want
an arranged marriage. And while they weren’t exactly enemies, they weren’t friends either. His
persistence on being a part of the pregnancy and her life was a surprise, but after their initial
fighting, she had to admit that it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Oh sweet Circe… They were halfway through her pregnancy and she hadn’t once asked what he
might want.

Did he want an arranged marriage to her? Of all people? He would be willing to throw away a
future with another witch for propriety's sake? Was he just as dedicated to the old pureblood
traditions as his mother, but she didn’t realize? His dedication and interest in their child made
more sense within the new context, but--

“It doesn’t really matter,” he answered while her mind was spinning, before she could blurt out any
of the panicked responses that were quickly building on her tongue. “I can’t deny that it would
make things easier, but don’t worry about what my mother says. Both you and the baby will be
taken care of, even without a formal marriage agreement. We’ll--I’ll make it work. You’ve had my
promise on that since the beginning.”

He said it with such finality that it abruptly ceased her anxious thoughts, but still left a heavy
feeling of doubt behind. Reaching up to rub the tension from her temples, she let out a deep sigh.
“This is… It’s a lot.”

She knew she should ask him more, to dig in a little deeper and figure out how much she’d missed
so far… but the sun had long since set and exhaustion was settling deep into her bones, both from
the effects of the pain potion and the general stress of the day. If it were possible to fall asleep
standing up, she would have. Her discharge had taken some time, even with Theo’s assistance
while the healer had finished her exit exam, and then Malfoy had insisted on getting her some
takeaway as soon as they left St. Mungo’s. When she’d protested in favor of going straight home
instead to collapse in bed, he’d given her a challenge.

“It’s either this or I call my house elves to come to your flat, but you will be eating a full meal
tonight. It’s your choice.”

After some grumbling she gave in, but only because she was a bit hungry and it was the quickest
way to eat. But now that she’d eaten and the adrenaline from the day was wearing off, any residual
energy she had was quickly fading. Malfoy seemed to take pity on her, and he waved her off.

“Go on and get ready for bed, then. I’ll be in in a moment.”

Hermione did a double take. “What do you mean, you’ll be in ?”

He folded his hands in his lap and gave her a look like she had just asked if there were centaurs in
the Forbidden Forest.

“You’re sleeping on the couch, right?”

They hadn’t discussed it, but it seemed like the most logical option—

“Granger, we both know you’re smarter than that. How am I supposed to keep an eye on you
tonight if I’m in a completely different room?”

“Well, I-” she sputtered, backing up as he began to approach with slow steps. “I just thought-”

“I know what you thought, and it’s ridiculous. Would sharing a bed really be the worst thing we’ve
done?”

Not in the slightest. She cringed. “Fine.” Logically, she knew he was right, even if the thought of
him in her bed was completely overwhelming. “But you’re keeping your hands to yourself.”

He lifted an eyebrow like it was a challenge.

“Of course.”

Several minutes later, once Hermione was tucked into bed with her hair pulled back into a thick
braid and her most comfortable set of pajamas on, Malfoy strolled into the room.

Seeing him there, with his tall frame set against the art on her walls and surrounded by her things,
she couldn’t deny the warm feeling that nestled it’s way between her ribs. As he looked around,
taking in the thick quilt on her bed and the stacks of books on her dresser top, she noticed the
pensive look on his face. He didn’t say anything, instead choosing to take slow steps around the
space, letting his fingers drift over the end of the mattress near her feet.

“Sorry it’s not a four poster bed with silk sheets,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

His lips lifted ever so slightly. “I don’t only sleep on silk sheets, you know.”

“But the four poster comment still stands.”

He gave her a shrug, pulling off his suit jacket to hang it on the hook on her closet door and
unbuttoning the black buttons of his waistcoat. Next came his tie, loosened and slipped through the
collar of his shirt, and his belt and shoes followed. Hermione was helpless to watch, her eyes
trained on the long lines of his fingers deftly undoing his cufflinks and placing them on the top of
her dresser next to her jewelry box.
The warmth in her chest lit up into a full glow.

“Look your fill?”

It snuffed out at his dry remark, but his features were playful once she managed to force herself to
meet his eyes.

“Is that what you’re sleeping in?” she lifted her chin towards his body, indicating the shirt and
pants he still left on.

It didn’t seem comfortable, but then again, what was the alternative? That he strip naked and join
her under the covers?

The ember returned at the thought, spreading through her chest and down to her abdomen. It’s just
the hormones, that’s all. She couldn’t be blamed for being sexually attracted to Malfoy, even now.

“I’ll be fine.” He reached up to push a few stray locks of hair back into place. “And I’ll stay on top
of your blanket so you don’t accuse me of anything untoward.”

She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his sudden propriety. “You can take off your
shirt, it’s fine. I’m a grown woman. You might as well be comfortable in return for giving up your
luxury bedding to stay here tonight.”

Her lamp didn’t cast much light in the room, but it was enough to illuminate the slash of pink that
etched it’s way across his cheeks.

“I’ll survive,” He shook his head and cut to the other side of her bed, lifting his body up and on top
of her quilt to stretch his long legs out in front of his body. He was more propped up than she was,
and he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “I won’t be doing much sleeping anyway, not
with having to check on you every few hours.”

Something wasn’t right. His hands were stiff by his side, and his voice was harder than his usual
playful tone with her. He was uncomfortable, which she didn’t see often. She hadn’t seen it since—
oh. Her eyes cut down to his sleeve.

She’d never seen him with arms uncovered, not since before the Battle.

Even when they snuck away to the reading room at Theo’s, he’d kept it on. She had all but ripped
the buttons open to bare his chest, pressing kisses down the scars that mapped across his pale skin,
but he astutely kept her from seeing what he didn’t want her to. Taking a deep breath, she looked
away. Something in her mind told her to give him his space, or some kind of privacy, with the
subject.

“It’s there, whether I can see it or not. Hiding it doesn’t change that, but I know you’ve changed...
You don’t have to pretend it’s not there; not around me.”

Her quiet statement felt heavy in the space between them, but her eyes stayed locked on the blue
threading of her quilt. When he didn’t respond after several long moments, she reached over to turn
off the light, and spoke again into the darkness.

“I know things haven’t been perfect between us, but I want you to know… I don’t hate you, Draco.
I haven’t in a long time. But we’re in this together, and I hope one day you can be yourself with
me.”

His breath was slow beside her, barely a whisper, and she rolled over to face the opposite wall.
Minutes later, when she was on the verge of sleep, she faintly recognized the sound of fabric
rustling as he removed his shirt.

The night was long, spent tossing and turning, and she vaguely recognised through bouts of sleep
when a gentle hand would shake her awake, tapping lightly at her temples with his wand while he
ran the diagnostic charms the healer had shown them both.

Finally, when morning light began to filter through her window, she came to consciousness against
something hard and warm, with a strong weight settled around her hips. Glancing down, she spied
a pale arm holding her into place, and she froze.

“Morning,” he mumbled into her hair from behind, his voice rough from sleep. He didn’t seem to
have any intention of moving, even now that he knew she was awake.

“Ah, good morning.” She felt strangely bashful with his body aligned so tightly against hers, and
every breath seemed to make her core even more aware of the hard length pressed against her bum.

She felt the faint imprint of his smile against the top of her head, and his arm tightened around her
waist.

“Unlike me, if you ignore it for long enough, it will go away.”

Her laugh had him inhaling sharply, and his hand gripped her hip to still her movement. “Although
I might’ve spoken too soon.”

Hermione froze, held completely in place beside him, and felt her pulse ratchet up by several beats.
“Sorry.”

After a tense moment she relaxed against him, unsure of what to do, but even that movement had
him exhaling into her hair. “Gods, woman, are you trying to-”

“No! I swear!” She struggled to sit forward, to put some kind of space between them, but his arm
was like an iron grip. It was almost like he didn’t want her to move away. “Don’t you want—
shouldn’t I get up?”

His hand slid around, fingers trailing underneath her oversized shirt and along the edge of her sleep
shorts.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you right now… What you should do and what I would
like for you to do are two very different things.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip and willed her body to calm down. Heat was rapidly spreading through her
abdomen, pulsing between her legs, and his dark suggestion was enough to blow whatever ember
of arousal she’d started with into a full blown fire.

He wanted her. Maybe it was because of their forced proximity over the last few weeks, or the
forbidden appeal that made him desire her in the first place, but the sheer fact of it was pressed
against her back, hard and wanting and undeniable.

When she didn’t immediately leave, his hand began it’s trek back across her stomach, dipping
around the swell and to her hip before venturing even lower. It was incredibly soft and teasing, but
she couldn’t help but squirm against him.
With a shaky exhale into her hair, his other hand reached up to move her braid from her shoulder,
baring the skin of her neck. “Granger,” he whispered, his breath hot and damp. “I’ll admit I’m not
always the most honourable man, but this is your one chance to change your mind about this.”

How did she even get here? The feel of his breath against the sensitive skin of her neck had
goosebumps trailing down her arms, and she was powerless to stop the way it made her lean into
him even more.

“I—we probably shouldn't?” she tried to reason, but her brain had gone foggy.

“Why not?” He trailed his lips along her ear, just barely grazing, but not kissing, and her eyes
drifted closed. “It’s not like you aren’t already with my child.”

My child. Something hot and heady rushed through her, and his large hand paused it’s movements
against her stomach. His palm pressing just slightly below her navel and his fingers dipping even
lower. Protective. His hips tilted just slightly up, and she ground down against him.

“It could-” she gasped when his teeth nipped at her earlobe, and she only barely held on to the
moan that wanted to erupt from her throat. He was everywhere, surrounding her and holding her
and pushing against her, and yet it still wasn’t enough. She needed more. “Complicate things.”

He chuckled, moving his lips to her shoulder and letting his hand dip down into her knickers.
“Love, I think we’re well past complicated at this point. Do you have any real reasons, or would
you like to let me fuck you again the way I’ve wanted to for months?”

“Months?” How was he so coherent ? She had started to pant, her hips trapped between wanting to
push back against his erection and up into his teasing fingers, desperate for some kind of friction to
work against.

He hummed, finally, finally trailing hot kisses from the apex of her shoulder and up her neck. The
sensation of it let loose the choked moan she had been holding back, and she let her weight
collapse against him.

“But—what about-” Her voice was much too weak and needy, but she was scrambling to hold on to
anything that might prove this was a terrible idea. That there was something that would lead to
regret after, which would be harder to come back from in the light of day. “I’m pregnant. We
shouldn’t… Right?”

In her reading, she knew it was technically okay to have sex while pregnant, as long as it was done
correctly. But surely he wasn’t physically attracted to her still? She wasn’t at full size yet, but her
hips had already gotten wider and the decent swell of her stomach was an undeniable indicator that
she was a decent way through her term.

His kisses turned soft, and his voice dropped even lower, almost to a whisper. “If you’re worried
about the baby, I assure you I can be very gentle,” his touch lightened against her core until it was
so faint she had to stop herself from crying out in frustration. “And slow,” another kiss, “and
careful.”

He paused completely, and spoke directly into her ear so she wouldn’t miss a word. “But if you’re
worried that I might not fancy you now since you’re carrying my child, then you must have a
concussion after all.”

His fingers resumed their ministrations, sliding easily through her growing wetness, and she
exhaled shakily with relief.
“Yes or no, Hermione.”

Her name was both a blessing and a curse from his mouth. There was no question about it; she was
completely and utterly done for.

“Yes—Gods, yes.” All her life, Hermione had been the logical one. The levelheaded one, who
always weighed each decision carefully before making a move. And she’d done her due diligence
even now; she’d put up a fight and he’d battered down every flimsy excuse with ease. He’d earned
it.

“Fucking hell,” Draco cursed, his body curling even closer around hers. In an instant, he was
moving against her, pulling and pushing while he ravished her body with a desperation that
reminded her of their first time together. His other arm wrapped around her from underneath,
pulling her up and against him the rest of the way. “You’re going to kill me one day, I know it.”

She opened her neck to him even further, wiggling when his teeth dragged across her oversensitive
skin. “Maybe that’s the only reason you like me.”

He laughed, his chest rumbling against her back, and used her gasp as an opportunity to slowly
push a finger into her core.

“Shh,” he shushed her and began thrusting his finger, pushing in to the knuckle and then pulling
out with an agonizing slowness. “Now is not the time to start reviewing all my shortcomings.”

It was meant to be a quip, something sharp and familiar to keep her grounded, but his response was
lost in the sensation of him inside her, pushing against her swollen and aching tissues. She felt
more sensitive than she ever had before, so desperate that she could feel every nerve pulsing
between her legs.

“More,” Hermione begged, needing something, anything more than what he was giving her.
Another finger, friction against her clit, a faster pace— anything. If he didn’t give it to her, she
might weep.

Instead of giving in to her pleading, he slowed down even more, pulling his finger from inside her
and drawing it up, swirling her wetness around the bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs with a
light brush of his finger tip.

“I thought you wanted slow,” he teased, dipping back down and up again. Circling. “Gentle?”

Her hips tried to follow his finger, but his arm held her in tight against his body, completely at his
mercy. Even through the fog of her lust she could tell he was being careful not to put too much
pressure on her abdomen and hips, but it only served to build her frustration even higher. She
didn’t want him to be careful with her, nor did she know how to deal with seeing him as the type of
man who was capable of it.

“I want…” she shuddered a breath, gulping air when his finger brushed against her clit a little
harder. “You. All of you.”

Truthfully, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him ever since that fateful night together.
This wasn’t something new that she wanted, either. It was just a continuation of the same fire,
dying down but never extinguishing completely. The tension between them had been building for
months before that, but if he hadn’t pushed them over the edge, she would have gone her entire life
without knowing just how glorious Draco Malfoy could be when he let her see behind his cold,
haughty facade.
He was more than she ever expected, and she never saw him coming.

His hand paused, and he buried his face into her neck. “Careful, Granger. You don’t know what
words like that will do to a man like me.”

Her heart leapt, and she turned to bury her smile into the pillow. “Please, Draco… No more
teasing.”

“Well,” he chuckled, shifting his body up just enough to peel her shirt off. “Since you asked so
nicely.”

He made quick work of their clothes, pulling her shorts down with one hand before removing his
own boxers, but didn’t allow her to roll over to face him.

With a soft kiss, he ran his nose up the shell of her ear. “Stay on your side.”

Shivering against the cool morning air of the bedroom, she waited while he repositioned himself
behind her. Once his long form was at her back, she dropped her head to look at his face.

“Hi.” Chewing on her lip, she fought an awkward smile from their intermission.

“Hello again,” he said, raising his hand and lightly resting his fingers underneath her chin, and
tipped her face up toward his to capture her lips in a slow kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed, ignoring
the instinct to worry about her morning breath, and let him lead her further back into arousal. His
lips worked against hers in a slow rhythm, his tongue sweeping out across the opening of her
mouth, bumping her nose with his as he deepened the kiss.

This was more than anything they’d shared before; it was slow, and romantic, and Hermione’s
chest filled with a tight sense of emotion that made it hard to breathe.

While his tongue stroked hers, his hand swept down her body, resuming his earlier ministrations
with a light touch. She jolted under his fingers, and his lips stretched into a slight smile as they
kissed. Soon, she was writhing, rocking her hips against his hand while his middle finger pumped
into her core and his thumb traced light circles around her clit.

When his finger curved inside her, brushing against the sensitive spot against the front of her
pelvis, her thighs tightened around his wrist and she let out a choked moan.

“More?” He pulled away just enough to gauge her response. She was helpless to do anything
except nod, and at her go ahead he lifted her thigh over top of his, opening her completely. A
second finger joined the first, and she fought another whine. His thumb was applying more
pressure, using the soft pad for the perfect kind of friction. She could feel his length pressed
against her, hot and hard as his hips rocked softly, and she felt her cunt flutter around his fingers.
She wanted it. She wanted him.

“I can’t stop,” she whimpered and shook her head, feeling the telltale tightness growing in her
pelvis. Did he want her to hold off?

She’d always hated how she lost her ability to speak in bed, but he seemed to follow easily.

“Then don’t.”

He didn’t change his pace, or the pressure of his finger, and she let her eyes fall closed as he
worked her closer toward orgasm. The feel of his fingers against her swollen tissues was
overwhelming, and she was certain there was no better feeling than the way he felt against her. At
her back, she felt him prod even harder into the soft flesh of her arse, and he let out a low groan
when he felt her core flutter around his fingers.

“Say my name when you come,” he demanded as his head dropped back into the crook of her neck,
and he sucked at the soft flesh behind her ear. “I want to feel you.”

“ Oh .” His words sent a spike of hot need through her core, and she squirmed, the tension growing
and twisting together into something inevitable. Ever patient, he continued his steady work,
thrusting and swirling until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her chest was hot, she was gasping for
air, and she couldn’t feel anything except him.

“Draco,” she cried. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-”

At once, her pleasure broke, crashing over her and washing through her nerve endings like a
warming spell. She felt her throat working, sounding illegible nonsense as she writhed against his
hand, but he listened—and he didn’t stop. He wrung her orgasm from her body, whispering a
mixture of praise and dirty thoughts into her ear while his hand kept up his tortuous pace.

“That’s it, love, go on... I love the way you feel like this.” His words were punctuated with kisses
and nips against her collarbone. “I did this to you, didn’t I? Got you so wet and hot that you
couldn’t think straight.”

Gasping for air as she came down, she dimly registered that she had reached up to grip his hair,
cradling his head into her neck while she rode his hand.

“How—I—You-” Her brain was still muddled post-orgasm, and she blinked a few times to try and
will the room back into clarity. It took quite a bit to make her completely speechless, but her brain
seemed to be several minutes behind her body. He shouldn’t be this good at bringing her to orgasm,
but it appeared that his deft fingers were better for more than just skilled wandwork.

Draco let out an amused noise, slowing his hand as she shuddered through the aftershocks, and
slowly removed his fingers. When she started to close her thighs, his happy hum turned into a
growl.

“Ah ah, not so fast. Ready?”

With a strong arm he pulled her leg back up and over his, pulling away just far enough to
reposition his cock at her entrance. She remembered from their first time together that his erection
was long and lean, just like his stature, and would easily reach that sensitive spot at the top of her
pelvis that made her cry out.

“Please.” She let her head fall back into the pillow, moving her hips back in search of him, and let
out a relieved sigh when she felt the head nudge her entrance. With measured control he pushed
forward, his own relieved groan echoing her own once he was fully seated inside.

“Fuck, Hermione.” He paused once his hips were pressed against her arse, and she wiggled against
his hold. Her instinct was to close her legs and rock her hips, seeking friction on her own, but the
way she was spread open allowed for nothing more than her to lay at his mercy.

Reaching underneath her neck, he used one hand to cradle her head towards his and leaned down to
kiss her, the other planting firmly on her hip as he pulled out. Once he was almost completely
removed from her body, he thrust back in with a quick snap of his hips, swallowing her moan with
his kiss. Over and over he drove himself into her, giving her a punishing but steady pace.

She could hear the sounds of their bodies meeting, and it only served to drive her need right back
up to where it was just moments before. Her hand found his, pulling it toward her center again, and
placed his fingers directly over the sensitive, swollen nub.

Draco pulled back, and when she opened her eyes she saw molten silver.

“Needy girl,” he smirked. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” she gasped, struggling to move her hips even an inch underneath his touch. With her thighs
propped open there was no missing just how turned on she was, and her fingers dipped to stroke his
cock as he pulled back from inside her.

He hissed through his teeth. “If I had known you would be like this, I wouldn’t have given you so
much space.”

“Only with you,” she keened as he used the pads of his pointer and middle finger to draw light
circles around her clit.

He used the hand behind her head to push her toward him, resting his forehead against hers while
he drove into her. “Only ever with me, now. If you need this, you come to me.”

The promise in his words was so grave that she could only nod, a soundless moan coming from her
open lips when he applied a slight amount of pressure. He was a fast learner—their first time
together, she’d only had to instruct him once on how to touch her—and he wasted no time in
returning to the familiar pace she preferred.

“You too,” she swallowed, her body beginning to tighten again. If he was going to make her
promise, it was only fair that she return the favor. “Only me.”

“Only you,” he promised, grinning. “Now come for me again, love. It’s been too long since I’ve
felt you flutter around my cock.”

It didn’t take him long to have her pleasure ratcheting higher, quickly ascending to her breaking
point with his hips bruising the soft flesh of her arse and his fingers pressing light circles against
her. Around, over, on, around, over, on… Over and over again, until it was too much. Her second
orgasm crashed over her with more sudden force than the first, moving through her veins with a
swiftness that made her cry out.

“Draco!”

His lips pressed tightly against hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth easily as he fucked her
through her body’s involuntary convulsions. Held open she could only take what he wanted to give
her, and her moans vibrated through her throat and into his kiss as he took her pleasure in stride.
Her core was still clenching around his cock when his hips shuddered, the tempo breaking, and his
breathing grew ragged.

“Hermione,” he ripped his lips away, breathing her name as he came undone, and a low groan
filled the space between them. When he stilled, she felt the telltale flood of warmth between her
legs, and her body gave him one last squeeze.

“Shite,” he said on an exhale as he dropped his head down, a slight smile curving at his lips. His
neck was flushed red and his lips were swollen, and she’d never seen him look so completely
undone. “If this is what it’s like to be killed by you, I’ll gladly take your wand to my chest any time
you’d like.”
Chapter End Notes

As always, feel free to stop by my tumblr to say hello.

 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

Thanks for the patience on this one, as I was a bit busy over the holiday weekend in
the US and figured many of you might be as well. Also, some of you might notice that
this has gone from 9 chapters to 11. Although this story was mostly written before I
started posting, I have realized that the ending was missing a few things and my edits
and changes have expanded out some of the later chapters a bit more than I would
have expected. A true hardship, I know.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

TWENTY TWO WEEKS

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” she hissed as he pulled her along by the hand, ducking through the
crowds at the pub until they were settled in the back hallway near the doors to the loo.

His lips curved with a laugh, glancing back over his shoulder while he ignored her protests. “So
we’re back to Malfoy, now?”

She had only gotten up so she could get another water from the bar, and he’d come out of nowhere.
She hadn’t even heard him stand from the table, let alone follow her across the crowded space.
Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Ginny were all drinking back at the table, bantering and betting over the
next professional quidditch match, and she couldn’t stand to sit there and listen any longer without
her eyes falling shut.

“If you’re accosting me in a bar, then yes, I think we’re back to Malfoy,” she said playfully as he
stopped and turned, pulling her into his body in one smooth motion. In the darkness of the hall he
was hidden in the shadows, all dark lines and looming shoulders, save for the bright halo of hair
atop his head.

He hummed, looking above her head like he was making sure they were alone. She didn’t have to
turn around to confirm it was the case, based solely on the lack of noise that had followed them
into the alcove. Ducking down, his teeth nipped at her ear.

“I’ll consider that a challenge, then.” He wasted no time in pulling the lobe between his teeth,
suckling it softly until she let out a light whine.

“What are you-” her repeat question was cut off when his lips traversed the side of her jaw and
around to her mouth. Any interest in protesting died at the feel of his kiss.

Gods, he was a good kisser.

She stepped further into his embrace when his hands came up to cradle her jaw, tilting her head up
slightly so he could get a better angle. Their lips slid together in easy harmony, working to
reacquaint themselves after time apart. Both of them had been equally busy since their shared
morning in her bed, her schedule packed with paperwork and hearings against Emile Evanston, and
his with… Well, with whatever it was that Draco Malfoy busied himself with. Twice he’d stopped
by her office, dropping off letters from Pansy and his mother regarding their combined baby
shower planning efforts, and once to make sure she’d eaten lunch.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He shrugged easily when she blushed and admitted that she’d lost
track of time. He wasted no time in holding out his hand with an expectant look, all but daring to
say no to his offer to take her down to the Ministry cafe for a mid-afternoon sandwich.

Those short visits aside, there hadn’t been much time for anything else besides a quick check-in.
Now, it seemed, he was making up for lost time.

When his teeth nipped at her lower lip and one hand slid down to her collarbone, she pulled every
ounce of strength she had in her body to tip her head away. “Do you really want to get caught
snogging back here?”

She was panting and out of breath, her chest feeling so tight and fluttery that there could have been
a dozen pixies trapped beneath her ribs. She didn’t mind getting caught, but she didn’t miss the fact
that every time he was affectionate with her, it was in private.

“Worried about your reputation?” One pale eyebrow lifted in defiance.

“Yes, Draco.” She let him kiss her once more before pulling away again. “Obviously that’s the
first thing on my mind, seeing as I’m already a famous, pregnant, unwed witch. Whatever will the
papers say!”

She laughed but he did not. It was supposed to be a lighthearted joke, and her giggle tapered off
into awkward silence when his hands dropped from her body.

He opened his mouth to respond, his features sliding into something carefully blank, but a voice
behind them made Hermione jump.

“Oi!” Ginny stared at them from the end of the hall, a glass of butterbeer in one hand and a water in
the other, and an amused expression on her face. “What are you two doing, skulking around in the
dark? Isn’t this sort of thing what got you into this mess in the first place?”

“She-Weasel,” Malfoy’s growl was a warning.

“Ferret.” She dipped her head toward him in mock salute, clearly unperturbed. “I’m just saying, if
you don’t come back soon, someone else will come looking for you and they won’t be nearly as
nice about it as me.”

With an easy shrug, she strolled away.

TWENTY THREE WEEKS

Pansy and Ginny were perched on Hermione’s couch wearing identical looks of amused
confusion.

“That sounds…” Ginny started, her lips twitching into something barely restrained.

“...exactly like a date,” Pansy finished.

“It’s not a date!” It was the third time she’d tried to shoo them away from the idea, but the two of
them were convinced that Malfoy’s offer to take her to dinner the next weekend was something
more than he intended it to be. “We’ve both been really busy lately, and he probably just wants to
talk before the baby shower. We still have a lot of details to work out.”

“Mmhmm,” Pansy pursed her lips. “Because he takes all of us to his favorite restaurant on a
Saturday night just to talk Completely normal friendship stuff.”

Her tone grated, and Hermione sucked in a slow breath through her nose. Her moods had been
swinging wildly, and she knew she couldn’t lose her temper again without bursting into tears.
Everything felt like so much, and every emotion she was feeling felt so exaggerated and raw that
she could barely cope.

Ginny moved to tuck her legs underneath her body, leaning forward to prop her chin up on her
closed fist.

“So is that what you were doing in the back of the pub a few weeks ago? Talking? But with your
tongues in each other’s mouths?”

Pansy let out a delighted cry. “They weren’t-”

“Our tongues weren’t in each other’s mouths!” Hermione corrected, her cheeks beginning to burn.

Ginny gave her a satisfied smirk. “So you admit it? You were snogging back there?”

“We—No-It was just the one- her sputtered response sent them both into fits of laughter.

“Wait, wait.” Pansy waved a manicured hand in the air once she managed to compose herself.
“Didn’t he stay the night here after you got discharged from St. Mungo’s?”

Ginny’s eyes lit up as she followed Pansy’s implication. “You’re still shagging him! Hermione!”

“Helping you out with all those pregnancy hormones, is he?” Pansy bit her lip, fighting another
teasing laugh. “I’ve got to give it to him, Draco has always been determined.”

Hermione’s face felt so hot she had to stand and grab her wand to cast a quick cooling charm. “It’s
not like that.”

“Oh, darling, I think it is.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to ignore Pansy, but the teasing continued.

“Merlin, the two of you are such a pair. You’re too daft to see past your own nose and he’s too
emotionally stunted from being spoiled by Narcissa and Lucius to go about things the normal way.
It’s no wonder he was being such a prat that night you told us."

“The ferret doesn’t want to share, how adorable,” Ginny cooed, sarcastic as she scrunched her
freckled nose.

Hermione sighed. “That’s not it at all. We’re just… figuring things out. Together.”

“Yeah, in bed,” Ginny finished with a giggle. Gods, she’s as bad as some of her brothers.

“Just because we’ve slept together doesn’t mean we’re… friends, or whatever this is.” She waved
her hands in the air.

Pansy’s lips cracked into an amused smile. “And that’s your problem, Granger. Ever think about
why he gets testy with Theo when you’re around? Maybe Theo’s got something he wants, but he
doesn’t know how to get it.”

Frustration bloomed in her chest, and she wanted to tug at her hair. Why did everyone insist on
thinking there was something between her and Theo? The two of them weren’t any closer than he
was with Pansy or Blaise.

“There’s nothing between Theo and I,” she snapped.

“Duh.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot. But Theo has a way of making it look easy. You
can’t help but like him, even when he’s barging into places of your life he doesn’t belong. He gives
you no choice but to love him. Draco’s too reserved for that. He’s careful, and he’s calculating, but
he won’t make a move unless he knows it won’t blow up in his face. Theo doesn’t care, because
he’ll help you clean up the mess if it does, but Draco will weigh the risks endlessly until he’s
overanalyzed the entire situation.”

Ginny hummed her agreement. “As much as I think he’s a prat, she makes a good point, Hermione.
Theo can make friends with a broomstick, but Malfoy? He’d probably just scowl at it until it
caught fire.”

“Getting Draco to talk about his feelings is about as easy as soothing a dragon to sleep. But that
doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them, you know,” Pansy continued.

“He has feelings now?” Ginny let out an exaggerated gasp. “Someone call the Prophet!”

“Oh, he always has,” Pansy said, her dark eyes turning sharp when she looked back at Hermione.
“Although I don’t think he’s the only one struggling with them now, either.”

Ginny didn’t miss the opportunity to tack on another joke. “I’d say she wants to have his babies,
but I think that train has already left the station…”

Somehow, her quiet morning with the two of them had devolved into chaos, and she let out a long
sigh as she dropped back to the couch. Her hands came to rest on her stomach, the growing bump
covered in a light dress for the summer heat.

It’s not about me, she wanted to tell them. It’s just about the baby. But they wouldn’t understand.

“I think I prefer you two when you’re bickering.”

TWENTY FOUR WEEKS

As usual, he was early. Malfoy stepped out of her floo precisely ten minutes before they’d agreed
to meet, insisting that she side-along to the restaurant with him instead of Apparating on her own.

“Just a moment!” She ducked her head out from the bathroom door to see him standing in her living
room, dressed in a suit so elegant it made her brain stop working completely. From her distance she
couldn’t quite tell if it was fully black or a charcoal grey color, but the fine fabric was obviously
expensive—there was a slight sheen to it in the light from her lamps, the threads turning almost
iridescent in the light. It reminded her a bit of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and the lines of it
were cut so perfectly for his body that she felt a flutter deep in her abdomen.

“Take your time.” His eyes met hers, his lips pulling into a slight smile when she snapped her
mouth shut.

She finished her hair smoothing charms with shaking fingers, then took a step back to survey her
work in the mirror. He’d insisted that the restaurant he wanted to take her to wasn’t that fancy, but
if the quality of his suit was any indication, she was lucky that she insisted on being over prepared.
Her dress for the night was made of dark blue silk, hemmed right above her knees and draped
across her shoulders, leaving her collarbone completely bare. She originally picked it at Twilfitt
and Tatting's because the lightweight fabric felt cool on her constantly-overheated skin, but the
bonus was that it also looked much more expensive than anything else she had in her closet.

When she stepped into the living room, Malfoy’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “You put every other
witch to shame, you know that?”

“Careful,” she laughed just slightly at his flattery, ignoring the increasing tickling sensation in her
stomach. It all seemed so incredibly romantic, getting dressed up for an expensive dinner date and
hearing compliments fall so easily from his mouth. “Pansy and Ginny both think that this is a
date.”

He paused mid-step, his hand going to his pocket and his chin dipping down.

“Granger,” he said her name like a warning. “What do you think this is?”

She gave him a sheepish look and tried not to twist her hands into her skirt. “I… I don’t know, to be
honest.”

Any time she thought she was getting a grasp on who he was or what he might want, he seemed to
surprise her. Now, she was almost afraid to try.

Luckily, her answer seemed to appease him. “Fair enough. Would you like it to be a date?”

Her cheeks flamed, but before she could answer, something flipped over in her abdomen. “Oh,” she
said with surprise. Pressing her right palm to her stomach, she gasped when it happened again.
Malfoy was there in an instant, hands out like he might need to catch her.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I-” She swallowed when she felt another fluttery wave roll through her belly. “I think the
baby is moving.”

Her eyes met his, and they simply stared at each other for a long moment. “May I…” he started, his
voice gone quiet. “Would you mind…?”

He was struggling with the question, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he worked up to the words he
was trying to say.

“Yes, yes,” she laughed, reaching forward to place his hand right below her belly button. Within
just a second, she felt another tickle. “That’s it! Did you feel it?”

At once, a full smile broke out across his face. So much more than his usual smirk or grin, it lit up
his features with such a pure reflection of happiness that it almost stole her breath.

“Yes,” he whispered, his other hand coming to rest on her stomach as well. He didn’t wait for an
invitation this time, and stepped close enough that she could feel his breath on her temple. “I felt
it.”

“I’ve not felt anything like this before,” she kept her voice as low and quiet as his, not wanting to
shatter the moment.
He shifted his touch, his fingers spanning wider while he waited for another movement. As if
rewarded for his patience, Hermione felt another slight twitch in her stomach.

“But you have been feeling it?” His tone was more curious than judgmental, and she rested her left
hand between his. His eyes darted back up to her face, but he didn’t say anything else.

“I didn’t know what it was, honestly. It felt a bit like gas up until now.”

His wide smile broke into a deep laugh, and he let his eyes close for a moment. “Felt a bit like gas.
That’s my heir you’re talking about. I assure you, if he wanted to make himself known he would
not be mistaken with gas.”

“It’s a he, is it?” she cocked her head and smiled at the challenge. “You seem very sure.”

“Obviously I have only ever been afforded the best of the best.” He stepped away, pulling his
hands free and leaving an empty feeling behind, but maintained eye contact. “In everything. So it
only makes sense that another male heir would follow my streak of luck. Preferably a tall son, with
a sharp sense of wit and even better flying skills than my own.”

She moved to grab her beaded bag from the fireplace mantel and gave him a wry look. “Then in
that case, I hope she has bushy hair and big brown eyes and a penchant for calling you names.”

He surprised her with a light laugh, and came to join her so they could Apparate. “From you, I
would expect nothing less.”

Their conversation continued into dinner, tucked into a private booth in the back of the restaurant
and attended to by a waiter who hovered at the edge of the room at all times, his keen eyes never
leaving the table in case they so much as thought about needing something.

“So, tell me then,” Malfoy asked from across the table, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement.
“If I want a boy and you want a girl, how are we supposed to decide on a name?”

She suppressed a smile, trying to keep her features as smooth and impassive as she could, but failed
miserably when her lips curled up on their own accord.

“That’s easy, I get to pick.”

“You?” He blinked several times like she was speaking Parseltongue. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not!” she laughed. “I’m the mother, so it only makes sense that I get the final say.”

He wrinkled his nose, but it wasn’t quite a sneer. “I’m not sure I like these rules.”

“Consider it practice for putting someone else’s needs above your own. It feels weird now, but
you’ll get used to it in time.”

Lucky for her, he saw the humor in her joke. He rolled his eyes, pushing a lock of hair back from
his forehead and fixing her with a light glare. “I think you’re forgetting that that’s exactly what I’ve
been doing for the last six or so months.”

Hermione snorted, grabbing her sparkling water, and watched as the bubbles popped at the top of
her glass. “And you’ve been such a peach about it.”

He lifted his hands to the table, knotting his long fingers together at the knuckles and giving her a
sharp look. Had she hit a nerve?
“I know you think that this pregnancy was a mistake, or at least you did in the beginning. But just
because it was an accident doesn’t mean I don’t want it, Hermione. Because I do; very much so.
And you keeping me at arm’s length is your choice. I am as involved as you let me be, and we both
know it.”

His sudden shift into seriousness was sobering, and the smile fell from her face.

“Draco, I-”

His first name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. It was getting harder and harder to
keep thinking of him as strictly Malfoy with every passing minute they spent together.

“I don’t say that to guilt you into anything,” he conceded. “But you have to know the things I could
offer you. I’m not sure if it’s because you insist on being so stubbornly independent that you don’t
know how to accept any help, or if it’s because you just don’t want it from me.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out, and she wilted under his grey stare.

He let her think for several moments, her eyes darting from the white table cloth to his hands, then
back up to his eyes while she considered the right response. The most honest response.

“I don’t—I don’t think I know how.” It was barely a whisper, but the way the tension in his
shoulders loosened just slightly let her know that he heard her.

Continuing, she rested her hands on her stomach underneath the table. “I’ve been alone for so long,
you have to realize that. It’s been years since I’ve had parents, and I’ve had to navigate my entire
adult life on my own. Even as a child I was considered strange and annoying by all of the other
children at school and I had no friends before I came to Hogwarts. Even when I did, Harry and
Ron… They were great, but being forced into a situation like what we went through wasn’t a
choice. We spent so much time in that awful tent just trying to stay alive, and I didn’t have to learn
to ask them for help because they were already there.”

His gaze softened. “I’m here, too.”

Her eyes began to sting, wetness gathering in her lashes so quickly that she had to look away to
keep the tears from tracking her makeup down her cheeks.

With a sniff, she forced herself to give him a watery smile to try and lighten the mood. “And what
would you do, then? If I knew how to ask you for help.”

“First of all, I’d probably be around so much that you would get sick of me,” he smirked.

“As if I’m not already?” she laughed, wiping at her unshed tears with the napkin. It left black
splotches on the pristine fabric, so she balled it up and shoved it back on her lap before the waiter
might see.

“Second,” he continued on, ignoring her quip. “I would insist you get over whatever strange
aversion you have to us living in the same place.”

It was something they’d fought about months before, right after they told their friends and his
mother, with his insistence that her apartment was too small and that she would inevitably need
help.

“I am perfectly capable of living on my own after the baby is born,” she huffed. “Plenty of parents
do it all the time, and I don’t exactly have the salary to buy a bigger place yet. We’ll just have to
wait and make the best of it.”

It was the same argument she gave him during their initial spat, and he rolled his eyes in a mirrored
response.

“Even Potter would think it’s an absurd idea, and you know how much we agree on things. Have
you told him about this grand plan of yours yet? To live with a baby in that shoebox and try to keep
your full time position at the Ministry?”

“He would not!”

He might, her subconscious told her. It was daunting, no matter how much she protested. But what
were her options? She wasn’t about to move into the Manor and try to pretend her new “family
home” wasn’t the same place where she was tortured. Even if that weren’t bad enough, she
remembered the testimonies from the Wizengamot trials, and the firsthand accounts of what
Voldemort and the other Death Eaters had done while staying there.

She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t.

“How about a bet?” He slowly extended his hand across the table, presenting it to her until she slid
her palm into his. Once in place, he wrapped his long fingers around her hand, so much smaller and
more slender than his, and held it.

“We’ll talk to Potter. If he agrees with me and thinks your insistence on living there alone is
ridiculous, I get final say on what we name our child. And if he’s just as crazy as you are, then
you’ll get to decide.”

“Really?” she laughed. “You’re putting your bet on Harry taking your side?”

“It should speak to my confidence.” He dipped his head. “Is it a deal?”

She gave him a sharp look. “Only if you agree to never call me crazy again.”

He heeded her warning, but she regretted it quickly enough. “Fine. If he’s just as daft as you are. I
know Potter is a lot of things, but he didn’t defeat the Dark Lord by being a total idiot. That was
Weasley’s job.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Hermione shook her head, but he didn’t let her pull her hand away. “Fine,
it’s a deal.”

His grin widened, but they were interrupted from any further conversation by the arrival of their
food.

“Mr. Malfoy, now that you have your food, may I offer you a glass of wine?” The waiter paused
once everything was placed in front of them, his white gloved hands clasped firmly in front of his
torso. Draco had already refused the sommelier’s request when they first sat down, but he shook
his head again.

“No thank you,” Draco refused politely. “As long as my companion here can’t drink, neither do I.”

The waiter accepted with a quiet bow, and retreated. Once he was gone, her eyebrows shot up in
surprise.

“See?” He raised his hands and gestured between them. “One of us knows how to make
sacrifices.”
 Draco’s arm was steady and warm beneath her own as they walked to the apparition point outside
of the restaurant, and she greedily leaned into his strong frame. Dinner had been delectable, and
he’d indulged her whims by ordering half the dessert menu so she could try whatever caught her
eye.

“I should have known you would insist on naming our child after a constellation,” she teased
lightly. Her steps were slow and her feet were beginning to prickle with numbness, but she didn’t
want to rush the end of the night. They’d spent the majority of their meal discussing names, and
he’d had a surprising amount of ideas at the ready.

“It’s distinguished.” He frowned down at her, but it didn’t last long. “Something to be proud of.”

Truthfully, his ideas weren’t that bad, but before she could rehash the full list, he pulled her into
the dark corner of the alley where they Apparated in with a gentle hand. “Now, tell me—you
weren’t sure earlier if this was a date or not. Have you decided?”

His eyes were intense on her face, and she felt herself blush under his gaze. “I—I suppose it feels
like one, yes. Is that okay?”

Pregnant or not, it was the nicest date Hermione had ever been on. He was surprisingly good
company, and when their conversation had strayed from baby names to her work, he kept up with
an impressive amount of knowledge on wizarding law and Ministry history. When he didn’t know
something, he asked, and the face he made when he listened to her made her want to melt into the
seat entirely.

Why they hadn’t developed a friendship sooner, she couldn’t fathom.

He laughed lightly, pulling her in closer to his body. “Granger, I asked because your answer
determines my next move.”

“Oh?” Heat was beginning to flood her senses, and she let out a shaky breath when one hand lifted
to caress her jaw.

“If this wasn’t, this is where I would let you Apparate home and wish you a good evening like the
gentleman my mother raised me to be.”

She swallowed, her mouth gone dry. “And since it is?”

His grin turned roguish. “Then I’d like to accompany you home and ensure that you have a good
evening, if you don’t mind.”

The word “ yes ” hadn’t left her mouth before his lips were on hers, and she wasn’t quite sure who
had initiated the kiss. They met in the middle, a frantic energy thrumming between their bodies as
he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss, and the sensation of hard ground turning underneath her
feet was the only indication that he had Apparated them back to her flat.

Chapter End Notes

As always, feel free to stop by my tumblr to say hello.

 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for all the kind words and support for this story! Sending love and
affection to each and every one of you.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

TWENTY SEVEN WEEKS

Ice cream. It was all Hermione could think about while Robards droned on in their end of day
meeting, reinforcing the accounting deadlines that the entire team had already heard about for the
fourth time that week.

“Make sure your budgets are completed on the correct form this time, Davies, not last year’s
version—”

Chocolate. Her mouth watered at the thought. Or vanilla? Strawberry? Oh, perhaps all three? She
could envision it perfectly: the largest bowl from Florean Fortescue’s, filled to the brim with
perfectly frozen ice cream... Her stomach clenched painfully, and she rested her hand against the
growing bump of her abdomen. Okay, change of subject.

She’d been stuck in meetings all afternoon, and her brain was beginning to feel like leftover
porridge. With a sigh, she resituated herself in her chair and sat up straighter, willing her attention
to come back.

“Now, your budgetary requests for next year need to be signed off on before the end of day
tomorrow, and there can be no changes once they get to my desk. That means going through each
of your line items with a fine tooth comb, and I don’t want to see any residual funds being pulled
over that have already been allotted for this year’s accounts. The minister has been insistent that we
cut each line by at least seven percent, which means getting lean—”

Hermione’s eyes glazed over, unfocusing before she could stop herself. Her budget items were
already finished, triple checked, and sealed in the correct purple envelope on her desk just waiting
to be delivered.

Robards continued on, oblivious to how quickly he was losing everyone in the room. “Just a
reminder that any field supplies need to be listed on form A275, not D590. Reimbursements belong
on form B435—I’m looking at you, Bernard—and need to be signed off on before it reaches my
desk. If accounting sends me back another blank form this year, so help me Merlin—”

Her eyes began to droop. It wasn’t his fault, really, that she couldn’t pay attention. The conference
room, which was usually just a touch too cool for her non-pregnant body, was now the perfect
temperature to relax into. For once she wasn’t clammy with sweat, and with each passing week she
was growing more and more fatigued. Her body was struggling to keep up, and there was no
question that she was pregnant anymore. It was obvious, even if she was still wearing oversized
robes and loose dresses. No one in the office had asked, yet, but after her accident in Diagon Alley
with Emile Evanston, there was a curious lack of eye contact when her coworkers looked in her
direction.
It was all very frustrating, if she was going to be totally honest with herself. Even Robards was
treating her with kiddie dragon gloves, giving her desk assignments that kept her from needing to
travel down to the archives or stopping by her office to politely insist she “go on and head home
early for the evening, nothing too dangerous that has to be done today, you know.”

From all her research, she had expected the changes to her body, and even to a certain extent, her
mind. She could handle the swollen feet and the mood swings, or the middle of the night heartburn
and the weepy episodes when she passed by a shop with kneazle kittens for adoption. What she
couldn’t handle was everyone treating her like she was delicate and made of glass now that it was
common knowledge she was pregnant. She’d overheard enough whispers in the hall outside her
office to know that the latest gossip was who the father could be, but no one seemed interested
enough to come ask her directly.

“I heard she was back with Ron Weasley, you know.” “No, no, that can’t be, my cousin was out
just last week and saw him with Lavender Brown.” “Maybe it’s Theodore Nott, I do know they’ve
gotten close in the last few years.” “He was there that day she assisted with Emile Evanston’s
capture… How romantic would that be?”

The constant gossip made her want to laugh, as the rumors couldn’t be more far from the truth.
Many of the worst of the office gossips were deliberately blind to the fact that Draco Malfoy’s
name was becoming an increasingly common line on the department visitor log. No one seemed to
notice the new regularity in which he showed up at her door with excuses to spend time with her, or
that at least once a week he was conspicuously available in the atrium when she was getting ready
to floo home. Whether it was making sure she got out from behind her desk for lunch or stopping
by to discuss her upcoming healer visits or appointments, he was becoming a regular fixture in her
life.

She hadn’t expected it, really. Nor had she expected his studious attention to detail or his
commitment to her comfort. He remembered her preferences on furniture, bringing photographs of
heirloom pieces at the manor for her to choose from as she worked on outfitting her home office
into a small nursery. He insisted on having his elves, paid—not indentured—he reminded her,
stock her kitchen with fresh groceries and cleaned out the offensive cans of expired soup. He even
went so far as to begin brewing her pregnancy supplement potions, as he “didn’t trust the sub-par
quality” from the corner apothecary.

Although his newfound dedication to their child was surprising, she still couldn’t get a reading on
what they were becoming. Pansy’s words hadn’t left her mind, echoing in her thoughts constantly,
and they only compounded with the realization that she hadn’t asked him about his thoughts on the
marriage contract that Narcissa was pushing so heavily. Did he want her, or did he just want to
fulfill his obligation to tradition? Did he just want to be her friend to make it easier for their co-
parenting, or was there more at play?

She might have thought so, but after their date, he’d pulled back just slightly. There were days
when he would kiss her senseless in her flat after accompanying her home, and others where he
would simply brush a lock of hair back from her face and give her a long look before turning and
leaving. She didn’t know what to do.

It felt strangely presumptuous to think about walking up to him to ask, “I know you’ve shagged me
stupid on several occasions now and I am having your baby, but would you like to date me?” The
idea was preposterous, and the thought of labeling him with something as common as her
“boyfriend” felt equally juvenile. There were no good answers, either. With each passing day, the
stakes became higher, and the more terrified she became of misstepping with Draco. What would
happen if she made the wrong choice?
As if the baby could tell who her thoughts were stuck on, she felt a distinct jab against her ribs.
Hissing out a breath through her teeth, she moved her hand to rub at the spot.

Scorpius. That’s what he wanted to name their child—the same one who was hell bent on using her
bladder as a launching pad and had developed a routine of middle-of-the-night hiccups that would
shake her entire stomach until she woke up and took a walk around her flat.

All of his suggestions had been either family names or constellations like Carina, Orion, and Lyra,
and he’d practically scoffed at some of her suggestions. Sure, they were a bit more normal than his
ideas, but after a few proposals he’d given her a look and said, “No Malfoy child is going to have a
name as pedestrian as ‘Hugo,’ Granger.”

She would never admit to him that after their conversation, she did have to slightly agree, and her
list had grown considerably shorter while she considered the merits of how to name their child and
which last name she should instruct St. Mungo’s to put on the birth certificate. Granger? Malfoy?
Malfoy-Granger? Granger-Malfoy? The infinite amount of combinations made her head spin.

“Now that that’s all settled, I’ll let you get back to work,” Robards said with a clap of his hands
and stood from his seat. “Granger, will you hang back for a moment, please?”

Several of her colleagues lifted their eyebrows in surprise as they filed from the room, but she
didn’t bother standing.

“How can I help you, sir?” She had a sinking feeling that she already knew where the conversation
was heading.

He paused, and Hermione noticed a faint red tint on the back of his neck underneath his standard
issue Auror robes. “I know you’re entitled to your privacy, but I wanted to check in to see what
your plans were regarding your… situation. ”

Hermione’s nerves rankled. Robards wasn’t a mean man, but he could be gruff when it came to
interpersonal affairs in the office. His focus was always on their cases, and his dedication to their
work was impressive, even when his attitude wasn’t. Trying not to let her hormones get the best of
her, she motioned to her stomach. “If you mean my pregnancy , I’ve already turned in the
appropriate leave forms. I’m not due for another few months, and I’ll be taking a few weeks off
when the baby arrives, but I don’t expect it to impact my work whatsoever.”

She had already outlined a general plan for keeping in touch with her secretary while she was out,
and had set aside a few of the lower-level cases that she could easily research from home while she
took her six week leave. Her to-do list was already several pages of parchment deep, however, for
all the things she needed to get done before she reached the forty week mark. She was relying on
the Healer’s observation so far that her pregnancy was completely normal, and banking on it
meaning she would be able to continue working until she reached full term. She would need every
spare moment of time between now and then to make sure everything was completed as it should
be.

Robards lips turned into a slight frown. “That’s all? And you don’t plan on taking any time before
then?”

“No,” she almost laughed. “Why would I?”

She wasn’t incapable of working, just because she was pregnant.

“Hermione.” His voice dropped into something that resembled softness, but she could tell he was
deeply uncomfortable with the topic. “I’m not insulting your dedication or your work ethic, but you
need to be realistic. This can be a dangerous job, as seen by your incident with the Evanston case,
and you have one of the heaviest case and research loads within the department. We need to begin
thinking about offboarding some of your work, even if you don’t intend to leave before your due
date.”

“You—” she stumbled over the words, caught in her throat. “You would take my work away from
me?”

“This is not a punishment,” he assured her. “You’re a smart witch, Hermione, and you’ve more
than proven yourself to this department. But what I cannot do is continue to send you out into the
field or to pile more work onto your already-overloaded desk, knowing that you won't have the
time or energy to maintain the same level of productivity in the coming weeks. And I don’t expect
you to. You’ve earned a break.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock. He was forcing her out early, then? Her work was the
only consistent thing in her life; it was part of her schedule and one of the few routines she had that
she could still rely on with her pregnancy throwing everything else into a tailspin.

“Sir, I don’t—” she paused, tears burning at the edges of her eyes. “I’m fine, really. I have a plan,
and I know what I’m doing. I know it’s a lot, but I’m fully equipped to keep things balanced.”

He gave her a sad, pitying smile. “I’ve got several children of my own and I can assure you that
you never really know what you’re doing, and you sure as hell can’t be prepared for everything.
Best you get used to that idea now.”

TWENTY EIGHT WEEKS

“You’d think our esteemed government could figure out a better way to ventilate these offices,”
Draco said as he cast a bemused look around the room. He was lounging in her visitor’s chair, one
ankle propped up on his knee, waiting for her to finish her case review documentation. Or rather,
bothering her while she attempted, and failed, to finish one of the biggest items on her to-do list for
that day.

Her conversation with Robards was still heavy on her mind, and she set down her quill to rub at her
eyes. They hadn’t spoken of it again, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he came
knocking on her door to remind her that she couldn’t save the wizarding world by herself. “And yet
it still doesn’t stop you from coming here several times a week.”

“Curious, isn’t it?” When she cracked her eyes open to look at him, he gave her an easy wink.

“I think bothering me is your favorite source of entertainment and you exist only to drive me
mad.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous, I also thoroughly enjoy getting you so worked up that you
finally turn off that great big brain of yours.”

A flash of heat bloomed in her abdomen, but she forced herself to ignore it. She had more than
enough things to do and zero time to think about getting Draco on his knees in front of her desk
chair.

“Cheeky.”

He shrugged, unbothered.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” she said, picking her quill back up to get back to work. He’d
stopped by unannounced, and seemed mostly content to wait in her office until he was scheduled to
meet with an investor at a nearby cafe. “Excited about your meeting?”

Draco stood, straightening the cuffs of his jacket before putting his hand into one of his pockets.
Despite his relaxed pose, there was a slight tension in his neck and jaw, and he took a moment to
step toward her before answering.

“Excited? Yes. Confident? Even more so. I’ve been working on this deal for a bit, and I’m ready to
see it through.”

His grey eyes were trained on her face while he spoke, and the warmth spread all the way up to her
chest and through to her cheeks. He had an intensity to him that she couldn’t help but be captivated
by, and when he zeroed in on her? She was helpless against him.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re investing in,” she spoke, not daring to move as he finished
closing the distance between them. Typically he only gave her the general details of his business
meetings; which businesses he and his Gringotts advisor had selected as worthy endeavors, or if
there were any specific outcomes attached to the money. He didn’t brag, but he had been
suspiciously quiet about this particular meeting.

His free hand came up to her chin, tilting her jaw toward his as he leaned down. Instead of
answering, he pressed his lips to hers. They were soft and insistent, and Hermione let out a soft
sigh at the gentle coaxing of his mouth. Gods, she would never get sick of kissing him.

Her hand was halfway to his chest before an uncomfortable cough from the doorway broke them
apart.

“I suppose that one’s on me for not knocking.” Harry scrunched his nose. There was a case file
clutched between his fingers, but it hung limp at his side.

“Potter.” Draco straightened and gave him a quick nod before stepping away. There was the ghost
of a smile playing at the edges of his lips, but to his credit, he didn’t give in.

“I’m guessing that ‘not together’ business didn’t last long?”

Hermione’s cheeks flared hot, but Harry’s face cracked into a wide grin at her horror. Before she
could summon an appropriate response, Draco stepped in.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to dive into that conversation right now, I think we could actually use
your help settling something.”

The smirk on Draco’s face grew when he glanced back at her, and Hermione couldn’t help but huff
out her own laugh. Of course he wouldn’t have forgotten.

“ You want my help?” Harry’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hair.

“It’s absurd, I know,” Draco acknowledged. “But if anything, it should speak to my certainty on
the subject.”

With a sigh, Hermione shook her head. “Draco doesn’t seem to think that I’ll be capable of
handling my full time case load here once the baby is born.”

“Or that you’ll be able to adequately care for a child in that glorified closet you live in,” he added.
“ By yourself. ”
The hard edge in his voice made Hermione’s stomach turn. Although he’d made his opinion clear
to her before, his continued judgement of her abilities to handle her pregnancy and the baby wasn’t
an easy truth to reconcile. Perhaps it was made worse by the way that Robards had approached her
the week before, but the subject was suddenly more sore than it was while they joked over a
romantic dinner.

Harry’s eyes darted between the two of them, calculating. The silence in her office stretched tight,
and Draco’s posture grew more tense with each second that Harry didn’t immediately confirm his
thoughts.

“I mean, Hermione is the most capable witch I know,” he finally spoke. “If anyone could figure it
out, I’m sure it’s her.”

Draco’s shoulders dropped. “You agree with her?”

“I’m not saying it won’t be hard,” Harry said, shrugging. “But you’ve got to admit, she’s handled
worse. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

Harry’s praise soothed some of the hurt in her chest, and she gave him a wide smile. “Thank you,
Harry.”

She ignored the fact that it barely felt like a win.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But I suppose ‘blind loyalty’ and
‘running headlong into a problem with no plan’ has always been the Gryffindor way. I don’t know
why I’m surprised.”

Harry chuckled. “You should try it sometime. It’s really freeing.”

“Why did I stop hating you again? I seem to have forgotten.” Draco’s words lacked any venom.

“My boyish charm, most likely. It’s impossible to resist. Just ask Ginny,” he said with a smile
while Draco gave an exaggerated cringe.

“We get it, you’re both witty,” Hermione finally interjected, holding her hand out for the folder in
Harry’s hand. “Now that that’s settled, did you need me for something?”

Harry closed the distance and handed it to her. “Wanted your opinion on some of the evidence we
found at the Brimley scene. Something’s missing.”

“That’s my cue to leave. My meeting is soon anyway.”

Draco came back to her, ducking down to press a quick kiss to her lips. Although more chaste than
the previous one, his lips lingered on hers for several long seconds. Long enough to let her know
that he was exaggerating it for Harry’s benefit, and she pressed her hand against Draco’s chest to
push him away when she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“A pleasure, as always, Potter,” he said with a nod. “You more so, Granger.”

Harry waited several long seconds after Draco swept through the door before he spoke again, his
expression quickly morphing from pleasantly amused to concerned.

“Seriously, Hermione, that’s your plan? You told me that you had everything figured out!”

“Wait—what?” She blinked in shock at the sudden change in his demeanor. “I do!”
“You don’t,” he corrected. “Not if it means trying to continue on as you have been, but alone. ”

“But you said—” she sputtered.

“I said that you’re the most capable witch I know, and that’s the truth. We both know you’re the
smartest person I’ve ever met, but even you have to admit that isn’t a plan, Hermione. It’s you
trying to keep on like nothing’s different. You’re going to need help, whether it’s from him or us.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So you agree with him?”

“Of course I do!” Harry threw his hands up. It was the most worked up she’d seen him in ages.
“But I wasn’t going to let him know that.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a challenging look. “I am fully capable of doing
this, Harry.”

“I know you are, but you’re going to work yourself to death if you try. And you shouldn’t have to.
Even if you two have started… whatever it is you were doing when I walked in, it seems like
Malfoy’s wanted nothing but to help you. Why won't you let him?”

She sighed, feeling her shoulders deflated, and she dropped her head into her hands. “It’s
complicated. There’s a lot to try and figure out.”

“Yeah? Like you keeping him at wand’s length so you can stay in control of everything? It’s a lot
to figure out because you won’t let him help.”

Her head snapped up to glare at him, but he didn’t look too apologetic. “I don’t say it to be mean,
Hermione, but you know it’s true. He might be a prat but he’s giving up a lot to let you make all
the decisions.”

“I’m the one that’s pregnant,” she corrected him. “And I’m not about to let someone that I’m not
even in a relationship with start telling me how I live my life or how I should take care of my
child.”

Harry moved to sit in the seat across from her desk. “That’s not what I meant. It’s obvious that he
wants to help you, whether with support or with some of that gold from his gods forsaken fortune,
and that he wants to be a part of your life. But when people find out it’s his? You’re not going to be
the one facing the blowback.”

His tone had softened considerably, but she didn’t understand what he was trying to say. “What are
you talking about?”

“I only know about this because I overheard Molly talking about it after she heard you were
pregnant,” he paused, looking away for a few moments. “But apparently both pureblood tradition
and wizarding society are old fashioned enough that they don’t look too kindly on children out of
wedlock, especially when it’s from a family like the Malfoys.”

“I know,” she rolled her eyes. “Narcissa has been begging us to consider a marriage contract.”

“I’m not surprised. But that’s not all of it—you’re the Golden Girl, Hermione. You can do no
wrong. You helped save the wizarding world. But Malfoy? He’s only just recovered his family’s
reputation and it’s tenuous at best. People are waiting for him to mess up, and to prove that he’s
just as bigoted as his father was. Pureblood tradition states that there has to be a marriage contract
in place, and you don’t have one.”
“And I don’t want one,” she agreed, but he only grimaced.

“Fair enough, but would you at least say that you’re dating? In a relationship?”

“Well, I mean,” Hermione sputtered, her mind going into overdrive as she tried to put it into words.
“We’ve gone on a date, yes, and I enjoy spending time with him, but…”

“But?” Harry prompted, giving her an expectant look.

With a sigh, she let her shoulders drop. “No. We’re not.”

She could acknowledge that she was developing genuine feelings for Draco, and their tentative
bond was a far cry from what it had been six months before, but she still couldn’t put a name to
what was between them. No matter how many times he pulled her in for a kiss or offered to stay
the night at her flat, their relationship was still a tangled mess of emotions. At the end of the day,
Hermione knew that the only reason they were even considering a physical relationship was
because of the baby. It was the catalyst that brought them together, and she couldn’t be sure that
his sense of obligation and duty wasn’t the only thing driving him to try to make it work.

There were so many things she had grown to care for when it came to him; his studious care that he
took with his professional responsibilities, his attention to detail when remembering her constantly
shifting cravings, his timeliness and how he ensured she never had to wait for him, or his patience
when she insisted on researching every available detail in regards to baby products, even if it
meant purchasing something new instead of using one of his priceless heirloom pieces. She’d even
come to love the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, when something like
amusement would light up his grey eyes and he would try to suppress his grin when her hair would
grow a little bit wild by the end of the work day. But the one thing that stopped her from believing
it could be something else? He never spoke of his feelings. He wanted to help her, yes, and he’d
given her a myriad of compliments, but that was where it ended. Physical affection aside, she
couldn’t be sure there was anything concrete between them without knowing how he felt about her
, and not just the unfortunate circumstance in which they’d found themselves.

It would take longer than a few months to sort it all out, and right now, they didn’t have the time.

“Exactly. It’s not going to matter how hard he’s been trying to make things right if you aren’t really
together. From the outside, it’s going to look like he’s the one who doesn’t want it. That he’s
spurning you because you’re a muggleborn, and that he would rather break tradition than marry
you. That he got you pregnant and left you desolate.”

Hermione gasped. “They wouldn’t. ”

Harry’s response was a shrug. “With his status, he’s going to be expected to do the right thing and
adhere to tradition. Even Molly said so, when Ginny told her that you two didn’t plan on getting
married. I would imagine he probably expects it to happen as well.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s absolutely ridiculous. There’s no way. And so what if the Prophet prints a
bunch of lies disguised as news? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You’re right. But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy for him to deal with.”

She sighed again. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

“Me either,” he said with a slight grin. “But it’s really only because I’m worried about you. I’m not
saying you should marry him, because Merlin, I really don’t want to deal with him during the
holidays, but you should at least be ready for the potential fallout. It’s not going to be easy.”
 “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but I appreciate your concern. And your support.”

“Anytime.” Harry’s grin grew into a genuine smile. “Now, didn’t you say something about
wanting ice cream the other day? We should pop out for a bit and go grab some from
Fortescue’s.”

The thought of ice cream had Hermione sitting up, fully alert. Despite stocking her freezer full for
the last few weeks, she couldn’t seem to get enough. And to consider knocking off work early? She
could only blame the hormones.

“Only if we talk about your case file on the way there,” she agreed, lifting herself slowly from her
chair. “Oh, and one more thing—please don’t tell Draco you agree with him.”

Harry joined her by the door, an amused look on his face. “That’s a given. But I do have to ask…
What was the bet?”

Chapter End Notes

As always, feel free to stop by my tumblr to say hello.

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

TWENTY NINE WEEKS

The Daily Prophet headline was practically screaming at her.

A GOLDEN BLESSING: HERMIONE GRANGER EXPECTING!

Well-known war heroine Hermione Granger was recently spotted out and about in Diagon Alley
sporting a well-developed baby bump, confirming ongoing rumors that she is expecting. Although
sighted with her friend and former childhood beau Harry Potter, a source close to Mr. Potter
confirms that he is still happily paired with Harpies Chaser Ginny Weasley. The final third of the
Golden Trio, Ron Weasley, is said to be traveling for business to expand the Weasleys’ Wizard
Wheezes empire into the North American market. Miss Granger was in an ongoing relationship
with Mr. Weasley after the war, and whispers have begun swirling that the two could have
rekindled their old flame as adults. Since Miss Granger was not available for comment we’ll be left
to wonder for just a little bit longer on who the mystery father is, but time will tell!

Hermione sighed and tossed it into the trash, on top of the other seven copies she’d snagged from
various desks on her way in. It was all rubbish, and it belonged in the bin.

She’d known that it would only be a matter of time until it became public news, and her trip to
Fortescue’s had almost gone unnoticed until the very end, when Harry had to help her up from her
seat. Hand on her back, stomach no longer hidden by the table, it was clear. Seven months along
was more than a bump, and the warmth of the afternoon meant that she hadn’t wanted to bring her
heavy robes to cover up. Unfortunately for their luck, a reporter had been nearby. But what was
even worse was that the editor had waited until Monday morning to run the story, making sure that
every newsstand was splashed with the same looping photograph of Hermione wincing as she tried
to stand without toppling over.

Former beau. Rekindled flame. Ugh. She had dated plenty of other men between the end of her
relationship with Ron and her one night stand with Draco, but the writers at the Prophet didn’t
seem to care about them. A small kernel of doubt buried itself into the back of her mind, seeing
now how sensational the papers had made the news of her pregnancy. Could Harry be right? What
would happen when the world found out it was Draco’s?

All the jokes she’d made in the past about the papers now seemed sour and unseemly. Hermione
knew it wasn’t a matter of if the truth came out , but rather when, and she could only hope that he
was wrong.

THIRTY WEEKS

The exam room in the pregnancy ward at St. Mungo’s was painted a calming shade of powdered
lilac, but it did nothing to sooth the rampant anxiety that had Hermione feeling like she was stuck
in a full-body bind. Her neck was stiff from keeping her shoulders hunched over while trying to
slog through her work, and her palms had grown perpetually sweaty over the last several weeks.
Combined with growing tension in her lower back, and the fact that none of her clothes seemed to
fit anymore, it began to feel like she had a countdown clock ticking over her head.
She was running out of time.

She’d been studiously avoiding her boss since their stunted conversation about her taking an early
pregnancy leave, and had instead been working through the backlog of cases in her file cabinet that
had gone untouched for years. Cases that needed a different set of eyes, ones that needed new
interviews conducted, and others that simply warranted more research but the department didn’t
have the manpower for. If she couldn’t convince her boss that she could handle everything on her
plate, she would prove it to him instead.

Her work days had gone from long to even longer, and her stress ballooned even more when Draco
started to hesitate on helping her finish the nursery. His own schedule was keeping him busy, and
he hadn’t had the time to come to her flat in weeks. The furniture was ready, at least, with her old
desk and spare bookshelf pressed up against one wall and the matching mahogany crib, changing
table, and dresser arranged against the opposite end. His mother had insisted Hermione take the
rocking chair she’d used with Draco as an infant, to which she readily agreed, but that was it. Any
time she brought up painting the walls or asked for his opinion on framed photographs, he found
himself being called to another meeting or absentmindedly changing the subject. After she blew up
at him and threw a book in his direction, she’d stopped bringing it up.

The man in question was sitting beside her, long limbs stretched out in the chair beside the exam
table she was currently laying on. He was the picture of stillness as he stared off to the far wall, his
eyes narrowed in thought, the antithesis to her jittery, restless energy. Her foot was bouncing at the
end of the table, her shoulders and torso shifting as she positioned and repositioned herself to try to
get comfortable before the healer arrived.

“I was reading that muggles have invented some kind of device that lets them see inside a woman’s
stomach when she’s pregnant.”

The statement made her snap her head in his direction, and she winced when her hair got caught
under her shoulders, pulling tight on her scalp.

“What?” It wasn’t the most eloquent of follow up questions, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his
face. His features weren’t sneering or judgemental, but she was still surprised. Draco Malfoy,
reading about muggle technology? She knew he didn’t hold the same values he had when he was
younger, but she assumed he was indifferent at best. Not… curious.

“It’s impressive, really,” he continued, not bothering to acknowledge her shock or confusion.
“Considering they don’t have magic, I almost didn’t believe it at first. Have you seen one of those
machines?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. The change in subject was helping to distract her from her jangled
nerves, so she didn’t fight it. “They use it for other things as well, though, not just pregnancies.”

He hummed his approval. “Curious, but I suppose it isn’t that different from a diagnostic charm.
Does it show the same things?”

“Not to the same level of detail,” she admitted. “Though the principle is the same. Charms can
show more focused views, and isolate specific problems that you can’t see otherwise. Ultrasound
machines are more of a window into the body. Muggle doctors and specialists still need to
understand how to read the scans in order to find out what’s wrong.”

Before he could respond, the exam room door opened and a healer bustled in, her matching purple
robes fluttering around her. “Sorry for the wait, dear. Been a bit of a busy day in here! How about
we get started, then?”
The healer’s hurried demeanor instantly had Hermione on edge again. Without any preamble or
introduction, the woman pulled out her wand and swished it in the air above Hermione’s abdomen,
murmuring the diagnostic charm as she drew the spell.

“Oh! Would you look at that,” she said, smiling when the ball of light grew over Hermione’s
stomach. She was older, with happy laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, but Hermione froze,
unable to read her expression.

“What? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed, waving a hand toward Hermione like she was silly for asking. “Nothing to
worry about, loves.”

Draco sat forward, resting a hand on the table near Hermione’s. He didn’t take it, but she could
sense the growing tension in his body. “Then what is it?”

The words were spoken through his teeth, a sure sign of his impatience, but the woman was
unbothered.

“Just surprised, that’s all. Your chart said this was your 30 week mark, but if I didn’t know any
better, I’d say you were at least a few weeks ahead of that. Everything is looking very well
developed.”

Draco pressed his lips together, but failed to quiet his relieved chuckle. “Ever the overachiever.”

She slapped his hand in response.

With another flick of her wand, the light of the charm morphed, growing white as the healer peered
closer. “This… is your baby boy.”

Hermione gasped so hard the diagnostic charm shifted and flickered above her swollen stomach,
and the healer let out an amused giggle at her reaction.

“Go on, take a look,” she prompted.

Floating above her, lit by the glow of magic, was the outline of a baby.

Her son. Their son.

“Oh my gods.” Her words were barely a whisper, her eyes glued to the little profile in front of her.
The slight forehead and gentle slope of his nose, with two little lips and a tiny chin. No bigger than
her own hand, it looked like she could cradle his head in her palm. Next to his face was a blurry
shape, and when the healer flicked her wand again, it turned clear. A hand, fisted against his cheek.

“Look at that,” the healer admired. “Five little fingers.”

Five little fingers. Five little fingers. Five little fingers. Hermione’s mind looped through the words,
over and over again. Five. Little fingers. Fingers. Hands. A tiny nose.

Hermione felt her chest tighten, and she struggled to suck in enough air through her nose.

Five little fingers.

He was so small, so vulnerable, how would she be able to take care of something so fragile?

A cheek, pressed into his own fist.

She could feel sweat beginning to bead against her temples, heat flushing through her neck and
chest. Why was it suddenly so warm in the exam room?

Five little fingers.

She had survived so much, but this… This would be more than anything she’d ever experienced
before. The memories of torture and the brutality of war was nothing in comparison to the terror
that was blooming in her chest, cold and heavy, threatening to drag her down. How could she
protect something so small from the horrors of the world? How could she keep him safe?

The smallest nose she’d ever seen.

She let out a choked sound, barely registering the weight of something on her shoulders, but it
wasn’t until the diagnostic charm disappeared that she let her eyes fall shut. They were wet—why
were they wet?

Five little fingers.

Voices echoed around her, but she couldn’t hear quite what they were saying over the sound of her
own breathing. Underneath each breath, she could feel her veins pulsing in her fingertips. In her
feet. In her ears.

Small, delicate ears.

How could she do this? How could they do this?

Five little fingers.

“ Hermione.” She felt the warm press of hands against her cheeks, and her chest shuddering with
her labored breaths. A deep voice was whispering into her ear, pulling her body into theirs until she
was resting against the firm support of a chest. Draco. “Hermione, look at me. It’s okay. I’m here,
I’m with you.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t. It wasn’t okay, none of this was okay. She was drowning, desperate,
gasping for air, and the palms against her cheek were the only things keeping her anchored to
reality.

“How—” she choked. “I can’t—we can’t—”

“We can, ” Draco soothed, moving his fingers to her hair, stroking her scalp with a light touch. “Do
you remember what Potter said? If anyone can do this, it’s you. And I’m here, love. I won’t let you
fail.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, a fresh wave of tears tightening her throat and stinging her eyes. The
weight of what was in front of them finally set in—they were having a child. A real, human being,
who would be totally and utterly dependent on the two of them for survival.

It was all too much.

She thought of a baby, screaming and red faced in one arm while she balanced her ever growing
stack of work in another. Of the mountains of memos and case files that covered her desk at work,
waiting for her return, uncaring and unaware of the whims of a needy infant. She thought of her
flat, and the thin walls that didn’t dampen any noise. The already too-small rooms that would soon
be filled with baby toys and clothes and blankets that she didn’t have room for.
He continued, lowering his voice until it was barely a murmur. “I’ll be there for you, Granger, no
matter what. If you want to go back to work immediately, I’ll be the best stay at home father
you’ve ever seen. I’ll do nothing but dote on our child while you take over the Ministry with your
wand hand tied behind your back. I’ll bring him to your office at lunch just to make everyone
jealous of how beautiful and perfect our child is. I’ll take care of everything for you both. You’ll
never want for anything, as long as you’ll let me.”

An image of him flashed before her eyes; him standing in a pressed suit in the middle of her office,
cradling an infant in his arms. Would he, really? The thought of it loosened some of the anxiety
that was strangling her.

“You—” she hiccuped. “You would?”

They had only discussed it in general terms, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of their
blossoming relationship with talks of custody or shared visitation.

“Of course I would.” His chest shifted as he huffed out a sigh, as if it was the most obvious thing in
the world. “You’ve been dead set on returning to work, haven’t you? I told you we would make it
work.”

Hermione let out another sob. He had , but she hadn’t realized how far he was willing to go.

“Did you really think I would leave you to it, alone? That I would be lounging around at the manor,
doing fuck all while you handled everything by yourself?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was choked and watery.

“No, I don’t suppose so,” she sniffed, reaching up to finally wipe away the streaks of tears that wet
her cheeks. She realized, belatedly, that Draco was practically sitting on the exam table with her,
and he had pulled her torso into his to cradle her in his arms. The healer was gone.

She knew he wanted to help, and that he’d volunteered to do whatever she needed, but it wasn’t
until that moment that she realized exactly what he meant. Maybe it was because she was still
getting to know him, truly getting to see the side of himself that she didn’t know existed, but the
extent of his care and dedication was nothing short of surprising.

“You keep forgetting that you aren’t alone,” he spoke the words into her hair, pressing a light kiss
to her scalp.

Leaning into his embrace, she willed herself to relax. Her hands were shaking and her breathing
was more of a steady pant, but it was better.

“I’m sorry.”

He tightened his arms around her. “I think we should call the healer back to see if we can get your
hearing checked. I don’t know how many times I can tell you these things before I drive myself
insane.”

She felt her lips pull into a watery smile. “Maybe that’s my strategy. Ignore you until you
inevitably give up on me.”

“You should know by now that I’m much too stubborn to admit defeat so easily. My days of losing
to Gryffindors are long over, I assure you.”

“I’m sure Harry would beg to differ,” she teased, though her stomach fluttered at his proclamation,
and she settled her hands above her navel. She couldn’t quite tell if it was her reaction, or the
baby’s, but she wanted to disregard any of the lingering doubt she had about his motives, even if
her overly-rational brain couldn’t quite believe it.

When he responded, she could hear the exaggerated disgust in his voice. “Don’t bring Potter into
this. You’re ruining a beautiful moment.”

“Oh hush.” When she poked him in the ribs, he only laughed.

Draco pulled away after a moment to look her in the eye, and his hands drifted to her shoulders. He
swept his fingers under the collar of her robes, digging into the tense muscles with a slight amount
of pressure. Without letting herself second guess it, she leaned her head back onto his chest and
wrapped her arms around his waist, trapping him in a loose hug while he massaged the tension
from her neck. Gods, he smells good. It was hard to remember that his cologne was the same one
that almost made her sick all those months ago. Now? She wanted to bask in all of it—his touch
against her bare skin, the feel of his body against hers, and the smell of his robes wrapped around
her like a cocoon. There, she could be safe from it all.

“That feels good,” she spoke into his abdomen, the words muffled. “Can I bribe you to do that
forever? I can pay you with my sparkling personality. Maybe even give you that son you’ve always
wanted.”

His hands paused, squeezing her lightly, and his voice was hoarse and choked. “I hate to break it to
you, but I think what you’re getting at sounds a lot like a marriage.”

Mortification filled her, and she pulled away, letting her hands drop back to her stomach. “Draco,
I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Her face flushed hot, but he stopped her with a quick shake of his head. When he smiled, it didn’t
quite reach his eyes. “I know, Granger. Don’t worry about it, I was only joking.”

Her throat caught, and a fresh wave of tears stung at the back of her eyes. Was that what it would
be like to be married to him? she wondered, her chest filling with an unfamiliar sort of yearning. It
settled like a deep ache in her bones, filling her with so much want it felt like she could float away.
It wasn’t anything she’d ever felt with any man she’d been with before, and with his hands
anchoring her down, she wanted to reach out and grab him again in return. To dig her fingers into
him as deeply as he had his own in her, because she was growing so attached to him that she wasn’t
sure what would happen if he ever decided to walk away. Even with his promises not to, the
thought of it made her heart seize.

Is this… No. She couldn’t let herself think about it. Not now, in the middle of St. Mungo’s, fresh
off a panic attack.

“I’m sorry, the hormones have me going mad.” She motioned to the wetness gathering in her
lashes. “I should get back to work before I start crying again.”

“Are you sure?” Draco’s brows were pulled tight with concern, his eyes focused on hers. “You
don’t have to rush back. Maybe you should take the afternoon.”

When his gaze started to feel too heavy, she nodded. “It’ll help me feel more normal, I promise.”

“You’re going to work yourself to death,” he said, unconvinced. “And the worst part is, you don’t
have to.”

Frustration began to bubble up through the aching cracks in her chest. He didn’t get it. She did
have to—she would always have to. It wasn’t about the money, or her salary, or her too-small flat.
As a young girl, she was desperate to prove herself, to make a spot for her existence in a world that
thought she was lesser than, just because of her parentage. She had to prove that she was the best,
that she belonged, that she fit. Then, in an effort to do the right thing and make sure all the other
witches and wizards just like her could survive the war too, she’d built up a reputation that would
follow her forever. She was the Golden Girl, Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of Her Age. War
Heroine. Savior.

And just like she didn’t always know how to ask for help, she didn’t know how to fail, either.
Maybe that was her biggest issue, and it didn’t just apply to her work or her personal life. Perhaps it
applied to him, too.

“I won’t give up just because of a little stress.”

Draco’s frustrated sigh was palpable. “At least let me walk you back, then.”

The Ministry was just a few blocks away, and the fresh air would help to clear any remaining
anxiety from her system. “Okay,” she agreed, letting him help her off the exam table.

They’d arrived separately, her taking the short walk during her lunch break, with Draco using the
visitor’s Floo in the lobby of the hospital. With a light touch to her back, he guided her through the
waiting areas and back toward the front door.

“So your birthday is coming up,” he said, a tentative note in his voice. “Any chance I could
convince you to let me take you out again?”

She cringed. “I think Theo is already planning something. He’d kill us if we skipped.”

“Ah, right,” he paused to settle his hand on her back more firmly as he opened the door for her,
stepping back just slightly to make room for her to move ahead.

“Not that I wouldn’t like to.” If he was angling for another date, she couldn’t let the opportunity
pass by, even if it only meant they would finally talk about what they both wanted. “Perhaps we
could—”

A flash of light blinded her as soon as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, followed by a quick pop.
Then another, and a third.

“Hermione! Is this the father?”

She blinked rapidly, trying her hardest to clear her vision, and she felt Draco’s body stiffen behind
hers. His hand was still on her back, fingers curled into the fabric of her maternity robes, and he
instinctively moved to shield her.

“Hermione!” the voice called again. There was another flash of light, and a fourth pop. “Care to
provide a comment for the Prophet on your relationship with Draco Malfoy? Was this planned?”

Realization dawned in her stomach, cold and heavy. Oh, Gods. It was a reporter. Her mouth was
dry, and no response came to her mind quick enough.

“There will be no comment whatsoever,” Draco snapped, moving forward several steps. “Now
unless you want to pick up that camera in pieces from the pavement, I would suggest you leave. ”

His voice was deadly, dropping down to a tenor that she’d never heard from him before. It sent
goosebumps across her skin and she watched through the last of the spots in her eyes as the
reporter blanched. He was an older man, with pallid-looking skin and mousy brown hair, and he
cradled his camera against his chest and backed away several steps.

“ Now. ”

The reporter didn’t waste any time scurrying away, disappearing around a nearby building before
Draco could pull out his wand or summon any more threats. Hermione glanced back at him,
noticing how the rapid rise and fall of his chest was in direct conflict with the strained stillness of
his posture. In that moment, she realized just how different he was from any other man she’d
known. He didn’t grab his wand or try to make some kind of diversion so she could hide until the
reporter got bored—no, he stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body and his broad
shoulders, and used every ounce of power he had to make it known what he wanted and how he
wanted it.

He is magnificent.

“Fucking reporters,” Draco muttered to himself, finally turning his full attention back to her. “I
should have come to check before we left. I know they were hounding you the other week. It was
careless of me.”

Is he sorry because he doesn’t want the truth to come out that the baby is his? She was ashamed
by the sudden thought.

“It’s fine. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. Thanks for getting rid of him,” she said, forcing a
smile. “Let’s just go, in case there’s any more reporters hanging around.”

As they walked back to the Ministry, Draco kept his hands off her completely. No hand to steady
her back, no offered arm for her to hold on to, and she felt the lack of his touch like a missing
limb.

Unlike the news of her pregnancy, the Prophet didn’t waste any time with the follow up story. The
next morning, in bold, black ink, was the confirmation of Harry’s warning and Hermione’s worst
fear.

FORMER DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY SHUNS GOLDEN GIRL GRANGER

Although news of Hermione Granger’s pregnancy was formally announced and confirmed several
weeks ago, news is now breaking that the father is none other than “reformed” Death Eater and
heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Malfoy. The two were spotted leaving St. Mungo’s pregnancy
ward together, and a source at the hospital has officially confirmed that they were attending Miss
Granger’s follow-up visit together.

With the verification of parentage, editors at the Prophet have also confirmed that although Mr.
Malfoy comes from a well-known and slightly infamous pureblood family, there is no marriage
contract or application on file with the Ministry of Magic. This comes as a surprise, as many
traditional pureblood families still require formal marriage contracts for any children born, which
begs the question—has Mr. Malfoy shunned the mother of his child, and why? Has his act of
reformation been a ruse? Does he still hold the antiquated ideals of his father, who is currently
serving a life sentence in Azkaban? Or does patriarch Lucius Malfoy still hold the reins to the
young Mr. Malfoy’s life, and is forbidding a pureblood and muggleborn union?

With a pairing like this it is no surprise that we, at the Prophet, are left with more questions. Stay
tuned for the weekend issue as we search for more clues to unearth this breaking story.
Chapter End Notes

I know things are starting to get bumpy and Hermione's behavior has been a tad
frustrating for a lot of you, but I promise I have my reasons and they will get their
HEA.

As always, feel free to stop by my tumblr to say hello.

 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

THIRTY ONE WEEKS

Even though Pansy had moved from her family’s estate after the war and purchased her own
country home in Wiltshire, it was still bigger and more grand than Hermione figured one person
might need. Standing tall at three stories high, the exterior was covered in a combination of
decorative stone and creeping ivy, with an enclosed courtyard that was bigger than her entire flat.
Which, coincidentally, was exactly where Pansy insisted they throw the baby shower.

“We can open up the french doors on either side, and people can mingle as they please,” Pansy said
as she gave them the grand tour. “Hors d'oeuvres will be inside, and Narcissa and I have already
arranged for a champagne service. The waiters will be—”

Ginny’s hushed whisper in her ear cut off the rest of Pansy’s plan. “Blink twice and I’ll apparate
us out before she even knows what’s happened.”

“Shh.” Hermione rolled her lips between her teeth to hold back her laugh. “She’d just hunt us down
and bring us back at wandpoint,” she whispered back.

“I’ll do worse than that if you two don’t learn some manners,” Pansy threatened, pausing just long
enough to check her nails. “Now, over here we’ll have the table set up for gifts, except for the
traditional mother and father gifts that you’ll exchange in private at the end of the party. The main
events will be in the south sitting room, since it’s got the best views of the garden in the back—”

Ginny made an exaggerated face behind Pansy, scrunching her features up into something horrific
and pained until Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Pansy studiously ignored them,
continuing on with her tour as if she was entertaining the Queen.

Across the courtyard, Narcissa was standing next to Draco, studying a trunk full of fabric. They
were either napkins or tablecloths, and Hermione couldn’t be bothered to figure out which. Surely it
doesn’t matter that much.

Ginny noticed her wandering attention and gasped, reaching out to clutch Hermione’s arm in a tight
grip.

“Pansy,” Ginny practically spat her name, nodding toward Draco and Narcissa with her chin.
“What in Merlin’s beard is that?”

“What?” Pansy shrugged, looking much too innocent. “It’s just the table linens, that’s all.”

Ginny’s neck flushed red, an obvious sign of her temper rising. “We agreed that the colors would
be purple and gold—”

“No,” Pansy cut her off, raising her finger between them. “You wouldn’t shut up about it and then
I stopped responding. It’s not my fault you mistook my silence for acceptance.”

“But it’s tradition!” Ginny squawked.

“It’s hideous, and I refuse to have my home sullied with such poor taste—”
While their argument escalated, Hermione edged away. It didn’t take long to reach Draco and
Narcissa, who paused at the sudden commotion. One glance down at Narcissa’s hands confirmed
Ginny’s ire—the linens were not gold and purple, but white and silver. Apparently, she was wrong.
It very much did matter what color the napkins would be.

“I’m not sure what to do with this one,” she confessed, giving Narcissa a hopeful look.

Unfazed, Narcissa handed off the napkins to Draco and gathered the skirts of her robes. “Ahh, yes,
I was wondering if this would be an issue. Perhaps one of you could go and check the kitchens to
see if the sample hors d'oeuvres are ready? I do think that would be a welcome distraction.”

Without waiting for a response, she glided across the courtyard and settled between Pansy and
Ginny. “Girls, let’s not get too worked up…”

Hermione watched, fascinated, as Ginny’s mouth snapped closed. When Narcissa placed a gentle
hand on her arm, Hermione could see the restraint painted across her freckled brow—she wanted to
rip it out of Narcissa’s grip, but she didn’t. Ginny was trying, despite her constant fighting with
Pansy.

Hermione’s amusement sobered, sinking down into something much more somber when she
registered the silence beside her. She could use a lesson or two from Ginny.

“How have you been?” She turned her head toward Draco, who was studiously inspecting the
threadcount of the napkins in his hand. He’d been distant for the past week, only stopping by her
office once in between meetings, and hadn’t made any coy excuses to come to her flat, either.

Not since the Prophet article was published. Harry’s warning had come true—the press were
vilifying Draco, digging up details on his past and happily publishing all sorts of exposés about his
actions during the war and his pureblood-only dating history. They painted Hermione as a woman
scorned, and Draco as the ruthless son of his father, desperate to preserve a tainted family legacy.

It was all rubbish, and it was made worse by the fact that none of the editors would respond to her
owls demanding a redaction with the proper information. They didn’t care—they only wanted to
sell papers.

Her own guilt over not seeing the writing on the wall was eating at her, made worse by Draco’s
prickly insistence on keeping his distance. How could she apologize for being so blind if he
wouldn’t give her ten minutes alone? Every owl she sent him was returned delayed, with scribbled
letters full of excuses about his busy schedule. She was trying , but for once she wasn’t sure what
the right next step was. Any time she considered her next move, her throat would seize tight with
anxiety—but she owed it to him to be there for him, even when she might not know how he would
react.

“Busy,” Draco’s response was polite, but clipped. “I’d better go check on that food before Pansy
pulls her wand.”

He was already several strides away before Hermione could catch up; she’d need to follow him
closely just so she wouldn’t get lost. “I’ll come with.”

It only took a few moments of silence for him to cast a concerned look in her direction, his eyes
guarded as he took in her features. “I saw the articles in the papers this week… Have you been all
right?”

A sinking feeling filled her abdomen and slowed her steps, and she reached out to place her hand
on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’re the one getting torn apart by the Prophet and you’re asking me if I’m okay? Draco—that’s
absurd.”

“I’m fine.” He refused to look at her. “I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Struggling to keep her voice down, she stepped closer to him. This
wasn’t the place to have a fight, and they both knew it.

“There wasn’t anything you could do, Granger.”

“But we could’ve made a plan— together! We could have made a formal announcement or taken
control of the news before—”

He shook his head, his mouth growing pinched. “It wouldn’t have mattered. They would’ve come
to the same conclusion no matter what. What’s happened between us isn’t—it isn’t how things are
done in my world. Having me by your side wouldn’t have helped anything, just like it won’t now.”

“So you have been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question. If he’d known this was going to happen,
then… Suddenly, his avoidance made sense. “Do you think that if you put distance between us it’ll
make this go away faster?”

He shook his head, but his features were still too composed. She was starting to be able to
recognize his tells; his practiced expression seemed blank, but the signs were there if one knew
how to look close enough. There was a touch of tightness in his jaw that otherwise blended into his
sharp features, and his blinking was steady—long and slow, like he was counting them in time with
his breaths.

“I’m not—my mother has been requesting me more at the Manor so we can clear out the south
wing. It’s long overdue, especially with my father gone. I’d like to make sure it’s done before the
baby arrives.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That had him breathing out a laugh, but it was short lived. “I think there’s more than a few things
you don’t believe me on, so you should be used to it by now. I don’t appreciate the gossip those
papers spew as legitimate news. I know how quickly it can spin out of control.”

“Draco.” She mustered her best smile and let her hand track down his arm until she felt her palm in
his. Knotting their fingers together, she squeezed with as much strength that she could manage.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know before, but…. You need to realize that I’m not worried about it. I don’t
care what they say—you’re not that man, and if the papers don’t want to believe it, it shouldn’t
matter. I know who you are, and I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. So what if we’re not
married? We have each other, don’t we?”

It wasn’t until the words left her mouth that she realized how true they really were. She might not
have chosen Draco at first, but now, after everything? She wasn’t about to let him go, even if their
relationship didn’t have a name or a defined set of parameters. For once, she wasn’t going to let
herself worry about it, either—they could worry about the sticky details later.

“I don’t want to make things worse for you, that’s all.”

His eyes were still closed off, and the flatness in his tone had her chest filling with a strange sort of
pain that she wasn’t familiar with. It felt like a deep ache, the between her breasts feeling empty
and hollow, and she brushed it away. Not now, she resolved. She needed to focus on him, for once,
and make sure that he was okay. It wouldn’t do for either of them to ruminate on their situation in
the middle of Pansy’s entry hall, either. If he was worried this would change things between them,
she needed to show him that it would take more to shake her than a false headline.

“I don’t know about worse, but I think it’s a bit late to worry about anything of the sort, don’t
you?” She patted her growing stomach with her free hand and gave him a wide smile, the same one
that Harry and Ron used to say made her look unhinged. “Now, I wouldn’t mind stealing some of
those snacks before we take them out to the courtyard, if you don’t mind.”

He squinted down at her, eyeing her warily.

“I’m so hungry,” she continued, trying her best to sound pathetic. “And so, so pregnant.”

Finally, his lips pulled into a begrudging smile, and he tugged on her hand to finish leading her
down the hall.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, uncaring. “Whatever it takes.”

He didn’t respond after that, and in the companionable silence of their walk she resolved to push
him a little further. If he was under the impression that his presence was a hindrance to her life, she
would need to show him that it was the opposite—she had grown so used to him around that she
was starting to crave the sight of him, despite her own surprise at the development. She thought
about him almost constantly: when he wasn’t lounging in her office chair, bothering her while she
tried to work, or the absence of him stepping through her floo unannounced so he could inspect her
kitchen cabinets to make sure she had plenty of suitable dinner options. And his kisses? She
blushed at the thought, feeling her heartbeat beginning to quicken. If she was starting to crave his
presence, then she was absolutely addicted to the feel of his lips against hers.

She let the thought ruminate as they continued walking, and once they reached the archway into
the kitchen she pulled him back, tugging on his hand until he turned to face her.

“There’s one more thing I need from you, though,” she said, struggling to keep her face serious.

“Oh? And what’s that?” His eyes shaded with suspicion, and he stepped back to gauge her next
move.

“A kiss, please.” When her lips curled into a coy smile, he didn’t waste any time obliging her
request.

THIRTY TWO WEEKS

“No, no no—that can’t be right,” Theo argued, leaning over the large wooden table in the kitchen
of Grimmauld Place. He’d had a decent amount to drink, and although the festivities of Hermione’s
birthday party had begun to wind down, there was still a decent crowd mingling through the house.
“If I go back in time and die, do I cease to exist completely, having never been born? Or do I
simply die, then go on to be born, destined to complete the loop over again? It could be either,
depending on your school of thought, but one has to wonder, does it depend on the type of time
travel? If it’s the former, could the magical device be infused with some kind of property to keep it
from altering future timelines? Think of the implications!”

“Shite, Theo, shut up already.” Pansy balled up a napkin and tossed it at his head. He attempted to
catch it, hand swiping wildly in the air, but he was several moments too slow. It smacked him in
the face then fell into his lap, and he snatched it back to wave it at Pansy like a taunt.

“I will not, and just for that, I’ll keep going—”

“I need more to drink if I’ve got to listen to your mad ramblings any more. Does anyone need a
refill? More wine?” Standing from the table, Pansy offered. Ginny and Harry sat at one end,
looking sleepy from the full night of festivities. Draco sat next to her, his thigh firmly aligned with
her own, while he spoke in quiet tones with Blaise on the other side. At the opposite end, Ron sat
with his date, Lavender Brown, while Luna showed Neville the latest issue of the Quibbler over
near the fireplace. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were poking about somewhere else in the
house with George, likely setting some kind of trap for Ron or Harry to find later in the evening.

When several people nodded, she lifted her chin in Hermione’s direction. “Granger, come with. I
could use a hand.”

“I’ve got it,” Ginny cut in, waving Hermione off before she could stand. “It’s her birthday, she
shouldn’t—”

“I said Granger, ” Pansy snapped. When the table fell silent, she sent Hermione a sharp look.

Draco chuckled from beside her, immediately pushing his chair back to offer her a hand up.
“You’d better go, then.”

At eight months pregnant, she felt huge. Moving quickly was becoming a chore, and it was almost
impossible for her to stand or get out of bed without some kind of assistance. She squeezed his
hands as she stood, making sure she was steady on her feet, but Draco pulled her right hand to his
lips when she moved to step away. After their brief talk at Pansy’s house, he’d reverted back to his
normal affection, making sure to kiss her and touch her whenever the opportunity presented itself.
He was touchier than she ever expected him to be, seeming to prefer keeping a hand on her at all
times if he could manage it.

She didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I’ll give you ten minutes before I come check on you to make sure you’re both still alive in
there.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, grinning at the way her cheeks bloomed red.

“Make it five.” She widened her eyes for effect, then started the slow journey around the table and
into the next room where Harry and Ginny had set up the bar cart for her party.

Pansy slowed her steps, then offered her arm once Hermione caught up. They walked together like
they were taking a leisurely stroll through the property, and not like Pansy had forcibly accosted
her to be her pack mule.

“Did you really need my help?” Hermione asked once they stepped through the threshold of the
sitting room, noticing the way Pansy’s posture was pin-straight.

At once, she dropped Hermione’s arm and wheeled to face her, her features twisting into something
panicked and slightly offended. “Of course not, you’re about ready to burst, Granger. I’m not a
sadist.”

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly, reaching out to calm Pansy like she might a rabid kneazle. “How
about you tell me what’s going on, then?”

Pansy wasn’t typically like this. She could be a bitch, yes, but this was more than that—the
alarmed look on her face had Hermione wondering if someone should lock the doors or windows,
just to keep Pansy from trying to flee before she could figure out what was wrong.

“Why the fuck— ” she lowered her voice to a hiss, “—didn’t anyone tell me that Longbottom got so
fucking fit?”

Hermione choked out a laugh, eyes going wide. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “What? Neville?”

She whirled around to look back into the kitchen, but Pansy dove to block her view. “Don’t you
dare look in there. I will break into that hovel you call a home and burn all of your books if you so
much as breathe a word of this to anyone.”

She punctuated the threat with her finger against Hermione’s breastbone. Hurrying back out of
sight of the party, Pansy paced, her fingers raising to smooth at the edges of her sleek black bob.

“This is ridiculous,” she continued. “What the fuck has he been doing? Wrestling dragons? What
happened to that chubby-faced boy who couldn’t get through potions class without stuttering and
falling off his stool? I was expecting that, not—not—whatever this is!”

Hermione watched as Pansy continued to get herself worked up. She had no answers, but it was
clear Pansy wasn’t looking for any. She needed an audience, that was all.

“I don’t know who went and told him it was okay to show up at Potter’s house looking like that—
seriously Granger, someone needs to tell the man that it’s inappropriate to show up for dinner with
your sleeves rolled up to your elbows. What does he think this is, a soup kitchen?”

“Mmmm,” Hermione hummed her non-agreement, dodging Pansy’s heels as she moved to the
stuffed armchair against the wall. She would need to settle in for this. “He’s taken over for
Professor Sprout at Hogwarts. He teaches Herbology now.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, her lips curling into exaggerated disgust. “Of course. This is ridiculous, you
know. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Keeping her tone light, Hermione rubbed at a sore spot on the underside of her stomach. “Pansy?
Are you… upset that you find Neville attractive?”

Pansy froze, her spine going straight again, and she turned toward Hermione with an unsettling sort
of stillness. Her dark eyes were wild, and she bared her teeth. “I do not.”

"Sure, sure." Hermione nodded, schooling her features into something that felt absurdly calm in
comparison to Pansy’s unhinged demeanor. “You know, I’m sure there’s still room on the guest
list for the baby shower. I could give him an invitation if you wanted.”

Pansy’s energy changed in the blink of an eye. “He wasn’t invited before?”

She frowned at Hermione’s shrug, moving to the bar cart to fulfill her original goal. “Seriously,
Granger, what kind of friend invites someone to their birthday but not their baby shower? Didn’t
anyone teach you any manners?”

“Is that a yes?”

Before she could answer, Draco stepped into the room, casting a hesitant look between the two of
them. “There’s no blood in here, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”

“Well?” Hermione ignored him.

Pansy paused, her arms laden with bottles of Firewhisky and wine. After a moment's consideration,
she gave her a curt nod and strode from the room without looking back.

“Do I want to know?” Draco asked, watching her retreating form.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione laughed. “Even if she didn’t threaten to burn all my books, I already
know better than to get on her bad side.”

“Speaking of,” he started, crossing to where she was sitting. “Now that we’re finally alone, I’d like
to give you your birthday gift, if you don’t mind.”

“Speaking of getting on Pansy’s bad side, or speaking of burning all my books? I have to say,
neither option sounds very appealing,” she questioned, smiling at him as he knelt in front of her.

He didn’t answer, and she watched, curious, as he pulled a small blue rectangle from the inner
pocket of his suit jacket. He tapped it with his wand, murmuring an enlargement spell, and her eyes
grew when she realized what he was holding in his palm. She would know that shape anywhere.

“You got me a book?” Her voice cracked, emotions welling inside her chest. She didn’t know what
she was expecting, really—something flashy maybe, something he spent too many galleons on that
she wouldn’t know what to do with.

His mouth lifted into a sheepish grin. “It’s not the most original gift, I know, but if you don’t want
it—”

Before he could even think about pulling it away, she snatched it from his fingers. Draco’s eyes
widened, and he gave her an amused look. “You might want to be a bit more careful with that, love.
Not many of them left.”

The warm spread of excitement at the idea of a new book came for her collection to a full stop, and
she froze. “Draco,” she said in warning. “What did you do?”

“Just unwrap it before you try to guess.”

With hesitant fingers, she pulled at the paper, pulling it back to reveal a hardcover book. It was
obviously an antique, with a faded green fabric cover and gold gilt letters that had chipped over
time. She lifted it to the light, squinting at the title on the spine, and gasped when it became clear.

“Draco— you shrank a first edition of Little Women?! ” she shrieked in horror, clutching it to her
chest.

His eyes lit up even further at her horror and he laughed, bringing his hand up to loosen her grip on
the cover. “Careful.”

“You be careful!” She pushed him away, batting at his shoulder. She couldn’t believe he used a
shrinking charm on a priceless edition of her favorite childhood book. “That was careless—and
reckless—and I can’t believe you would spend so much money on something just to risk shrinking
it—”

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging, and she blinked them away as she poked Draco’s chest.

“So you like it, then?” he asked, catching her hand and intertwining their fingers together.

“Of course I do!” She was weeping freely now, the pregnancy hormones mixing with her
annoyance at his lax attitude toward the book with her awe that he’d purchased her something so
meaningful. “Why would you—How did you even know?”

Hermione looked away from him long enough to glance back down at the cover, glassy tears
obscuring most of her vision. She and her mother had read it together when she was a child, lonely
and unhappy at her muggle school without any friends. They’d made their own book club of sorts,
with chapter discussions around the dinner table while her father looked on with amusement. It was
a book that taught her so many things—about life and death, family and love, and she shared it all
with her mother. She’d read it over and over again until the paperback fell apart at the spine, and it
was one of the few things she always made sure to tuck into the bottom of her school trunk when
she was packing to return to Hogwarts. That first year, when she wasn’t sure how well she fit in,
she would pull her muggle book out and close the curtains on her four-poster bed and pretend that
she was reading to catch up with her mum.

“You don’t remember?” Draco’s voice lifted her from the memory.

Setting the book aside, she wiped at her nose. “Remember what?”

“That night at the Leaky? When you went on that hour long tirade about it? I’m pretty sure my ears
were bleeding by the time you finished. Blaise fell asleep.”

“What are you talking about?” Was there something she’d missed? Had she told him about the
book?

Draco’s grin grew wider. “It was a few years ago, and we were probably out to celebrate
something or another—I don’t really remember what. I hadn’t spent much time with you at that
point, and I’m pretty sure Pansy dared you into taking shots of gin, but it backfired because you
ended up getting ridiculously drunk and went on a full lecture about the merits of some muggle
book called Little Women. ”

“I did not,” she argued. Okay, perhaps she had. It didn’t sound completely out of the realm of
possibilities, to be completely honest.

He laughed, shaking his head as he continued. “You did, and Theo was convinced it was actually
about a group of tiny, miniature women. He didn’t believe you when you told him otherwise. Then
he got very upset because of how boring it sounded, which made you absolutely furious. You were
magnificent that night. It was the first time I remember really seeing you.”

“Draco—” Another wave of tears overtook her, and she shook her head. “—you have no idea how
much this means to me. You can’t—this book—my mother and I—”

Her voice broke, and she hiccuped through a sob. She couldn’t breathe, the words getting lodged in
her throat, and when he held his arms out, she crawled from the chair and into his lap without a
second thought. He wrapped them around her, uncaring that she was pregnant or that they were on
the floor, and held her tight as she cried through the overwhelming emotion. It was the most
thoughtful gift she’d ever been given, but for as much happiness and gratitude that she was feeling,
there was an equal weight of grief and loss.

She would never be able to share it with her mother again. It was something she knew well
enough, and had come to terms with years before, but the reminder of it felt like a knife cutting
open an old wound.

“I know,” he said gently, cradling her. “You mentioned your mother that night too. I didn’t know
then that you hadn’t gotten her memories back, and ever since I’ve been wondering what I could
get for you that you might be able to share with our child instead. To carry on her legacy.”
 She broke, completely and utterly, sobbing in his arms. For a man that she’d never considered
before, he was constantly surprising her. How he knew to be as thoughtful or attentive, she would
never know, but she vowed in that moment—she would never take advantage of him again.

Finally, her tears subsided and her shuddered breathing evened out, and she glanced up at him from
her place tucked into his chest. “I can’t believe that you remembered that. I don’t think I ever
would have known that even happened.”

His gaze was on the far wall, lost in thought, and he shrugged like it was nothing. “I remember a
lot about you, Granger. We might not have been friends just yet, but you still made an
impression.”

She didn’t know what to say, and instead settled back into his chest, absentmindedly tracing a
button on his shirt. “I know everyone came to see me tonight and they’re all still out there, but I
think I’d like for you to take me home now.”

Finally, he looked back down at her, his grey eyes gone warm. “I think I could manage that. Since
it is your birthday, after all.”

Chapter End Notes

Feel free to come say hi on tumblr.

 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The key looked ridiculous in her palm. Silly, even, considering it was technically useless. With her
floo and the wards set up around her flat, she didn’t need a key to her front door. She hadn’t even
used it since the day she took a tour of the property.

But it wasn’t the functionality she needed—it was the symbol of it.

Both Pansy and Ginny insisted that it was wizarding tradition for an expecting mother and father to
exchange gifts with each other before the baby’s arrival. It was a rite of passage, they stressed, for
each person to gift the other with something meaningful before embarking on the next stage of
their lives together. Even if they weren’t married.

And as much as Hermione protested, both of them insisted on building in time to the day’s agenda
so that she and Draco could have some privacy for their exchange. It had taken her weeks to
compile a list of appropriate gifts for him, because really—what did you buy for a man that had the
power to purchase whatever he wanted?

It wasn’t until she started considering what he couldn’t purchase that she realized the perfect gift. It
was small, really, so much smaller than the priceless antique copy of Little Women that he’d gifted
her with for her birthday, but the meaning came from the gesture.

Live with me, it asked. Help me, and be with me, and stay by my side as we navigate whatever this
is between us and our newfound family.

I want you, it said. Even in my tiny shoebox flat, when I know you’ll complain about my too-small
shower and the expired cans of soup in my pantry. In my regular, normal bed without silk sheets.
Waiting for me with our son as I step through the floo after a long day at the Ministry.

It might’ve been just a key, but it was so much more.

“Granger?” Draco’s voice rang through her apartment, startling her at his arrival. She hadn’t even
heard the floo. Quickly stuffing the key into her bag, she hung it from her shoulder and stepped out
of her bedroom to find him peering down the hallway.

“I’m here,” she said, straightening the neckline of her maternity dress. It was an olive green piece
that Pansy had sent over that morning, still fresh in it’s garment bag, with a vaguely menacing note.

I have a second one on hand if you even think about showing up in something red.

To her credit, it was beautiful, with loose gauzy fabric and wide sleeves that looked more ethereal
than matronly. She’d only briefly considered showing up in something bright purple, just to see the
shocked horror on Pansy’s face.

“I see Pans got to you, too,” Draco said with a grin. His own suit was his standard black, but his tie
was the same color of her dress.

“We look like we’re going to prom,” she laughed, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

He gave her an inquisitive look, lifting an eyebrow. “Prom?”

“It’s like the muggle version of what we had in fourth year, with the Yule Ball. The boys wear suits
with ties that match their date’s dress. No dress robes though, just suits and tuxedos.”

His answer was a satisfied hum. “Does that mean you’re my date?”

When he held his hand out to her, she blushed. His eyes caught on the flush as it spread up and
across her chest, and his grin grew wider. “I’ll never get sick of how bashful you can be. It’s
cute.”

She slapped at his hand instead, passing him by to head to the floo.

“We’ll see how cute it is when I leave without you.”

He followed close after her, unfazed by the threat. “As if you would walk into that snake den
alone.”

Coming to a stop in front of the fireplace, she turned to give him an indifferent look. “I’m fairly
certain I’ve faced worse.”

“I’m not so sure.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Pansy and my mother are a lethal
combination. They had our wedding planned before I turned fifteen, you know. Linens, venue, the
entire thing.”

Hermione’s eyebrows lifted, slightly impressed. “It’s probably not too late.”

“Granger.” His growl was a warning, but she could only laugh. He stalked toward her, intent
burning in his eyes, but they caught on something just over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you liked
flowers.”

Turning her head, she spied the vase of pink aster flowers. The bouquet had just bloomed, and she
smiled at the sight of the delicate petals. “They were a gift from Theo. He sent them over this
morning.”

When she looked back at Draco, his features were smooth. Although there was no sign of irritation
on his face, a faint sense of warning brewed in her stomach.

“That was nice of him.”

It was the only thing he said before offering his arm and grabbing a handful of floo powder. Before
she could think of a proper response, he tossed the powder by their feet and directed them to
Pansy’s home. When they landed, the entryway was aflutter with activity. Waiters were rushing to
and from the kitchen, and guests mingled as a crew of hired house elves offered to take bags and
coats.

“Miss Parkinson requests that everyone begin in the courtyard,” one said, arms laden with outer
robes and purses.

“Draco—” She held his arm tighter as they stepped through, but she still wasn’t quite sure what to
say. “It’s fine. It was just a gift.”

He paused, reaching over to rest his free hand on top of hers. He loosened her grip before leaning
down to press a quick kiss to her cheek and gave her a light smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,
Granger. Don’t worry about it.”

She was definitely going to worry about—

“There you are!” Pansy’s shrill voice barked from the end of the hall. Her black bob was styled
sleek, not a hair out of place, and was clad in a grey dress. It might have looked drab on anyone
else, but the seams were sewn with a metallic silver thread, and the way it was tailored close to her
body made it apparent that she’d shelled out a decent amount of money for it. Between the
decorations, food, her dress and Hermione’s, it was clear that Pansy spared no expense.

Merlin, Hermione cringed. She wouldn’t be able to even begin to pay them back for this.

“Come on, come on,” Pansy urged, coming to grab Hermione by the elbow. “You’re the guest of
honor and you’re practically late.”

Hermione sputtered. They were perfectly on time. “I am not!”

She cast one last look at Draco as Pansy pulled her toward the courtyard, searching for him with a
pleading look, but he only gave her a teasing wave.

Traitor, she mouthed, but his entertained look disappeared when she was pulled around the corner.

“Now, I know you’ve probably memorized the schedule I sent you like the bookish swot you are,
so you should be aware that we’re already several minutes behind on greeting your guests.” Pansy
laced her arm through Hermione’s, giving her an affectionate pat on the hand.

“Pansy,” she said, already exasperated. The party had barely even started. “You said to be here at
10, and here we are.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, pulling her toward the back corner of the courtyard where there was a small
group of people gathered. There seemed to be more people here than she’d remembered inviting,
but she suppressed her frown.

“Every cultured woman knows that you should leave ample time for socializing, just in case your
chatty aunt or annoying cousin wont let you leave the conversation in a timely manner.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Pansy’s fingers
tightened on her arm in a light pinch. “Hey!”

“Ginny would’ve done it harder and we both know it. Let it serve as a reminder of just how much
better I am than she is, eh?”

“You two,” she grumbled in response. The worst part? Pansy was right—Ginny wouldn’t have
held back. Her pinches left black welts that lasted for days.

As they approached the first group of guests, Pansy’s face transformed into something light and
composed. “Hello! Thank you so much for coming.”

It was the beginning of what Hermione could only be described as a tour, where Pansy paraded her
through her home, arm in arm, while stopping to greet and chat with every guest. She even made it
a point to spend additional time with those that she knew Hermione had personally invited, no
matter how stunted the conversation. Molly and Arthur Weasley had eyed Pansy the entire time
with obvious suspicion, but she didn’t let it hinder her trained conversational skills in any way.

“I do think Andromeda wants to talk to Hermione, but please continue to help yourselves to the
refreshments. It was lovely to officially meet you—Ginny was such a help with the party, and I
couldn’t have done it without her.” Pansy gave them a quick curtsey, pointedly ignoring the way
Molly choked on her drink at the compliment.
When they were a few steps away, Hermione cast her an impressed look. “You’re terrifying, you
know that?”

“Darling,” Pansy laughed. “You’re just now realizing?”

On and on it went, for what felt like hours. Hermione’s feet were throbbing and her lower back
ached, but she held her strained smile the entire time, echoing Pansy’s generous thank-you’s for
their attendance and support of the baby. Around and around they moved, greeting friends and
family alike. Many of their old schoolmates had attended, as well as a surprising amount of Black
family relatives, but Draco had mysteriously disappeared. Finally, they approached the last bit of
guests who hadn’t been greeted—Neville and Luna—who both sat in the corner clutching a
handful of yellow roses. Luna was examining the petals closely, holding them up to the light for
invisible flaws, before nodding her approval.

“I can’t find a single wrackspurt in any of these flowers. You should ask Pansy what she uses in her
garden—they typically like to hide in the leaves so they can get to your ears when you lean
forward to smell them.”

“I believe the house elf that manages the garden uses coffee grounds, actually,” Pansy answered
with seamless grace. “For some of the flowers, at least.”

With a quick glance, Hermione noticed that Pansy’s dark eyes were trained directly on Luna.
Outwardly, Pansy was cool and composed, but there was tension in the arm that was threaded
through hers.

“Thank you both for coming,” Pansy continued. “I’m so sorry it took us so long to make the
rounds. Everyone has been swooning over how glowing Hermione is!”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. It was a polite way to say that most everyone had been
commenting on how huge she was, and the majority of the women in attendance had insisted on
feeling up her stomach. If one more person touched her, she wouldn’t be liable for what might
happen.

“You are looking rather large,” Luna commented. “I have an herbal tea that should help with the
swelling in your feet if you’d like to try some.”

Before Hermione could answer, Luna was digging in her purse. After a moment she pulled out a
packet of dried herbs, handing them over with the sparkling expression of someone who had just
found a handful of galleons and not an envelope full of stale tea leaves.

“Oh, thank you, Luna.” Hermione clutched the packet in her hand, not sure of what to do with it.

“Thank you for inviting us. We’re happy to be here to support Hermione.” Neville said with an
easy smile. “But you do have a beautiful home.”

The blush that spread across Pansy’s cheeks was a stark contrast against her porcelain complexion.
Funny. She all but sneered at Ginny when she said the same thing.

“Thank you.”

“I was actually wondering,” Neville started, pausing to scratch at the back of his neck. “I noticed
when we were outside that you’ve got a few really lovely asphodel specimens in the back of your
garden... Would you mind if I take a look after the party?

Pansy managed a polite smile. “Of course. Feel free.”

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the sound of a delicate bell chime across the courtyard.
Narcissa had her wand in the air, and was casting Pansy an expectant look.

“I suppose that's our summons.” Pansy gave both Neville and Luna a quick nod in place of a curtsy.
Once Hermione waved her goodbyes to each, Pansy pulled her around and back toward the middle
of the courtyard where Narcissa had summoned a wooden chair. They were only a few steps away
when Pansy slipped the package of tea from her hand and lowered her voice to something almost
unintelligible.

“That man can go sniffing around my gardens anytime.”

“Pansy!” Hermione choked on her sudden laughter.

“What?” She scoffed, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. “Have you seen the size of his shoulders?
The way he’s stretching out that dress shirt is practically obscene.”

Hermione struggled to keep her composure. “I can’t say I’ve noticed, no.”

“It’s a shame, really. I can’t believe I’m starting to see Draco’s reasoning for you goody-goody
Gryffindors.”

“Uh huh.” Looking back toward Neville, she couldn’t quite see what the big deal was—he’d
dressed up, sure, but his plain white dress shirt and black trousers were standard affair. “Whatever
you say, Pansy.”

Once they reached the chair, Ginny rushed forward to help. “There you guys are. I’ve been dealing
with Ron and Lavender all morning and I’m about to put my wand to my own throat. She’s been
swooning about babies and he looks like he might be sick. My mother is over the moon about it.”

Lavender was the worst offender when it came to unwanted touches. As soon as Hermione had
approached, Lavender’s hands were out, caressing her stomach through her dress. Even with
Pansy’s quick reflexes to step between them, Lavender had copped more of a feel than Draco had
in days.

Together, they helped Hermione down into the chair. When Narcissa approached, she narrowed
her eyes. “Should I ask what’s about to happen?”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t clear from the schedule Pansy had sent over. Her comment was right—
Hermione had memorized it, and nowhere on the list did it say “Sit Hermione down in a hard
wooden chair in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to stare at.” Guests were beginning to
gather around, forming a circle, and it wasn’t until she saw them all together that she noticed the
common thread.

They were all holding flowers.

Dozens of them, in shades of white and pink and yellow and purple, and Hermione watched with
fascination as each person lifted their wands and levitated the flowers toward the center of the
space.

“It’s a pureblood tradition,” Ginny spoke, pulling her own flower out from behind her back. “We
didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“What—what are they for?” Hermione looked around, trying to catalogue each one. Emotions were
beginning to clog her throat, and even Pansy hurried off to pick up a flower from a nearby table.
Emerging from the crowd, Molly Weasley cast a warm smile toward her. Her own flower was a
pink carnation, the delicate curled petals just beginning to bloom. “It’s tradition for those in
attendance to pick a flower from the garden to symbolize their love and support for you and the
baby.”

Narcissa, who had been standing nearby, raised her own flower—a light pink tulip—and it floated
forward. “It’s custom for the mothers to bind the flowers together, plaiting them into a crown, as a
gesture of our two families coming together.”

Hot tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes, blurring her vision as she sucked in a shuddering breath.
Ginny placed her hand on her shoulder and leaned down, her own eyes glassy. “I know that your
mum couldn’t be here today, but you’ll always be my sister. I hope you’re okay with us stepping
in.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, struggling through the sudden wave of emotion. When Ginny stepped
away, she saw him—Draco, standing in front of her, the delicate stem of a white chrysanthemum
held between his fingers. His chest expanded on a deep breath, and the crowd grew quiet.

“Although we all know this wasn’t planned,” he started, casting a sardonic look around the room.
“I do want to take a moment to say that I could not have imagined doing this with anyone else. I
feel incredibly lucky to be by your side, and I can only hope that this is the start of a bright future
for us and our son.”

With trembling hands, Hermione reached up to brush the tears from her eyes. Harry and Ron stood
to the side, matching smiles on their faces as they lifted their own flowers forward. In unison,
Molly and Narcissa waved their wands together to bring the flowers into a bundle in front of
Hermione, and with silent and careful focus they worked together to weave the stems together until
a small wreath was formed. Once complete, Draco reached to take it with a delicate touch. He
cradled it in his hands, keeping it close to his chest, before kneeling in front of Hermione.

Although there was a light smile tugging at his lips, his own eyes were tender. There was
something in the grey depths that she couldn’t quite identify, and they stared at each other for a
long moment before Theo heckled them from somewhere within the crowd.

“Get on with it, then! We’ve got gifts to get to!”

Hermione’s breathy laugh was weak, but the vulnerability in Draco’s gaze vanished quickly. He
cast a quick smirk back to the guests watching. “I’m getting there.”

“May I?” Draco then asked, turning back to her. Even kneeling, he was still nearly at eye height
with her, so she ducked forward so he could rest the flower crown on the top of her head. It was
heavy, the thick wreath made sturdy from the dozens of flowers woven together, but it held steady
when she sat back up.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking him
for—his patience, his understanding, his unquestioning support through everything—there was
more than she could easily list, and she was suddenly filled with such an overwhelming sense of
longing and affection that she couldn’t help but lean forward to throw her arms around his
shoulders.

He let out a light chuckle when she buried her head into his neck, trying to stem the flow of steady
tears that were still leaking from her eyes. His shirt collar would likely be stained from his mascara,
but she didn’t care. They could vanish it later. When his arms came around her, wrapping her body
in a tight hug, she sighed into the embrace. Even with her body swollen at eight months pregnant,
they still fit. It felt right being with him there, in his arms, and she let herself sink deeper into the
feeling.

This is it, she realized. It’s him. A fresh wave of emotion washed through her, filling her body with
happiness and anxiety all at once. The emotions warred deep in her chest, and she pushed away
with a shaky exhale.

Draco lifted his fingers, tapping her lightly underneath her chin. “Chin up, Granger. No crying at
your own shower.”

“I will cry if I so very well please,” she teased in return. “Besides, it’s your fault anyway.”

He let out an affronted noise as he returned to his feet, summoning a chair to sit beside her. “Me? I
find that incredibly unlikely.”

As they got settled, Ginny and Pansy made quick work of levitating the gifts closer.

“As far as I’m concerned, you were the reason we messed up the contraceptive charm. Anyone
with even an ounce of deductive reasoning would come to the same conclusion.”

Draco laughed, his face lighting up as he reached an arm across the back of the chair behind her.
He leaned his body into hers, rolling his eyes with good natured amusement. “I have a feeling I’ll
be hearing a lot more of that soon.”

“You don’t disagree?” Her seriousness was betrayed by the smile that broke out across her face.
The tears had finally dried, leaving her eyes feeling rough and swollen.

He shot her an amused look, taking the gift from Ginny’s outstretched hand. “Would it matter if I
did?”

She was silent for a beat.

“No.”

“Exactly.” He ended any more of her arguments by holding the gift for her to take, the purple
wrapping paper shining in the light filtering into the courtyard. It had metallic gold stripes on it,
and was, to be totally honest, horrendous. In the corner was the telltale scrawl of Molly and Arthur
Weasley, and Hermione cast them a quick smile.

“Thank you,” she said. They stood together, watching with obvious affection, and Molly wiped a
small tear from her eye.

“Go on then, love,” Molly urged. “I made them myself.”

True to tradition, inside was a hand knitted set—a small sweater, a matching cap, and a blanket, all
in the same shade of burgundy.

Draco’s sigh was comically large. “Of course. Thank you both.”

It was the beginning of a parade of gifts, executed quickly and efficiently by Pansy and Ginny. As
soon as Pansy would pick up the opened gift and place it back on the gift table, Ginny would hand
off the next one to be opened. Over and over, Hermione tore into the wrapping paper, opened
boxes, and pulled out gifts to a harmony of “ooohs” and “ahhhs” from the guests. The gifts piled up
quickly, with countless onesies and baby robes, hats, blankets, and nappies all in various shades of
red and green.
“This color combination is hideous,” Draco murmured to her as they unpacked the umpteenth
burping cloth. It was striped in shades of green, and underneath it was a matching version in red.
“It’s like a Christmas shop vomited up baby supplies.”

Hermione giggled, smiling even though he was correct. At her amusement, he continued. “Don’t
they know that other colours exist?”

“I’m sure they think we’ll be at war over his future Hogwarts house soon enough.”

Draco paused, lifting his eyebrow slowly. He reconsidered the fabric in his hands. “They’re
correct. Best to start early, since you’ve got no chance of winning that contest.”

Ginny’s laugh interrupted them, and she handed Draco another gift. “Good luck, Ferret. This one is
from me—let it be a reminder that as Godmother, I’ll be taking my duties incredibly seriously.
You don’t stand a chance with that snake nonsense.”

Draco didn’t bother handing the box to Hermione, and instead tore into it himself. Once past the
tissue paper inside the box, he stilled. Curious, she leaned over to peek inside, and let out a gasp.

“Ginny— no—”

Draco pulled out a tiny broom, no longer than his arm, and held it up for the guests to see. It was a
baby broom, made smaller for children and toddlers, and tied to the handle with a giant ribbon was
a stuffed white ferret.

A light smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he kept his face smooth otherwise. His eyes
tracked over the broom, inspecting the wood and footrests closely. In tiny gold letters, carved into
the handle, were their last names.

Granger-Malfoy.

“I didn’t know if you were planning on doing one or the other, so I had the shop engrave both.”
Ginny shrugged, unaffected by Hermione’s shock.

“—you cannot give our baby a broom! There’s no way!”

“Ahh,” Draco said, holding up a finger. He was still staring closely at the broom. “I think I quite
like it, actually.”

“See?” Ginny smiled wide. “And here Harry thought the ferret plushie would be too far.”

Harry snorted from nearby. “It is, Gin.”

“It's expected at this point.” Draco waved them off. “The gift makes up for the unoriginal joke.”

“See? I knew I could win him over with gifts.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, She-Weasel.”

Finally, when Ginny and Pansy had cycled through the rest of the gifts, Luna approached, holding
another box in her hands. It was larger than some of the rest, and completely unwrapped, and she
set it down gently in front of Hermione and Draco’s feet.

“This one is from all of us,” she said, her voice light and airy. “We all made them ourselves to help
protect the baby.”
Draco stiffened beside her, his shoulders going tight. Gods, she could only imagine what was
inside.

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione said, hesitating. Draco recovered, hiding his apprehension well
enough to lean forward and open the box. After a moment of digging he pulled out a series of
circular hoops, from small to large, all stacked and tied together. From each hoop, ribbons dangled,
holding on to tiny carvings of animals.

A baby mobile, Hermione gasped, leaning forward as recognition bloomed warm in her chest.

A stag, a jack russell terrier, a horse, a hare, a phoenix, a panda, a cat, a wolf, a swan, a fox, a boar,
and a weasel all lined the outer hoops. In the middle, on the smallest center hoop, there were two—
an otter, and a dragon.

“It’s… a zoo?” Draco peered closer at it, curious.

Hermione struggled to find the words, blinking past the sudden emotion. It seemed like she was
only capable of crying, and she laughed lightly. “It’s their patronuses.”

“We didn’t know what yours would be,” Luna said, bobbing up onto her toes. “So I made yours a
dragon. Hope that’s okay.”

Before he could answer, she flitted away. His mouth hung open in shock, eyes darting between
Hermione and the place where Luna had just been standing. He closed his jaw and swallowed, his
adam’s apple bobbing, and he shook his head before trying again.

“I don’t—” Rendered speechless, the words caught in his throat.

“Thank you, all of you,” Hermione said for the both of them. “This means… everything, really.”

Eventually, the shower moved on, and Hermione was allowed to roam freely. With no Pansy on
her arm or Ginny hovering beside her, she made her way to the hors d'oeuvres. Draco had been
waylaid by Harry, and they were studiously reviewing the baby broom’s product specifications in
the nearby corner. She could hear the excitement in Draco’s voice as he chatted about the safety
features, and it was almost enough for her to consider not throwing it away when they got home.

“Pansy did a wonderful job with that dress,” Theo greeted as he approached, immediately taking
the loaded plate of food from her hand. He gestured at her to keep filling it up as he held it, and she
couldn’t help but roll her eyes lightly at his insistence.

“I might be pregnant but my arms do work, you know.”

“Yes, yes, and I grew up with a nanny who would smack my knuckles if I didn’t open the door for
her fast enough. Consider it one of many lessons in pureblood manners, Granger, not a slight.”

“You lot do love your manners.” Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, though it was affectionate.
“Actually—” She paused, motioning for him to set down the plate. She could come back for it
later. “I’m glad you came to find me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you—I need a favor, and I think
you’re the best person I could ask for help.”

Theo’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh? And how’s that?”

It was no secret that Theo was friends with everyone. His list of contacts was at least a dozen rolls
of parchment long, and his penchant for gossip extended well past their friend group. Far enough
past that she knew, for a fact, that he was in regular contact with the head editor of the Daily
Prophet.

“Come with me?” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the nearest door. It wasn’t something
she wanted to discuss in the open, not with so many people around.

“Oooh,” Theo laughed. “What intrigue. Pulling me off for a secret rendezvous, Granger? At your
own baby shower? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Letting go of his wrist, she slapped at his hand. “Oh shush.”

She ushered him into the sitting room, excitement growing deep in her lungs. “I need your help.”

“Yes, we’ve determined that. But what do you need, darling?”

“I need—”

The words were almost out of her mouth when Draco stepped into the room, his eyes hard and his
neck flushed red with anger. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh! Draco!” Hermione jumped in surprised. “I didn’t realize you—”

“Could see you sneaking off together? Hear you asking him for help?”

He wouldn’t even look at Theo.

“Look, mate, it’s not what you think—she was just asking me for a favor.” Theo approached with
caution.

Draco’s eyes went cold, his nostrils flaring as he tried to tamp down his anger. “I know what you
were doing. And I’ve had enough.”

“Wait, what?” Theo laughed, but Hermione’s stomach sank. She hadn’t seen him like this in
months, really, perhaps even years—the icy fury that was radiating from the lines in his body was
a warning. “You can’t be serious.”

“I was just trying to ask Theo for a favor so he could help me contact the editors at the Prophet,”
she tried to explain quickly. “They’re still not returning my owls, and I thought maybe he could
help—”

“I don’t care ,” Draco spat. “What I do care about is how I’m constantly trying to get through to
you, but nothing ever seems to work. All you want to do is to go to him.”

Theo took his cue. “I’ll just…. leave you both to it, then.”

Before she could stop him, Theo slipped back out through the door.

Draco barely waited for them to be alone before he continued. “Nothing I say or do matters to you,
does it?”

“Of course it does!” she argued. “I just wanted to help—”

“And I told you that it was pointless!” His voice lifted into a shout.

“But—” Before she could find a rebuttal, he shook his head.

“See? This is exactly it. I can say something a thousand times, or do something a thousand times,
and it won't matter. You’ll always find a way to push back.”

“Draco, stop,” she interrupted him, hands out between them. “I don’t understand where this is
coming from—”

His features twisted into something cold and cruel. “Surely you’re a better liar than that, Granger.
I’ve given you everything—stood by while you made all the decisions, happy to let you take the
lead. I tried, Gods did I try, to be there for you, to show you how capable I am and how much
you’ve grown to mean to me, but nothing was ever good enough, was it? Nothing I ever do will
be.”

“That’s not true.” Hot tears were burning at the back of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly in an
attempt to clear them away. “How could you say something like that?”

“Then why,” his voice broke, and he looked away, his jaw hard. When he spoke again, it was so
quiet she almost had to step forward to hear him. “Then why is it that every time I tried to show
you how I felt, you backed away again? Every time I made my feelings known, you would indulge
me and then continue on your way.”

“What?” His feelings? “What feelings?”

His laugh was empty and hollow. “Are you really that daft? Or are you just lying to save face? You
have to know how I’ve felt about you. It’s so painfully obvious that even I’m disgusted with how
lovesick you make me. I can’t do anything without thinking of how it affects you, of what you’ll
think, if you’ll smile at me the same way you do to Theo.”

“I don’t understand.” The tears were falling freely now, and she didn’t bother wiping them away.
“You never said—”

“Said? As if you would have believed a word out of my mouth in the beginning?” His eyes grew
wild, the grey turning to black with his blown pupils. “I tried to show you, I tried to give you
everything I had to make it obvious that I wanted this, with you, and nothing else.”

“But—but this was an obligation. A duty for you,” she argued. “We wouldn’t have been in this
situation if it wasn’t for the pregnancy. I didn’t want you to feel forced into something with me just
because we were stuck here.”

“Forced?” He shook his head and walked away, beginning to pace the length of the room. “I don’t
know if I should laugh or be insulted. I’ve been attracted to you for the last several years. I may not
have liked you in the beginning, because Gods, you can be so infuriating, but do you really think I
would have slept with you if I wasn’t interested in the first place?”

“That’s different.” Hermione’s anger was growing, boiling up and through the shock of tears that
still blurred her vision. “Don’t make this out to be my fault, Draco. You told me we were in this
together.”

“And we are!” he shouted. “But only because I keep forcing you to let me in!”

He didn’t wait for her response, and continued. “You were never a duty to me. I didn’t expect to
want you as badly as I do, but it’s true. I’ve grown to want you, Hermione, so badly that I ache for
it. And I’ve tried to show you how much you’ve come to mean to me over the last few months. I
tried to court you, to show you how I felt without scaring you off, but you always let me drift away
as soon as I let go.”
She shook her head, adamant that he wasn’t understanding her. “After our date, you pulled back. I
thought you regretted things, that you might not want to be in a dedicated relationship with me.”

He stopped pacing and stared at her, his shoulders tense. “Because I didn’t want to push you too
hard. It was a miracle that you gave me one night, let alone several. You were already conflicted
about me, that much was obvious—do you really think I wouldn’t have scared you off if I kept
pushing for more of your time? Of you? ”

“I just—I didn’t want this to only be about the baby—”

“And that’s all it will ever be to you. It’s why you keep going back to Theo. He’s easier than me, I
know—”

“This isn’t about Theo!” she snapped. “There is nothing there, and you’re being a child about it.
Why are you so jealous of him? He’s just my friend.”

Draco stilled, his eyes falling shut as he took slow, even breaths that expanded his chest. “Funny,
then. That I’m the father of your child and yet you still find it easier to go to him. I should have
been with you that day in Diagon. I should have been the one you came to for help. But nothing’s
changed, has it? No matter how much I try to convince you that I would do anything for you…”

“But I did! I tried to talk to you about those awful articles in the Prophet, but you didn’t want to
give me the time of day! You would have rather ignored me and pretended none of it existed
instead! So of course I went to Theo—at least he would want to do something about it! Just
because you’re jealous of my friendship with him doesn’t mean you have a right to be this angry
with me.”

He was silent for several long moments, but when he spoke again his voice was smaller, sadder, as
he looked toward the ceiling. “Theo’s always known how to make you smile. How to make you
laugh and to shine all that light of yours in his direction, even when he’s being a prat. You’re
blinding, Granger, and you don’t even know it. I found myself wishing that it could be me,
sometimes, in his position, but I didn’t know how. For the longest time, the only way I could get
your attention was to antagonize you. And I thought that maybe that the heat of your ire would be a
suitable replacement, and I would have taken what I could get. It was entirely too clear that you
never took me seriously. But then, when I think that maybe I have a chance at earning you? It turns
out it changed nothing. You still wouldn’t give me the same faith and understanding you extended
to him, no matter what I did to show you otherwise.”

She gasped, struggling to keep her breathing even through the tightness that was winding itself
around her ribcage. Is that really how he felt?

“But you never said you wanted more from me,” she said, sounding small and weak.

“Yes, I did.” He blinked away from her, and she noticed the strain in his neck. “Perhaps not that
directly, or in this many words, but I did. However, you chose not to look past the surface, and to
ignore all the things I did to prove to you that I meant it. You’re right that this isn’t about Theo—
it’s about us, and how I’m a jealous bastard who went about this all wrong and now I’ve mucked it
up. But you’re just as guilty as I am.”

He took several steps toward her, his stride long and determined, and her heart leapt. But he
continued forward, moving past her and to the door before she could stop him.

“Draco, wait—” she said, scrambling forward. “Don’t leave—not yet. The party is still going on,
and Pansy will be furious if you leave before—”
 He shook his head slowly, effectively cutting off her weak excuses.

“Here.” Reaching into the pocket inside his jacket, he pulled out a cream colored envelope. The
back was sealed with blue wax, but she couldn’t make out the crest when he handed it to her.
“Enjoy it.”

A letter? What? His hand was on the knob and turning it before she could figure out what he had
just handed her.

“I still have to give you yours,” she tried again, but he was halfway out the door when he paused.
The key in her bag felt so small and stupid, but it was all she had to get him to stop. His features
were set, shut off and guarded, and he gave her one last sad look.

“Of all the things I want from you, none of them are anything you’d be willing to give to me
freely.”

In the silence he left behind, she began to cry again.

Chapter End Notes

We're in the home stretch with just a few chapters left! The schedule for the final two
updates will be:

Chapter 11: Sunday, August 1

Chapter 12: Saturday, August 7

As always, please feel free to come say hello on tumblr.

 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

THIRTY SIX WEEKS

Days passed in fits of sleep and crying. The sun rose and set through the windows of her flat, and
Hermione was powerless to do anything except move through the space in a haze of emotion.

You chose not to look past the surface.

Her hair grew greasy and tangled. Her skin itched when the silence pressed in too tight, and her
feet wore a path to the bathroom, the kitchen, the bed, and back.

It was entirely too clear that you never took me seriously.

She couldn’t think of anything but him. Of his face, cold and distant, as he told her everything he’d
been thinking for weeks. Of his eyes, full of hurt and anger, all because of her actions.

I tried to court you, to show you how I felt without scaring you off, but you always let me drift away
as soon as I let go.

She was selfish, and controlling to a fault. She hadn’t just let him drift away—she had pushed him
every time. Looking back, she knew it without any shred of doubt. She’d found reasons to push him
away, pulling them from thin air like excuses to keep herself safe. Her heart. Their son. So
desperate to prove to herself that she would be okay, that she could handle being pregnant, she
refused to let her guard down long enough to take him seriously.

Another day passed, and the sound of an owl scratching at her window woke her from a fitful nap.
Rolling over, she ignored it.

“Wow.”

Rolling over in bed, Hermione was greeted by the sight of her two oldest friends, both wearing
identical looks of shock.

“Hey, Hermione…” Harry started, stepping over the pile of clothes that had somehow sprouted
from her bedroom floor. “How’s it going?”

Burying her face back into her pillow, she sighed. “Go away. I don’t want visitors.”

“Got that much, judging by how you’ve been ignoring our owls and floo calls for days.” Ron’s
voice sounded closer, and the bed dipped behind her. Harry circled around the other side, climbing
into the slim space left on the edge.

“Seriously.” She tried again. “You don’t need to be here. I’m fine.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she ground her teeth together.

“I know, that’s why I brought your files from work,” Harry said, nudging her with an elbow. “It’s
been four days. Robards was about to come calling himself just to make sure you’re okay.”
For the first time in her adult life, she couldn’t muster any interest in whatever case files Harry was
referencing. Earlier in the week, she’d sent an owl to Robards with a brief note that she would, in
fact, be taking her pregnancy leave early after all. But the shame of giving in to what everyone told
her would happen was deadened by the sudden, gaping hole in her life. Everything felt like it’d
been turned to black and white, and her life was now devoid of all color. London could be
crumbling to pieces and she still wouldn’t be able to muster the desire to get out of bed.

Her words were muffled by the pillow. “Just leave them on the table. I’ll get to them later.”

“Shite, Hermione,” Ginny’s voice rang out from behind her. Great. Another witness. “I knew it
was going to be bad, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

Emotion welled in her throat, wavering on the edge of anger and sadness. “Please,” she begged
them. “Just go.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Hermione glanced down when Ginny tossed her body onto the foot of her bed, stretching out
across the mattress like a cat. She held out an envelope, still unopened, and waved it in the air.
“Saw this in the living room. Looks expensive.”

The cream parchment and blue wax was enough to tip her over the edge. After Draco left her at the
party, she’d barely been able to contain herself long enough to slip out and bid Pansy goodbye.
Pansy had seen the way her eyes were swollen and red, her breathing still shuddered as she tried not
to devolve back into a sobbing mess. Envelope clutched in hand, she only made it to her living
room floor before she lost control again. She couldn’t even bring herself to go after him first—
there was no way to apologize for the mess she’d made of things.

“Is this what he gave you for your Mother’s gift?” Ginny continued on, unperturbed by the silent
tears that were now tracking from Hermione’s eyes.

“Gin, come on,” Harry said, shooting her a hard look. “Maybe now’s not the time?”

Ginny snorted. “We came to give her support. Last I knew, letting her continue to wallow like this
wasn’t support. Isn’t that what you said, Ron?”

“Don’t bring me into this now,” Ron grumbled. “It was Harry’s idea in the first place.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Hermione snapped in response, reaching up to wipe at her face.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny sat up and folded her legs beneath her. “Fine, you guys sit there, but
you’ve got to at least admit you’re curious what’s inside.”

Holding up the envelope to the light, Ginny inspected the wax seal through squinted eyes.
Truthfully, Hermione hadn’t had much desire to look that closely.

“Oh,” Ginny said, her head going back in surprise. “Isn’t that—”

“What?” Ron sat forward, suddenly interested.

“That’s not the crest for the family that owns Whitlock, is it? Benard, I think their name was?”

Ginny handed it over, and Harry leaned over to look as well.

“Benard, yeah. And it kind of looks like it to me,” he agreed. “But why would—”
The dull ache of sadness in Hermione’s chest was sharpening, building and growing into something
hot and angry. “Will you please stop? ” she finally snapped, sitting up. “This is my house—and my
things—” snatching the envelope from Ron’s hand, she held the crumpled paper to her chest. “And
I don’t know what you mean by Benard or Whitlock, but you can go—”

“Whitlock Cottage,” Ginny piped up, unbothered by her outburst. “It’s just past Reading, but
before you get to Wiltshire. They call it a cottage, but it’s more like a country house.”

“And?” Hermione wanted to grab her hair by the roots and pull. “This doesn’t matter!”

Harry made a noise in his throat. “Err, well, it might.”

When she glanced at him, he was scratching at his scalp, the hair beginning to stand on end.

“It’s for sale,” Ginny finished. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t say it’s for sale. Something tells me that
it’s probably not anymore.”

Hermione looked between them, trying to figure out what they were getting at. “And?”

“And,” Harry continued. “Ginny and I went to look at it a few months ago when it was first listed.
We’ve been thinking about renovating Grimmauld but we’ll need a place to stay in the meantime.
It’s a great property but it was way out of our budget.”

“And bigger than we needed.” Ginny gave her a long look. “You know, lots of bedrooms. A big
yard. Giant kitchen. Kind of place that’d be great for a family.”

She clutched the envelope tighter between her fingers, feeling the parchment crinkle in her palm.

“ No— ” Hermione shook her head. “He couldn’t—he wouldn’t have—”

She felt completely frozen, unable to process what Ginny and Harry were trying to tell her.

“Really?” Ron snorted. “The richest git we know wouldn’t buy a house as a gift? Seems like
exactly the kind of gesture he’d make.”

Her eyes closed, fluttering shut at the memories of his complaints about the size of her flat. All the
times he’d insisted that it would be impossible to raise a child in such a cramped space—and when
she’d finally come to agree—and the hopeful look in his eyes when he’d told her that he would
give her everything.

He had.

Fresh tears welled against her lashes, and she let out a yell. “Gods! I am so sick of crying!”

Pulling the damaged envelope from her hands, Harry wrapped them in his own. “Listen, Hermione,
we might not know exactly what happened between you and Malfoy at the party, but Pansy
mentioned that it wasn’t good. We care about you, and you have to know that we just want to
help.”

“I know,” she whispered. Guilt suffused every inch of her body—not just for what she’d
inadvertently done to Draco, but for feeling so wildly out of control that she felt like she couldn’t
accept help from anyone anymore. With every passing moment, she wanted to draw in further to
herself, to hide away from it all.

It wasn’t her. She was better than that. Resolving herself, she shoved down the instinct to fall back
into the pillows.

“I should probably go take a shower. Then we can tackle… whatever that is.” Hermione gave a
quick glance to the envelope in question. “But first I’m going to need some help getting out of this
bed.”

“There she is,” Ginny said with a grin. Climbing from the bed, she shooed Ron and Harry off the
bed. “Come on then, get out. Go find this woman some food while I help her.”

Together, the three of her friends worked to get Hermione back in working order. Ginny sat
perched on the lid of the toilet while she showered, filling her in on everything she’d missed at the
end of the baby shower. How Narcissa had taken the gifts for storage in the meantime, and Pansy
had started on the myriad of Thank You cards. In her absence, they’d made sure everything
continued on, and another wave of guilt made her tears disappear under the shower spray.
Everyone was taking care of her, and she didn’t know how to even begin to say thank you.

Ron and Harry Apparated out to find takeout, and once they were all settled on her couch with full
stomachs, they set the letter back on the coffee table.

“You ready?” Harry gave her a confident smile.

“No.”

Her truthful answer had Ron snickering. “You best get to it soon before Gin tears into it instead.”

At the accusation, Ginny shrugged. “Hey, it might make it easier.”

“No,” Hermione said again, shaking her head. “I should do it. Assuming he doesn’t want whatever
it is back.”

Ginny muttered something under her breath that Hermione couldn’t quite catch. When Harry
shushed her, Hermione assumed she probably didn’t want to know.

With trembling hands, Hermione leaned forward to pick it up. She didn’t allow herself any time to
second guess what she was doing or if she was ready to see what was inside—she slid her
fingernail under the edge and tore the paper open, unfolding it quickly.

Her heart stopped.

Title Deed of Land & Property

Whitlock Cottage

Owner: Ms. Hermione Jean Granger

Transfer of Official Deed facilitated by Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy on behalf of Ms.
Granger.

The letter dropped from her hand, and Ginny wasted no time diving across the couch to pick it up.

“Aha! I was right!”

THIRTY SEVEN WEEKS

It was too much.

Hermione couldn’t think of anything else as she stood in the house, one hand rubbing at the painful
cramps in her lower stomach and back. It had taken her days to work up the courage to finally visit
the house, and Theo, Pansy, Ginny, and Harry had all volunteered to go with her for the first time.
As soon as their feet hit the floor, they’d scattered, exploring each room with unbridled curiosity.

“Gods, Blaise is going to be pissed,” Theo laughed, trailing his fingers over the furniture in the
living room. The house was fully furnished, with a large living room full of plush furniture and
tasteful art. There were no bookshelves cramped into the space like her flat, but she spied several
rooms down the hall with closed doors. He’d thought of everything—there was no doubt that
somewhere in this house, she had a book filled office with nothing but space and silence for her
work.

“Because he’s going to owe you ten galleons? That was a stupid bet and he knew it, so it serves
him right. The only way Draco would’ve done anything less than this is if he was dead.” Pansy
popped back in from the kitchen, a wide grin on her face. “Kitchen’s full, by the way. He’s
probably got his elves stocking the place. What a git.”

She couldn’t focus on any of it, too distracted by the large windows and the cream colored walls.
The property was beautiful, to say the least, and surrounded by rolling green hills. It offered
nothing but privacy, and was more than anything she would have ever been able to afford on her
own.

“I can’t accept this,” she whispered more to herself than anyone else, but Pansy’s soft palm came to
rest on her shoulder.

“You can and you will. You’d be an idiot not to.”

“I can’t,” Hermione disagreed again, ignoring the insult. “He hates me, he must. There’s no way he
will want me to keep something like this after how I’ve treated him. He won’t even return my
owls.”

She’d sent several, including one just that morning, but hadn’t garnered a response from any.
Combined with the way he’d stormed from the party, the message was clear—he wanted his space,
and he was ignoring her as he tried to move on.

“Draco always preferred to lick his wounds in private.” Pansy waved her off. “This is no different.
He’ll get over it and come crawling back. He loves you too much not to.”

Hermione let out a sad laugh. The thought of his love—his affection— had her yearning with such
deep despair that she felt like she could collapse onto the floor. She recognized her own feelings
now for what they were… love. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it had. She’d
been on the singular course for months, heading into something more deep and intense than she’d
ever felt with another person. It surpassed what she’d felt for Ron in an entirely different way, and
now that she was aware of it? It didn’t matter that the baby had spurred everything into motion.

It didn’t change the meaning of it in the slightest.

“I can’t believe I disregarded his feelings so easily. I was so convinced…” Letting her eyes fall
closed, she swayed into Pansy’s touch. “I’ve been awful to him. I don’t deserve this.”

When she opened her eyes again, Pansy’s eyes had gone sharp and her mouth was pinched. “You
were operating off the information you were given. Were you controlling to the point of
selfishness? Sure. But don’t pretend like you were the only guilty party here, Granger. Draco is no
saint and we all know it.”

Theo’s scoff echoed through the living room as he reapproached, seemingly completing his
inspection of the kitchen. Harry and Ginny’s footsteps were still audible from the second floor,
muffled as they explored the additional rooms. “That may be the understatement of the century.”

“Stop,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I don’t need you to try to make me feel better about it. I
didn’t want to take him seriously, so I didn’t. That’s on me.”

Theo’s lips pulled into a sarcastic frown. “Sure, sure. And he didn’t just… completely keep things
from you either. He didn’t tell you about the Prophet business, knowing what was going to happen
from the moment he found out you were pregnant. Even if he didn’t think you could do anything to
change it, that doesn’t mean it was right to blindside you with it. Then he refused to speak a word
of his feelings or what he wanted, just expecting you to know, then got pissy when you didn’t
return them immed—”

“Theo—” Pansy’s voice was a warning, but he shook his head.

“No, she deserves to hear it. It’s not fair to watch her beat herself up for all of this given what she’s
been through,” he spoke directly to Pansy, effectively ignoring Hermione. When he looked back at
her, his eyes were hot with anger. “You were both idiots, I’ll give you that. But you went through
war, Hermione. You spent how many years being forced to be self-sufficient? To question the
motives of everyone around you? To take care of things yourself, because it was a matter of life
and death? This is no different, especially with a child involved, and a few good shags and fancy
dates won't change that kind of trauma overnight.”

Shock rendered her speechless, but he continued, his shoulders growing tense. “We might not speak
of it much now, but I recognize what you went through. What you all went through, even if I
wasn’t on the forefront of it in the same way. I love Draco, I really do. But I love you just the
same, and I won’t pretend that you’re some kind of saint who isn’t capable of mistakes. He, on the
other hand, should understand that by now. And when he refuses to just bloody tell you these
things about himself…”

Theo trailed off, balling his fists and turning away. “Gods, sometimes I just want to strangle him.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed, confused at his mounting anger. “I get it, though. He didn’t tell
me about his feelings because I wouldn’t have taken him seriously. And he was right—I wouldn’t
have. I would have either thought he was lying or just took it as a reason to push him away sooner.”

“It’s so much more than that,” Theo laughed as he said the words, shaking his head as he looked
towards the ceiling. “And he’s still not telling you—”

“Theo.” Pansy cut him off again, sharper this time. “I swear if you keep going I will hex your
tongue clean off—we made a vow. Draco might be acting like a git but this one isn’t our business
to tell. Granger, go to the Manor and talk to him for once. Do what you should have done from the
beginning and lay it all out. So what if he’s ignoring your owls—since when has that ever stopped
you from getting something you want?”

Ginny and Harry came down the stairs, matching looks of hesitation on their faces. Ginny broke
the tension with a hesitant joke. “What’s this about storming the Manor?”

Apprehension curled in Hermione’s stomach, and she swallowed past a sudden wave of nausea at
the thought. Through it all, she realized that it was the only way. She would have to do it, if not
just to salvage some kind of cordial relationship, but for the sake of their child as well. She couldn’t
avoid that place forever.

THIRTY EIGHT WEEKS

Hermione’s hand was cold and clammy as she grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into
the fireplace of her flat. Although Ginny had insisted she stay at Whitlock Cottage, she couldn’t
bring herself to pack a bag. Not yet, at least.

“Malfoy Manor.” The command was choked, but clear enough, and her body was consumed briefly
by green flames as the floo whisked her straight into the Malfoy family home. When the ash
cleared, she took a few hesitant steps forward, her hands going straight to her stomach to guard
herself. Everything was quiet and dark, with the shades drawn tight and the nearby door closed. It
looked like she’d arrived in a sitting room of sorts, most likely a welcoming space for guests, given
the nearby coat rack and the tidy looking couch and chairs in the middle of the room.

After a few seconds, a loud crack startled her back a few steps as a house elf appeared. The wide
brown eyes and large ears looked familiar from her visit to Draco’s home in France.

“Oh! Hello to Miss Granger,” the elf said with a quick bow. “Lady Malfoy did not tell Tilly you
would be visiting the Manor today.”

“I—” Hermione stuttered. “I came to see Draco. Is he home?”

She couldn’t allow herself to look around the room too closely. Fear was beating a rapid thump in
her ribcage, and her limbs had gone cold.

“No, Miss, Tilly hasn’t seen Master Draco since he had us help stock his new home. Isn’t you
staying there, too, Miss?”

Emotion choked her throat, drawing it closed tight. She couldn’t answer, and simply shook her
head. Tilly’s brows wrinkled in confusion.

After a moment, she swallowed and tried again. “He’s not at Whitlock Cottage. I was just there.”

Despite not staying, she visited every day. She’d explored the house on her own, spending hours
soaking it all in, trailing her fingers across the linens stocked in the closets, the framed art on the
walls, and the spines of the books that she knew would be waiting for her in her office. He’d filled
it half way, leaving the other bookcases open for her inevitable move-in.

“Did… Did the books at Whitlock come from the library here?”

It was a stupid question, she knew, and one that wouldn’t matter, but—

“Yes, they did.”

It wasn’t Tilly that answered, but Narcissa. With her hand still on the door, it was clear that it
hadn’t been shut completely—she must have sensed Hermione’s arrival through the wards and
come quickly. “He picked them out specifically for you.”

Hermione managed a shaky nod. He’d selected a variety, ranging from priceless first editions to
newer texts, and organized them by subject, just the way her own collection at home.

“I was hoping to talk to him. He’s not returning my owls.” Belatedly, she wondered how she
looked. Her face was puffy from both the pregnancy and the endless bouts of crying, and she knew
that her hair was growing more unruly with her hormones. None of her robes fit well anymore, and
it felt as if she was a bloated pumpkin wrapped in an oversized quilt. A pressure had settled into her
lower pelvis, and she rubbed at the base of her stomach to try to relieve the ache.

“He’s been staying at our home in France,” Narcissa answered her unspoken question with a kind
smile. “It appears he gave all his furniture away and no longer had any need to stay here. He
thought it would make it easier for you, just in case.”

“Just in case I didn’t want him to move in with me,” Hermione sighed to herself, closing the
distance to the nearest chair so she could sit. “So that I wouldn’t have to come here with the baby.”

Staring at the thickly woven carpet beneath her shoes, she didn’t miss Narcissa’s amused hum.

“And yet here you are.”

Her eyes started to burn, and she blinked toward the ceiling. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.
I’m so sorry to have bothered you—I can go—”

“No need to worry, darling. You seem like you could use a rest and some tea, and I have a few
things that I think we should discuss before you go. Tilly, could you prepare the North sitting room
for us?”

Sensing she wouldn’t take no for an answer, Hermione slowly rose back to her feet. “I’m afraid I
don’t move very quickly these days,” she said, apologetic.

“Neither do I.” Narcissa approached, offering her arm in the same fashion that Pansy had so many
times before. “It’s just down the hall, though, lucky for us.”

Together they walked, Narcissa silent as Hermione’s eyes darted around the hallway. Everything
seemed normal, and nothing at all like the Manor she remembered.

“I renovated the Manor several years ago, shortly after the war,” Narcissa said, filling in the gaps
for her. Her steps were slow and measured, as if they were taking a casual afternoon stroll, and her
voice held no hint of strain or tension. “This part of the house was untouched by the Dark Lord and
his lackeys, thankfully, but I still ripped everything out to start anew. Any rooms you might have
been in during your… time here before no longer exist. The first thing I did when Lucius was sent
away was to have them torn down completely.”

“Oh.” Surprise flashed through Hermione, settling some of the fear.

“I was never a fan of how Abraxas preferred to decorate the Manor, anyway, and Lucius was too
sentimental to want to change things much after his father passed. It took a while, but I was finally
able to make this home my own.”

Glancing over, Hermione noticed the fond smile playing at Narcissa’s lips. The hallway itself was
fairly bright, with large windows and marble statues lining the outer wall. Between each door hung
still life photos of various landscapes and classic art. No sneering ancestors or scowling busts,
much to her surprise.

“It’s very nice,” she managed to say. “Much… lighter than I would have expected.”

The curtains were all in shades of powder and cream, and if Hermione wasn’t still filled with the
instinctual sense of foreboding, she might even venture to say that it all looked feminine and soft.
“Thank you, dear. Perhaps one day you won’t be scared witless to come visit. However, I would
love to be able to share the grounds with my grandchild on occasion, if you would allow it.”

Pausing to remove her arm, Narcissa reached to open the nearest door with a light curtsy. “After
you.”

“I think—I think that would be fine, yes,” Hermione answered, stepping into the room. Truthfully,
the room looked similar to what she’d seen from their home in France, and the remaining tendrils
of uncertainty began to settle.

Narcissa ushered her toward a small table in the corner, set up with a tea service. Tilly was
nowhere to be seen, but the spout of the ceramic kettle was steaming as they sat down.

“Now, I won’t bother with pleasantries given the current circumstances,” Narcissa began, reaching
to carefully pour each cup with a gentle hand. “But is there anything I can currently do to help?”

Hermione huffed out a breath, her eyes trained on the light brown tint of the tea. “Does he hate
me?”

Narcissa’s response was her own light laugh, and was entirely too amused for Hermione’s tastes.

“Of course not. He is, however, just as stubborn as you are. I suppose my constant doting and
giving in to his desires didn’t help much with that particular trait.” In the growing silence, Narcissa
continued. “Draco will come back around, he just needs time.”

Her vision blurred. She didn’t have time. Not when they were just weeks away from the birth of
their child, and everything between them had been blown to bits.

“I have to fix this.” Her voice sounded warbled, but she managed to keep the emotion from
overwhelming her once more.

“May I speak freely, Miss Granger?” Narcissa paused, taking the time to stir the sugar into her tea
with the small spoon. The room around them was quiet while she worked, but Hermione had a
feeling the woman was giving her ample opportunity to run before she would strike. If there was
one thing she should remember, it was that Draco had learned his ways from both of his parents. “I
was attempting to be gentle in my letters to you, but I do feel that it’s time I try a more direct
approach.”

“Please, go ahead,” Hermione answered with a nod, clearing her throat quickly.

Her first question was straightforward and to the point. “How do you feel about my son?”

“I—” she started, paused, then started again. It was the first time she had been faced with the
reality of saying the words out loud. “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

If Narcissa was surprised, she didn’t show it. Blinking, she moved on. “He feels the same for you,
obviously. Although I suspect he didn’t resist it nearly as much as you might have.”

“No,” Hermione answered with a shake of her head. “Probably not.”

Narcissa’s lips tightened as she raised her tea cup to her lips, taking a demure sip. “Tell me, then,
why are you so resistant to a marriage contract?”

“I didn’t want him to marry me for the wrong reasons. He seemed more than ready to commit to
something like that before we’d even gotten to know each other, and it didn’t seem right. I couldn’t
let us both be miserable together just because of one night of carelessness.”

Narcissa paused, her eyes narrowing. “Yes, but it’s not just about you . It’s about your child and
ensuring that he has a secure future as a member of this family. I know that Draco has been
insistent that he can take care of things, but you have to realize what you’re risking.”

“I—I’m not sure I follow,” she replied, the familiar fear beginning to curl back up the base of her
spine.

Releasing the handle of her cup, Narcissa folded her hands in her lap. “I understand that it may be
considered old fashioned or out of date to have a blood tradition like this one, but unfortunately
there’s no way around it. I know that Draco tried to figure it out, but really, to ignore the easy route
when you so clearly love each other is just silly. ”

“The easy route to what? ” Hermione was growing impatient. “What are you talking about?”

Narcissa went still, her blue eyes growing sharp like glass. “What I’ve been trying to tell you for
months, darling, though Draco resented me for it. In our family, there is a tradition upheld by blood
magic, spanning back several hundreds of years. It was started to establish familial security and
ensure that the rightful heir of each generation was properly and legitimately recognized as a
Malfoy.”

The room went still, and Hermione’s chest began to burn as she held her breath. Familial security.
Rightful heir. The constant letters all came rushing back to her.

“Although times may have changed outside these walls, in order for your son to be fully
recognized as the official Malfoy heir and receive any support or official inheritance, you must be
married or engaged via an official, binding marriage contract at the time of his birth,” Narcissa
finished.

The room began to spin, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears and feel it in her
fingertips. What? What? No—There was no—he would have said something—

“Draco was insistent that he didn’t want you to feel pressured into marrying him for the wrong
reasons as well,” Narcissa continued, either oblivious or uncaring of the panic attack that was
beginning to swallow Hermione’s attention span. “Despite my arguments otherwise.”

“You’re telling me—” Hermione set her fists on the table, struggling to keep her breathing under
control. She wanted to suck in large gulps of air to settle the burn in her lungs, but rationally she
knew it would be counterproductive. “My son won’t be a Malfoy if I don’t marry Draco?”

Narcissa pursed her lips as if she was considering a weekly grocery list and not the fate of her
grandson. “In name, yes. But in anything else? He would be yours and yours alone. If Draco were
to unexpectedly pass away, he would not be entitled to any of our assets, nor would you. If you
both passed...”

Her panic grew, building and bubbling until it turned hot. Transforming into a boiling anger, she
clenched her teeth. “Why wouldn’t he tell me this? Why would he keep me in the dark about
something so—”

Holding her hand up, Narcissa cut her off. “From the beginning, Draco has been insistent that he is
willing and capable of taking care of you. Financially, he has his own income and an inheritance
that he is free to do with whatever he so wishes. There is a loophole, however, that I believe my
son is betting on.”
“What? What is it?”

“The head of the household can choose to recognize any heir born outside of marriage, if they so
please. However, as it currently stands, the official head of this house…”

Lucius. Hermione’s stomach dropped like a sinking stone. She hadn’t been able to summon the
courage, or interest, to inquire whether Lucius might approve.

“He’s waiting for Lucius to pass before claiming our son officially.”

“Indeed he is,” Narcissa replied, taking another small sip of her tea. “He has enough money of his
own to sustain the three of you without any issue, and he doesn’t believe the risk is worth pushing
you into a forced marriage.”

Hermione blinked several times, trying to process the sudden information through the haze of her
anger. It all came together, clicking into place—the letters from Narcissa, his evasive answers
when she asked him if he was interested in getting married, and even Theo’s cryptic rant at
Whitlock.

“Pansy and Theo knew as well, I take it?”

Narcissa nodded. “Pansy knew, as we had a pending contract in place for the two of them when
they were still young. I believe Draco told Theo shortly after you found out you were expecting,
but he made them both vow to maintain discretion when it came to telling you. It was the one thing
he asked of us.”

“I can’t believe—” Hermione scoffed. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me that our son wouldn’t be a
Malfoy heir if we weren’t married! I was under the impression that it was simply because you were
old fashioned, not that it was a matter of legitimacy! ”

Unperturbed, Narcissa nodded. “It does change some things, yes. Hopefully you can understand
now why I was so insistent with my letters.”

“To say the least,” she huffed, balling her fists in her lap. She looked down at them, seeing the skin
of her knuckles go white. She would kiss him and strangle him the next time she saw Draco.

“Now you understand what I meant by the easy route, considering the developments between you
both. It’s one thing to hold off on a marriage contract because you don’t wish to spend your life
with someone or believe it would be the wrong matrimonial choice, but if you truly do love each
other…”

Her eyes shot up to see Narcissa giving her an innocent look. Lifting her hand, Narcissa snapped
her fingers, and a tray appeared. “All of that said, I understand that in order to make an informed
decision, one must be aware of all the pieces that are in play. Perhaps this might help bring you
some clarity.”

There were two items on the tray, and she reached toward the first. It was a black folder, with the
Malfoy family crest emblazoned on the front in silver.

“My apologies,” Narcissa said as she stood, holding out the folder for Hermione to take. “I do
believe I hear Tilly calling for me from the kitchens. Please feel free to keep yourself busy while
I’m gone. Perhaps we can continue our conversation when I return? Say, in an hour or so?”

With a pat to her shoulder, Narcissa swept toward the door, only pausing when she had one foot in
the hall.
“Oh, and Hermione?”

She waited until Hermione turned to face her. “As the official matriarch of the estate, I am
authorized to sign that document on behalf of my son. Just so you’re aware.”

In the silence, Hermione could hear the dull roar of blood in her ears. Slowly, she opened the
folder.

OFFICIAL MALFOY BETROTHAL CONTRACT

With a hesitant touch, she pulled the papers free. There weren’t many to read through, nor was the
contract full of legal nonsense that she would expect from a pureblood betrothal. If anything, it
seemed… basic.

The first page contained space for official and identifying information of the parties entering into
the agreement, along with spaces for witness signature. Setting it on the table, she moved on.

The parties listed in this agreement henceforth shall be bound by both marriage and
magic, uniting two families into one. Under this agreement, both parties recognize the
sanctity of marriage and are in equal understanding of the vows they can and shall
make to one another.

Any betrothal between said parties will function as a specific and official indicator of
marriage, and shall bind any properties and children to each other and the family
estate once consummated.

This agreement shall stand as an official record of betrothal and marriage, with a
limited time frame of no more than one calendar year before completion. If the
agreement expires, all assets shall be divided as originally designated, and each party
agrees to an amicable separation without further responsibility.

By agreeing to this contract, the betrothed agrees to wear one piece of selected jewelry
as an indicator of their willingness and dedication to the impending marriage. Once
completed, the Malfoy family agrees to complete a societal announcement and shall
henceforth be responsible for any costs of associated ceremonies.

On and on the document went, outlining the basic tenets of magical marriage and bonding. There
were papers that indicated property liability and signatures for the agreement of familial
responsibilities, and Hermione stopped at one particularly surprising line.

If, after an agreed upon amount of time, each party wishes to separate and/or divorce,
assets shall be split and recognized equally.

It took her several rounds of reading to fully comprehend the meaning. It allows for divorce, the
realization made her frantic mind freeze in place. She’d assumed, rather poorly, that a marriage
agreement or betrothal contract meant forever. Most magical marriages did, as binding and
unbinding magic was difficult to do. It wasn’t impossible, but most avoided it since it could cause
slight changes to a person’s magical signature after the fact.

Setting the folder down on the table, she took several deep breaths, running through the new
knowledge. In order for her son to be fully and immediately recognized as an official member of the
 Malfoy family, she and Draco would need to be engaged by the time she gave birth. Considering
they had already consummated their relationship, their assets and son would automatically be
bound to the estate without further action. Then, they would have one year to marry. If not, their
son would no longer be honored as heir. Alternatively, if they did marry, they would have to
commit to a set amount of time to live as husband and wife before filing for divorce and
dissolution.

Hermione’s heart rate began to pick back up, this time in excitement instead of terror. This… she
breathed, looking around the room. This could be it. This could fix things.

Not that she wanted any part of the Malfoy estate, but if it meant ensuring her son’s future… Her
eyes fell on the tray, where another object was still sitting. It was a square black box, roughly the
size of both of her hands side by side. Curiosity bubbled up inside her chest, quickening the flutter
of nerves in her stomach. She pressed her hand to her back as she stood, the other cradling her
aching belly, and reached toward it.

If Narcissa had intended it to be a surprise, or hadn’t wanted Hermione to go snooping, she didn’t
quite care. With a quick lift of the lid, she bit her lip, eager to see what was inside. Despite her
readiness, her breath still caught, and she stared down at the rows of velvet inside the box. Rows of
velvet that cradled dozens of rings, each one sparkling in the light. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires,
and more.

Engagement rings. All family heirlooms, waiting to be chosen, right next to a document that
needed signing.

Chapter End Notes

Just one more to go! The final chapter will be updated on August 7th.

Before I forget, I'd also like to send a big big thank you to everyone that I've seen
recommending this fic online, whether on twitter/facebook/tumblr/discord/etc. I've
seen a few and it makes my heart swell three sizes to know that you all love it enough
to want to share it.

As always, please come say hello on my tumblr.

 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

THIRTY EIGHT WEEKS (CONTINUED)

Luna Lovegood’s house was a study in chaos. Stacks of newspapers and magazines operated as
makeshift columns through the open rooms, and every inch of the tiny cottage was covered in
color. Delicate lace doilies were draped over the furniture, and light filtered through the stained
glass windows, casting multicolored shadows across the magical printing presses and rolls of
parchment.

Hermione stared at the nearest window, taking in the bright purple butterfly assembled in the
glass.

“I made them myself,” Luna said with a bright smile as she returned to the living room, two cups of
tea in hand. “Would you like me to make you some as well? Babies love them.”

Did she want a giant butterfly stained glass window in her nursery? Hermione hid her laugh with a
smile. “I actually just moved, so I’m still getting settled. I’m not sure what I want to do with the
space yet.”

As of that morning, the last of her belongings had been moved into Whitlock Cottage. With the
help of dozens of shrinking charms and her willing friends, it had taken half the time to empty her
flat than it would have if she’d attempted it alone.

Taking the cup of tea from Luna’s hands, she glanced down at the golden liquid. It smelled sweet.
“Lemon?”

“Mmhmm.” Luna took a sip of her own once she was sitting across from Hermione in a bright blue
chair. It had spots of yellow on it, and hurt Hermione’s eyes to look at too closely. “It’s great for
soothing the stomach. I can’t imagine you’re feeling well these days, getting so close to labor and
all. Are you heading to the hospital soon?”

Arguably, she did feel terrible. The cramps were getting worse, and shooting pains were beginning
to flash through her back with increasing regularity. It was impossible to get comfortable at night,
and her feet and ankles were so swollen it was beginning to hurt to walk. She didn’t know how she
was going to make it another two weeks.

“I’ve still got some time, unfortunately.”

“Are you sure?” Luna tilted her head, blinking like an owl.

Was she sure of her own pregnancy timeline? The idea was laughable. She had a calendar that
tracked the weeks, and a log of her symptoms to make sure everything was progressing according
to plan.

“Yes, just a few more weeks.” Luckily, there was no hint of strain in her voice. Perhaps they could
move things along, and get to—

A cramp twisted her abdomen, and she gripped the armrest of the couch as it passed. They were
getting worse, and at this rate she knew it would be a miserable wait for her labor to begin.
With a shrug, Luna set her cup down and grabbed a half-bent quill and a clean roll of parchment
from the coffee table between them. “Magical pregnancies are temperamental. You never know
what you might get with a bloodline like Draco’s. Shall we start?”

Hermione blinked at the sudden change, as welcome as it was. She’d come to see Luna for a very
specific reason, and the sooner they got it done, the better. The ring was sitting heavy on her
finger, the ruby sparkling with fractals of color. Set in yellow gold and flocked by tiny, colorless
diamonds, it was practically regal, and the longer she went without publishing the announcement,
the more she risked. At Malfoy Manor the day before, Narcissa had been certain that what she was
about to do was the right choice.

“Yes, please,” Hermione breathed in relief. “As I sent in my owl yesterday, I’d like to formally
announce my engagement to Draco Malfoy.”

Luna’s quill scratched across the parchment. “I’d be happy to, though we don’t usually get many
engagement announcements in the Quibbler.”

Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance, though not at Luna. “The Prophet has been difficult about
my relationship with Draco recently, and the editors have started refusing my owls. I suppose if
they don’t want to hear from me, I can take my announcement elsewhere.”

“This will be very big,” Luna agreed. “Do you have a formal statement you’d like to include?”

Nodding, Hermione pulled a small piece of parchment from her bag, which had been sitting on the
couch next to her. “This is the official statement from Narcissa Malfoy, though I do have a few
comments of my own to add.”

Traditionally, the groom’s family handled the announcement, though Narcissa had been in ready
agreement for Hermione to take the lead.

“Draco and I have been in an ongoing relationship since February of early this year,” she started,
watching as Luna took studious notes. “Though our pregnancy was unexpected, we took the time
to get to know one another over the last several months and committed to a proper courting period
before solidifying our engagement.”

It wasn’t technically a lie, though Hermione knew how easily the truth could be skewed. For all
intents and purposes, Draco had courted her. They were committed to one another, despite her
hesitation towards him.

Only you. Only me. They’d both agreed, hadn’t they? Months before? Whether she had been ready
to recognize the seriousness of it then, she saw it for what it was now. For what it grew into over
time, blossoming from a begrudging responsibility to something deeper and more meaningful.

Commitment. Affection. Love.

Draco had been right all along. Just because it was an accident hadn’t meant that it was a mistake.

“I’m excited to announce my engagement to Draco, and to join the Malfoy family in an official
capacity in the coming months.” Though she was in no hurry to begin wedding planning, she knew
that they only had a set amount of time before the betrothal contract expired. “We are deeply
devoted to one another and are very excited to begin raising our son before setting a marriage
date.”

“Any other comments?” Luna asked, finishing her notes.

Pausing, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. “Yes, one last thing. Please note that I am disgusted
by the actions of the editors at the Daily Prophet for slandering my future husband’s name, and the
lies they spun as news have caused nothing but drama. We’re both incredibly disappointed in the
editors refusing to acknowledge the truth of the situation despite multiple attempts to push them to
publish a clear redactment, and but it’s clear that they want nothing but to continue pushing the
same sensational propaganda that they did during the war. We, however, hope that society will
grace us with more understanding and kindness than the papers have been willing—”

A sharp stab of pain hit Hermione in the stomach, her abdominal muscles cramping into a twisted
knot. She let out a gasp, leaning forward in pain. “Oh, Gods, I’m so sorry—I just need a moment
—”

It took several seconds to pass, and by the time her breathing had returned to normal, Luna was
giving her a curious look.

“I’ve been having some light cramps lately, but that one was worse than the rest,” she tried to
apologize again.

“Hermione,” Luna said, her voice curiously amused. “I think you’re going into labor.”

“What?” she laughed. “No, it was just a—”

Before she could finish the sentence, she felt a growing warmth between her legs. Horror grew, and
when she looked down, everything in her mind went blank.

Oh no. No, no no no— her water had just broken.

“This can't happen,” she gasped again, reaching for her bag. She had to find her wand, she had to
vanish the mess—”It’s not time yet. It’s not—”

She still had two weeks to go. It couldn’t be time. She still had to finish her interview, and unbox
her things in the baby’s room. She had to make sure that Draco saw her announcement in the
Quibbler, even if it meant owling him a dozen copies every single day. She couldn’t go into labor.
Not yet—not while he was still upset with her.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Luna approached with caution, patting the top of Hermione’s head with her
delicate fingers. “It’s okay, we can send someone to get him.”

Belatedly, she realized that she had been speaking out loud, babbling all her thoughts as she tried to
finish the vanishing spell with shaking hands. Tears began tracking down her cheeks, and she
shook her head. “No, I have to fix this first—I have to make sure that everything is right—”

Luna’s laugh sounded like a windchime, light and musical. “Babies wait for no witch or wizard.
They’re a bit like nifflers, you know. They tend to do what they want.”

Hermione sniffed, trying to calm herself down. “I can’t do this alone, Luna.”

“You won’t.” Her promise was another airy smile.

Hermione squeezed the Healer’s hand as another contraction squeezed through her abdomen.

“Oh Gods—” she grunted against the pain. Each round was getting worse, with the contractions
quickening at a rapid pace. After Apparating from Luna’s cottage to St. Mungo’s, Luna had left to
go find her friends. Hours had passed, but no one had come back yet.
“Keep breathing, Hermione,” Francis, the maternity healer, coached in a calm voice. “Just a bit
more now. You can do it.”

“Agghh!” she shouted, tossing her head back onto the pillow of her hospital bed. “I need—”

“ Hermione!” Draco’s frantic shout cut through the doors of her room, and they flew open only a
moment later as he ran into the room. His cheeks were ruddy, and she could see from across the
room how wild his eyes had become. His hair was disheveled and out of place, and his tie had
come loose at some point. “Gods, there you are—”

“You—” Hermione grunted, closing her eyes against the pain. The contractions were lasting longer
as well, coming every few minutes and lasting long enough to make her pant with exhaustion.
“Where have you been?”

“What?” He was out of breath. “I came as soon as Pansy found me—”

“Luna went looking for you hours ago,” Hermione snarled against the pain. “You told me that I
wouldn’t have to be alone but you’ve been ignoring all of my owls, and then you leave me here to
do this by myself?!”

Fury flowed through her easily, eclipsing the pain. It gave her something to focus on besides the
white hot intensity of the contractions, and she gave into it.

“I sent you owl after owl, and you were where? Out flouncing around the French countryside?! I
needed you!”

Francis was watching them with wide eyes, but they each ignored her.

“Granger,” he said gently. “Pansy only just found me a few moments ago. I Apparated straight
home and came immediately through the floo. I was in a meeting with a French investor—”

“I don’t care where you were,” she snapped. “I—I—” The anger was beginning to melt, turning
into the familiar grief that she’d been plagued with for days. “I needed you. This wasn’t supposed
to happen yet and I need you.”

Draco’s face went soft as her voice cracked, his eyes fluttering shut as he sunk to his knees beside
the bed. One hand found hers, his fingers threading through her own, and the other came to cup her
cheek.

“I know, darling. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

The panic she’d felt when Luna left her in the maternity ward had consumed her whole—she was
alone, and it was all because of her own doing. She’d driven Draco away, insisting that she was
capable and independent, but she wasn’t. She needed help, and she needed him. His presence by
her side throughout the pregnancy was proof enough—his solid, quiet support by her side was
something she’d come to depend on. He’d given her everything she allowed him to, and yet she
still took him for granted.

“I’m so sorry I pushed you away,” Hermione began to sob. With the pain, her moods were
fluctuating wildly. “I was terrible to you, but I’ve been trying—”

“No.” Draco shook his head. “You’re right to feel the way you do. I can’t push you into something
you don’t want. It’s unfair of me to expect otherwise.”

“I—” Another contraction hit, and she let out a wounded noise. Draco’s eyes widened in panic, and
he looked toward the healer.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?”

The healer squeezed Hermione’s opposite hand, but her eyes were trained on a clock against the far
wall. “It’s just her contractions. She’s almost ready to begin pushing.”

Hermione dug her fingers into Draco’s hand, squeezing her eyes shut as she panted through the
pain. “I can’t—I can’t—”

She knew pain. She remembered it well from her years as a teen—the burn of the cruciatus curse
as it seized her muscles and nerve endings wasn’t something she was bound to forget until the day
she died. But this? This felt awfully similar.

“Go ahead and drink this.” Healer Francis’ voice was gentle by her side, and Hermione felt
something nudge her lips. “It’s a pain potion. Now that you’re getting closer, it will help.”

“Is it safe?” Draco asked when she opened her eyes and took a tentative sip. It tasted bitter, but she
swallowed as much of it as she could.

Francis nodded, satisfied when the vial was empty. “It’s not as strong as a typical pain remedy, but
we need her to be able to tell when the contractions are occurring to make sure she doesn’t start
pushing too soon. Once we get to that point, we have a few other spells and charms we’ll be
using.”

Draco let out a relieved sigh. He was still kneeling beside the bed, his hand wrapped around hers.

“Draco, I should—” When she squeezed his fingers again and his eyes flickered down to where
they were joined, his complexion whitened.

“What is that?” he asked, the question barely a whisper. “Why are you—?”

Hermione let out a watery laugh. The pain potion was setting in, making her body feel heavy and
sluggish. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Why are you wearing my great-grandmother’s wedding ring?”

She cast a quick glance down at it. “Is that who it belonged to? Your mother didn’t tell me. She
just had me choose one.”

He swallowed audibly, slowly raising back to his feet. “You didn’t. ”

“I did.”

“No—” Shaking his head, he stepped away, letting go of her completely. His hands came up to his
face, his palms pressing into his eyes before running up and into his hair. The white-blond strands
were a mess, and he made a halfhearted attempt to smooth them back into place. “Granger, you
don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary. You can take the ring off and return it to my mother—the
agreement isn’t the only way—”

“I want it,” she cut him off, rolling her head to the side to watch him pace across the room and
back. She was damp with sweat and out of breath from the strain of the contractions, and she had a
feeling her hair was tangled in a wild nest around her head. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to fix
things, but just like the start of their relationship, she was just going to have to make it work. They
didn’t have time for anything else, nor did she want to keep waiting for a better time when she was
more put together.

“I want you, Draco. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last two weeks.”

“You don’t,” he argued. “Not with me.”

“Yes, I do. I was making the formal engagement announcement at Luna’s when I went into labor. I
didn’t know how else to make you see how serious I am.”

“You don’t have to do this. I can take care of you both in other ways,” he tried again.

She gave him a long, hard look. She knew she only had another minute or two before another
contraction came, so she would need to be quick. “Months ago, I asked you if you wanted to get
married. You never answered me.”

She wasn’t unaware of his skill at evading questions he didn’t want to directly answer.
Unfortunately for her, she’d fallen prey to his diversions along the way and hadn’t seen the real
answers he wanted to keep buried.

“I would have married you from the beginning because it was the right thing to do. But I wouldn’t
have asked it of you.”

She shook her head, unwilling to let him hold the burden alone. From the beginning, they were
both guilty of hiding their feelings and dancing around the more delicate subjects in favor of
keeping things between them familiar. Stable. And while it might’ve made sense in the beginning
when they weren’t sure of each other, it was no longer helping them—it was only holding them
back.

“Stop it, Draco—you know what I mean. But if you’re worried I’m not being clear enough: Will
you marry me?”

He paused, but when he finally answered, his voice had gone rough. “Yes. For you, my answer will
always be yes.”

Any joy she might have felt was immediately snuffed out by the sudden and intense wave of pain
that moved through her abdomen. At her cry, he was back by her side in an instant.

“I think you’re ready to begin pushing,” Healer Francis cut in. Hermione couldn’t even come to
care that the healer had just witnessed her last minute proposal, and shook her head as the
contraction got worse.

Could she? Even with Draco by her side and the pain potion, the pain was only getting worse. This
was it—this was the end, and everything that her life had been building up to for months.
Everything would be different. Could she do it?

“Come on, you can do this,” he told her in a whisper, leaning down until his forehead was braced
against hers. His grey eyes were intense, willing determination straight into her.

Hermione faintly recognized the healer moving to the foot of the bed, lifting the blanket from her
lower legs. Her wand waved through the motions as she murmured some kind of spell, and a slight
tingling sensation set into Hermione’s lower extremities.

“This is going to feel a bit weird,” Francis confirmed. “But it’ll help prevent any tearing and help
your body get through labor faster. Just hold on a bit longer, okay? The next contraction that you
feel, I need you to bear down as hard as you can.”
“I don’t—” She swallowed past her fear and looked back at Draco. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

His gaze softened, and he lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. “Granger, you have
never terrified me more in my life than in this moment, and yet I’ve never imagined I could love
someone nearly this much at the same time. If anyone can do this, it’s you. It’s been you for me,
and it’s always going to be you. We’re ready.”

Hermione breathed in against the pain, her lungs shuddering as her muscles tried to seize against it.
When it finally began to subside, she swallowed past the familiar fear. It would always be there,
but with him by her side, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

“We’re ready,” she echoed, her eyes beginning to water once more.

THREE DAYS LATER

“Are you ever going to let anyone else hold him?” Hermione asked as she stepped through the floo
at Whitlock Cottage. Draco had already made several trips with her personal bag and several filled
with last minute baby gifts from their friends while at the hospital, but now he was refusing to give
up their son.

“I am, in fact, not.” Draco gave her a haughty look. “You did the hard work for the last nine
months, didn’t you? Let me take over.”

“Oh, no, that’s not how this works and you know it,” she laughed. “Now give me my son, you
spoiled man.”

Begrudgingly, Draco handed him over. With a smile, she leaned down to gently kiss the top of
Scorpius’ sparse, downy white hair. “You just want to hold him more so that he’ll like you better.”

“Please,” Draco scoffed. “It’s no contest and we both know it.”

“If by that you mean ‘he’ll automatically love his mother the most because I carried him for nine
months, birthed him, and fed him with my own body,’ then yes, you would be correct.”

It felt right to be back to normal with Draco, teasing each other as they used to. He’d spent every
waking moment with her at the hospital, never leaving her side through the birth and after. He’d
scrunched his long body onto the small visitor’s couch in the room beside her bed to take the
occasional nap, but refused to go home even when dark shadows grew beneath his eyes.

Most of the soreness from the birth had abated with the help of healing charms and medicinal
potions, but she was still moving slightly slower than usual as she made her way to the couch.

“Just wait until he hears that you wanted to name him Hugo. ” Draco’s retort was punctuated with
a kiss to the top of her head, then Scorpius’, once she was seated. “As much as I hated that name, I
do hope he gets my sense of self preservation. No son of mine would willingly give up the prize on
a bet he’d rightfully won.”

Hermione’s cheeks heated, and she was grateful that Draco drifted away in the opposite direction
toward the kitchen. Through the doorway, she watched as he began to prepare a kettle for tea.

“About that,” Hermione called. “I should probably admit something to you…”

Draco stiffened, turning back toward her and leaning out of the doorway to see her clearly. “Please
tell me you did not actually name him Hugo and this has been some awful, terrible joke.”
“No,” she laughed lightly. “But I would probably lose my Gryffindor status if I lied to you any
longer. I… I didn’t win the bet with Harry. You did.”

That had his eyebrows lifting, and he strolled back out to the living room with his shoulders back.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that for me?”

“You won.” She rolled her eyes, readjusting Scorpius against her chest. He was fast asleep, his tiny
pink face calm and serene as he dreamed in his swaddle. There were little owls printed all over the
cloth, and she stroked it softly with her thumb. “Harry only agreed with me because you were
there. After you left, he just about gave me verbal whiplash.”

Draco mulled it over for a moment before he came around the couch to join her. Sitting down
slowly as to not wake their son, he gave her a questioning look. “You’re telling me that I was right.
Potter agreed with me, but then he lied about it, just to make a point?”

“That is what happened, yes.”

“Typical,” Draco huffed, sitting back to stretch his legs out in front of his body. He was still
wearing the same suit he’d arrived at the hospital in, charmed several times over with cleaning
spells, but the edges of the fabric were getting rumpled. It was the most disheveled she’d ever seen
him, and it made her stomach flip in a dangerous sort of way.

“I should have seen that coming, honestly. It’s on me for not expecting him to go rogue and take
your side, regardless of good sportsmanship.”

Hermione breathed out another light laugh, and Scorpius gurgled against her chest. “I was going to
tell you sooner, but then everything happened and I just lost sight of it.”

“Mmm, sure. Well,” he paused to lean over, pulling his arm around the back of Hermione’s
shoulders. His body was warm and solid, and she breathed in his familiar scent. Looking around, it
was surreal to be in their new home, together. “My comment about him inheriting my sense of self
preservation still stands. You’re a fool to have given up victory, especially when Potter laid it out
so easily. You and that blasted sense of honor…”

His grunt was especially satisfying when she dug her elbow into his ribs. When they grew silent,
Hermione was reminded of one more thing. Her labor was a blur of pain and contractions and
pushing until Scorpius had emerged, screaming and red-faced into the world. With a shock of
platinum curls on his head and caramel brown eyes, he was perfect. After, her hospital room had
become a constant parade of visitors, rotating out until both she and Draco were equally exhausted.
Narcissa, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise had been constant fixtures, but there were
others, as well. Luna and Neville came by with flowers, and Andromeda had come along for a visit
with Molly and Arthur Weasley.

For days, the only time they’d been alone were the few hours of sleep they managed each night,
and it all started over again with morning visitor hours. As much as she appreciated the support,
Hermione was ready for some time alone with Draco, seeing as there was still one thing left they
needed to discuss.

“Draco,” she started, clearing her throat. “I know that we discussed the marriage contract and the
betrothal, but…”

“But?” He gave her a curious look. “Is there something else?”

She blushed under his gaze, her cheeks and neck growing hot again. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he
 might believe it was just another hot flash from the residual hormones.

“I know that it’s somewhat implied, and that you told me in so many words about your feelings,
but I was thinking that it might be prudent if we—”

Understanding dawned on his face, and his lips stretched into a grin.

“—if we laid things out. Clearly. Just so that neither of us can question things again.”

“Granger,” he said, leaning his head toward hers with a glint in his eye. “Are you trying to say
something?”

Sighing, she nudged at him again with her elbow, gentler than the first time. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yes, I am,” Draco agreed. He closed the distance between their faces, placing a gentle kiss on her
cheek. Then another, closer to her ear, where he whispered. “But I also love you. I am deeply,
madly, in love with you, and it doesn’t appear that there’s anything that either of us can do about
it.”

Her breath rushed out of her in a wave of relief, and her eyes fluttered closed. It was the first time
she’d heard him say the words out loud, and although she knew it was true before that moment, the
audible confirmation of it solidified something inside of her chest.

“Come on then.” His voice turned playful as he lightly nipped at her earlobe. “Don’t you have
something to say as well?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, enjoying the light kisses he had started to trail down her neck. It wasn’t
sexual, but she’d missed his blatant affection more than she realized. “Do I?”

When he growled, she laughed and set her free hand on his thigh to lean into his mouth even more.
The muscle tensed beneath her palm, and she gave it a light squeeze.

“Fine, fine. I love you too. Even when we’re both being idiots, and even more so for every moment
that you refused to let me push you away. I love you more than I knew I could, and especially
because of what we’ve managed to create.”

Hermione didn’t quite know if she meant their life together, or their son specifically, but as they
both gazed down at his sleeping form she felt Draco release a soft sigh. The tension bled from his
body, just as it had hers, and he let his fingers drift up to her jaw to bring their lips together.

“Thank you.” He kissed her, slow and deep. “For everything you’ve given me.”

Chapter End Notes

As we close this out, I'd like to say thank you to a few people that I couldn't have done
this without:

To Sofia, for your endless support and hype with all the stupid ideas I come to you
with. This fic would not be here if it weren't for you.

To Erin, for being the OG inspiration and my #1 backup for those days when I
questioned my own sanity, and Caitlin, for always being my fic ride-or-die. I live and
breathe for your google doc comments.

To Megan and Alys, for all the unending love for DILF!Draco and the support you
gave me along the way.

To Brit, the best beta and Dramione dealer I could have asked for. I feel like I dumped
this story on your plate almost as soon as we became friends, and with your help it
became something so much better. It's grown alongside our friendship, and I'm so
thankful to have met you.

And finally, to all of the wonderful, thoughtful readers who have liked, commented,
shared, and recommended this fic along the way. Though there will not be a sequel, I
am working on an epilogue to share sometime in the coming weeks.

All my love,
Amber
 Epilogue
Chapter Summary

Draco’s eyes never left hers as she stepped down the aisle, taking care to keep each
foot steady. They didn’t dip down to her overpriced dress, or scan the crowd to find
Scorpius perched on Narcissa’s lap in the front row. He didn’t look at any of the other
guests who were sitting on fine, white chairs across the lawn, or to Harry as he walked
with her, arm in arm.

Draco’s gaze stayed on her, his throat working as he swallowed, and every step
brought her closer to him.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as Harry handed her off with a brief smile, and she took
Draco’s hands in her own. They stood at the front of the crowd, fingers intertwined,
and no one else existed.

The ceremony was brief, and she knew she should pay attention, but she couldn’t.
Nothing else mattered besides the eyes across from hers, shining with their own tears,
reflecting the same shade of grey as the silk underlay on her dress.

There was only Draco.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

SIX MONTHS

There was too much noise in the office. Had there always been this much noise in the office?

Hermione clutched her quill tighter in her fist, the spine bending under the strain. Even through her
closed office door, the voices still carried through.

“Oh my goodness!”

“Eliza, come see this!”

When her ink blotted across the form she was working on, Hermione had had enough. It was only
her third week back from maternity leave, but already the office had thrown two birthday parties
and a Friday afternoon social in the time since. And now it sounded like the start of another party,
despite only being lunchtime.

It was too much.

She’d grown used to her quiet afternoons at home with Draco and Scorpius in the six months she
took off. By the fourth month she had been itching to get back to work, her mind wandering to her
empty office whenever she found herself standing still for too long. Even she had to admit that she
could only read so many books before things got tedious. She had given it eight more weeks just to
make sure it wasn’t a fleeting desire before sending Robards her notice of return owl.
Draco was the most attentive and thorough partner she could have imagined. He rose earlier than
she did, taking care of Scorpius each morning so she could sleep in as late as she needed, and she
would always wake to fresh coffee on her bedside table. They spent their days learning each other,
cuddling on the couch between books and finding ways to keep Scorpius entertained. His flexible
schedule meant she was able to return to work whenever she pleased, and he was more than happy
to shoo her towards work if it meant getting to hog their son all day.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was how busy everything was. How quickly she’d forgotten
about the bustle within the office, people coming and going, heads popping into offices and memos
flying around every which way. It was taking some time to get reacclimated, despite her happiness
at having an inbox full of problems to solve once more.

Suffice to say, she loved being back at work. But she missed her family.

Everyone told her it would happen, and they were correct. She missed them so much she ached
every time she stepped through their floo in the morning, not feeling quite whole again until she
returned.

A loud laugh sounded through the door, breaking her focus, and Hermione huffed out an impatient
breath. This has got to stop, she thought, standing to circle her desk. As she marched toward the
door, the voices grew louder.

“Oh, Melody, I told you!”

“Are you sure we can’t—”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, finding a gaggle of women gathered in the area just outside her
door. They surrounded a tall figure in black, who was holding a baby to his side with a sure arm.
Draco’s eyes shot up to hers when her door swung open, his mouth lifting in an easy grin as every
female around fawned over him and their son. Scorpius looked at them with wide eyes, his fist
tucked into his mouth as the women cooed.

Hermione swore she could feel her heart jump straight into her throat. What was he doing there?
She tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out in her shocked silence.

Draco’s smile widened as she stared at him, awkward in the middle of the office. “I’m sorry,
ladies,” he cut off the women around him with an apologetic look that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It seems my fiancée is ready for me to take her to lunch.”

“Lunch?” she gaped.

At the sound of her voice, Scorpius let out a happy shout, waving his arms in the air toward her.

“Yes,” Draco laughed, cradling the baby closer as he stepped closer to her. The sight of it had her
abdomen twisting, and it only amplified when he met her by her office door to press a light kiss to
her surprised lips. “You need to eat, do you not?”

“But I’m—” In the middle of finishing a case file. Trying to get through the backlog of memos from
being out. Neck deep in pointless paperwork and all I want is to be back home with the two of you.

“Going to lunch,” he cut off her argument before she’d barely formed it. She was so torn, wanting
to stay at work to get through the mountain of tasks she needed to finish before the end of the
week, but gods she missed them both so much.

Scorpius, happy to be pressed between their bodies, laughed as he leaned into Hermione’s hair.
“See? He’s missed you.”

Narrowing her eyes at Draco, she took hold of her son. “Just him?”

He studiously avoided looking at her, his grey eyes dropping to his lapel where he brushed off an
invisible piece of lint. “I’ve got to say, it’s terribly boring at home without you bossing us around
all the time.”

The sharp look he gave her had even more heat building in her chest. She’d missed him too.

“Hello, darling,” she said in a low voice as she pressed a kiss to Scorpius’ forehead, ignoring
Draco. “Why don’t we see about dropping you off with Narcissa so mummy and daddy can have
lunch at home, hmm?”

Draco perked up, his hand dropping to take hold of hers. His grip was tight and sure as he led them
toward the lifts, sending apologetic smiles at the women still admiring him and their son. “Let’s
not waste any time then. Can’t have you going hungry, can we?”

NINE MONTHS

“Give me that baby.”

“No.”

“I want that baby. Give him to me.”

“No! He’s mine. Get your own.”

“Listen here you cheeky little ferret, I will steal that baby the moment you look the other way and
teach him how to mess up that perfect hair of yours if you don’t—”

Hermione could no longer hide her laughter at the two fighting over her child. Cutting in, she
placed a gentle hand on the table between where Draco and Ginny sat, staring at each other with
daggers in their eyes. “Draco, go on and give her a turn. We’ve been here for an hour and you
haven’t let go of him once. Don’t be such a baby hog.”

He swung his gaze in her direction, his features hardening as Ginny clapped with glee. “How dare
you take her side. This is betrayal, witch—don’t think I won't forget.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ginny is his godmother. What do you think is going to happen?”

Draco scoffed as he handed Scorpius to Ginny, who eagerly took him into her own arms. Scorpius,
fascinated by her red hair, reached up to yank on it. “I’m sure she’s already teaching him all sorts
of awful things. Pranks and inappropriate jokes. Poor taste in jumpers. And houses. Men, too. Just
bad taste all around, really.”

“Hey!” Harry shouted from down the table, offended at the insult to both himself and his home.

Ginny, smiling wide down at Scorpius, waved a lock of hair in his face. Speaking in a singsong
voice, she laughed as Scorpius reached up to try to catch it. “Whatever, I’ve got the baby now. I
win.”

Grimmauld Place was bustling with people celebrating Harry’s birthday, and Hermione looked
around fondly at all the activity. Draco’s hand came to rest on her thigh as he ducked down to press
a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Oh no you don’t,” Hermione laughed, backing away. “It’s amazing that a man your age still needs
to learn how to share.”

Draco was fiercely protective of Scorpius, never letting him out of his sight. Pansy and Theo had
held him once each, and that was only after Hermione had pried the infant from Draco’s unwilling
arms. He even struggled to leave the baby with his mother for brief outings, no matter Hermione’s
insistence that Narcissa was more than capable to take care of a child. He’d made it to adulthood,
had he not?

“I don’t have to like it.” Draco pouted, turning back to watch Ginny with a close eye. Although she
found it slightly amusing, his dedication and care toward Scorpius only made her heart swell even
more than it already had. She hadn’t realized the depth of his love, or how intensely he protected
his own. He was the cornerstone that held their family together, taking care of them with a
watchful gaze and an attention to detail that took her breath away. He anticipated their needs before
she could even begin to process what was happening, always at the ready with a bottle or a blanket,
or, in her case, a cup of tea or a book when she was starting to feel too frazzled. As a father and
soon-to-be husband, he had a purpose. He was driven to put them first, to protect them with
everything he had. He was no longer the snotty child from her childhood memories, or even the
arrogant young man he’d been that fateful night at Theo’s.

He was still cocky, yes, and a pain more often than not, but he’d come to be the one person she
relied on the most. It wasn’t easy, and it still didn’t come to her naturally, but he refused to let her
drown alone.

“It’ll get easier,” she conceded, reaching to pat the hand that gripped her leg. His hand flipped over,
tangling hers with his own, and he toyed with the diamond ring on her finger. Truthfully, it was
hard for even her to let someone else hold Scorpius, but she knew that if Draco found out, he’d
never let them leave the house.

They would live in their tiny perfect bubble forever, never wanting for anything or anyone outside
of the home they built. As tempting as it was, Hermione knew it wasn’t sustainable. She couldn’t
let herself hide from the world again, keeping her head in the sand the way she had before.

It was getting easier with every passing day, and she sighed happily as she leaned against Draco’s
shoulder, watching as Ginny traced invisible runes on Scorpius’ forehead.

“One for protection,” she whispered. “And one for love…”

Scorpius’ eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep, and Ginny continued.

“She’s good with him,” Hermione whispered to Draco, who was watching the exchange with a soft
gaze. Even he couldn’t hide the affection on his features, and Hermione smiled.

“She is,” he agreed, squeezing her hand. After a moment he sat up straighter, looking back down
the room towards Harry. “I think I need to convince Potter to knock her up. Give her a bespectacled
child of her own to coo over so we can have ours back.”

“Draco!” Elbowing him in the ribs, she laughed again.

TWELVE MONTHS

Scorpius thrashed in Hermione’s arms, his face red and swollen from screaming so loud.

“You’re okay,” she tried to soothe him, rocking back on her heels. He liked the motion of it, his
cries beginning to slow. With his fists wrapped up in the gauzy sleeves of her dress, it was clear he
didn’t want to be anywhere else. “It’s okay. Auntie Pansy didn’t mean to scare you with the
champagne, did she?”

When Hermione shot Pansy a sharp look from across the room, Pansy simply shrugged as she took
a sip from her glass.

“He’ll survive.”

The loud pop of the bottle had startled him, but he was settling down with each bounce in
Hermione’s arms. His soft baby curls had been smoothed back earlier that morning, but they were
growing unruly once more as he began to sweat through his tantrum.

“Hermione, are you ready?” Narcissa popped her head through the door, making sure that the
opening was blocked by her body. “Everyone is seated.”

Pansy stood at attention faster than she did, setting down her half empty champagne glass to
smooth out the skirt of her dress. It was a slate blue, almost grey, with a silk hem that just brushed
the floor.

“Everyone?” Pansy cleared her throat. “Good, good. Okay.”

Hermione rolled her lips between her teeth, trying and failing to suppress her smile. If Hermione
hadn’t been wearing a white gown, she might have mistakenly assumed Pansy was the bride.

“Oh goodness, everything out there is just so beautiful!” Molly Weasley’s voice caught
Hermione’s attention, and she turned back to the door to see the two older women standing side by
side. They were both wearing fine dress robes, though they couldn’t compare to the gown that
Naricssa and Pansy had forced Hermione into for the day.

While the bodice and silk skirt underneath were the same shade of slate as Pansy and Ginny’s
dresses, her gown had a white tulle overlay that reached to her collarbone and gathered above her
shoulders. With wide, open sleeves that touched the ground, it was embroidered with tiny
constellations made of gold thread. Every move she made caused the stars to shimmer in the light,
and she smiled fondly down at the two constellations embroidered closest to her heart, right on her
chest.

Draco and Scorpius.

Hermione wasn’t sure what Narcissa had paid for the gown, nor did she want to know. The entire
wedding itself was a spectacle, planned out by Pansy, Narcissa, Ginny, and Molly in unison. Like
the baby shower, they spared no expense, and it showed. The Malfoy home in the French
countryside was in full bloom, every room covered in a myriad of flowers and charms that made
everything sparkle. It was moments like this that reminded Hermione of the innocence of magic, of
the purity of it, and it felt like everything had come together for her one perfect moment with
Draco.

A moment that he had insisted on pushing off until a week before their betrothal agreement
expired, certain that she needed every last second of time to change her mind. Even that morning
she’d woken up with him staring at the wall in their bedroom with a forlorn look etched across his
features.

“Are you certain?” he asked her. “If you’re not—”

“Draco,” she said, cutting him off as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes were
still bleary with sleep, having woken up with Scorpius just a few hours before dawn. “I’ll always
be certain. I promise.”

“But you don’t have to. You don’t need to do this if it’s not what you want.”

“Did you always want to marry me? Even when we were in school together?”

Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to answer.

“Exactly,” she responded to his silence. “Things can change. I might not have wanted this in the
beginning, but that was then. I know you now. I needed time, Draco, but I took that time and I fell
in love with you. That hasn’t changed. I might’ve been afraid of what it meant before, but…”

Without looking at her, he reached out to take her hand, giving her the strength to finish.

“I want to be married to you. I want to be your wife, and I want you to be my husband. I want to
live in this great big house with you and raise our family and let you spoil our children because
you have zero self restraint and no concept of humility.”

His lips pulled into a smile, and he turned to face her, smiling in the early morning sun.

“Marry me?” he asked her for the thousandth time.

Hermione matched his smile, falling back into the pillows as Scorpius began to cry from his room
down the hall. “I would marry you today, tomorrow, next week, or next year. It’s always for me,
Draco. I’ve already said yes.”

Brushing the last of Scorpius’ tears from his cheek, she answered Narcissa’s question.

“I’m ready.”

Draco’s eyes never left hers as she stepped down the aisle, taking care to keep each foot steady.
They didn’t dip down to her overpriced dress, or scan the crowd to find Scorpius perched on
Narcissa’s lap in the front row. He didn’t look at any of the other guests who were sitting on fine,
white chairs across the lawn, or to Harry as he walked with her, arm in arm.

Draco’s gaze stayed on her, his throat working as he swallowed, and every step brought her closer
to him.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as Harry handed her off with a brief smile, and she took Draco’s
hands in her own. They stood at the front of the crowd, fingers intertwined, and no one else
existed.

The ceremony was brief, and she knew she should pay attention, but she couldn’t. Nothing else
mattered besides the eyes across from hers, shining with their own tears, reflecting the same shade
of grey as the silk underlay on her dress.

There was only Draco.

When the Ministry official gestured for them to grasp their wand hands together, she moved
without looking down.

“If you could please repeat after me,” the officiant spoke, waving his wand in the air above their
hands. “I promise…”

“I promise,” two voices echoed.

“—To love, to honor, to serve—”

“To love, to honor, to serve.”

She could feel her vocal cords working in her throat, but she could only hear Draco’s promises.

“—To give my magic to this person—”

“To give my magic to this person.”

Her tears fell, tracking down her cheeks.

“—My partner, my equal, my other—”

“My partner, my equal, my other.”

Draco’s mouth stretched into a smile she had only seen two other times. The moment he first felt
their son moving in her stomach, and the day he held Scorpius in his arms for the first time.

“—For as long as our magic binds us shall we be intertwined—”

“For as long as our magic binds us shall we be intertwined.”

Something warm wrapped around her hand, twisting around her wrist and arm, binding her with the
man who stood across from her. It settled deep into her bones, spreading up her arm and right into
her chest, feeling as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.

“—As fate and nature do so intend.”

Together they held on, their fingers tightening against each other as they spoke the last of their
binding vow.

“As fate and nature do so intend.”

As their family and friends clapped and cheered, Draco stepped forward, sweeping her into his
arms to kiss her. His lips were strong against her own, his hands cradling her jaw with a reverent
softness that had her breathless, and she felt the beginnings of his smile as they pulled apart.

“Hello, wife,” he greeted.

“Hello, husband,” she answered.

ONE YEAR, THREE MONTHS

Hermione’s limbs were starting to feel heavy as she walked down the dark corridor of Nott Manor,
the combination of firewhisky shots and exhaustion settling in as she adjusted to her first baby-free
night since having Scorpius. Theo had insisted on nothing less, citing his generosity in giving both
her and Draco the year off before, and had thrown himself a birthday party fit for a king.

It had been going for hours, and Pansy had looked dangerously close to passing out on the
overstuffed chair near the fireplace when Hermione had left to venture down the hall to the
bathroom.

As she passed the door to the sitting room, a hand shot out to grab her. The squeak of surprise
never made it past her lips before Draco was pulling her into the darkened room, kissing her into
silence as his eager hands pressed her back into the shadows.

“Draco—what are you—”

“Shh,” he cut her off, kissing her again. “You don’t want them to hear you and come looking, do
you?”

His kisses were less restrained than usual, not bothering to start off slow with gentle presses of his
lips. He kissed her with intensity, his passion and lust stoking her own fire quickly and building it
into a full blaze. She wasted no time, opening her mouth to return the kiss and lifting her thigh to
wrap around his waist. He caught her, pulling her up easily as her spine pressed against the wall,
and he swallowed her breathy moan as he pushed himself between her legs.

Struck by the familiarity of the situation, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him
tighter. Urgency built in her center, warming her entire body as she writhed against her husband.

When she felt his hands reach down to the button on her trousers she pulled her mouth away,
panting heavily. His lips trailed down her neck, kissing and sucking a path to her collarbone.
Goosebumps flushed across her skin, and she tightened her legs around him.

“Wait—I don’t have my wand—” it was somewhere in the game room with their friends, tucked
into a pocket within her bag, “—We can’t forget the contraceptive charm; can you do it?”

One unexpected pregnancy was enough. She’d never forgotten since, no matter how carried away
they became.

“What if,” he started, pausing to bring his mouth up to her ear and nipping at the lobe. His breath
brushed against the sensitive shell, and she bit down on her lip to stifle the moan. “We didn’t?”

His fingers, finally finished pulling down her zipper, delved beneath the denim. She struggled to
keep her wits about her as his fingers stroked her on the outside of her knickers.

“Wait, what?” Surely he wasn’t—

“You said you wanted to,” he coaxed. “What better place?”

It was true. As Scorpius surpassed his first birthday, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might be
like with a second child. A daughter, maybe, or even another son. A family of four, instead of
three. When she’d brought it up to Draco his eyes had lit up with immediate interest, but aside from
speaking in purely hypothetical logistics, they hadn’t been actively trying.

He had apparently been waiting. For tonight. Though she should have been offended, she couldn’t
deny the way his forethought only increased her desire.

“You planned this!” she accused, trying to slap at his shoulder, though she couldn’t get far since
she was pressed up against the wall. He lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

“Come on, Granger,” he taunted. “I know you’ve got sharper claws than that…”

Just like the first time.

Her breath caught, her body growing tight, and she rocked her hips against his hand as an answer.
She dug her heels into his arse to make her point, but it only ground him harder against her.

“Stop talking.” She remembered her role and grabbed his neck to pull him in for another kiss.

They kissed for a few more moments, his fingers finally sneaking beneath her knickers to slip
between her folds, and she pulled away to whisper in his ear. “And by the way, it’s Granger-
Malfoy now.”

Draco practically growled, as she already knew he loved the way his name sounded against her
own. “Trust me,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten, witch.”

TWO YEARS

Draco carefully climbed into bed behind Hermione as she basked in the silence of a quiet house.
With Scorpius asleep down the hall, she knew it was temporary. Scorpius’ second birthday party
had been earlier that afternoon, their house filled with people as they celebrated, and Hermione had
thought she might pull her hair out before it all ended.

With a fussy toddler and a swollen body, she had little patience for everyone in her space,
complaining about the food or the way Ginny and Pansy needlessly tried to one up their gifts for
their godson. The noise and activity had nearly driven her to tears by the time it was all over, and
not for the first time, she wondered how they were about to do it with two.

“Better?” Draco asked, his legs bracketing her hips and his hands coming to rest on her stomach.
He’d made sure that everyone from the party was seen out before he closed off the floo and
vanished the mess of wrapping paper and used party supplies, letting Hermione go upstairs to sit
down in the quiet for a few blessed moments alone.

“A bit,” she answered, letting her head fall back to his shoulder. He held her, their breathing
syncing up easily, and she felt his palm slide to the side at a sign of movement in her belly.
Hermione winced, feeling pressure on her bladder, and the weight shifted against her pelvis again.

“She’s busy today.”

“Mmm.” She barely had the energy to hum her agreement. Their daughter was busy, seemingly as
agitated as Hermione was at all the stress of her older brother’s birthday party.

Draco dropped a kiss to her neck. “Happy anniversary, love.”

“Anniversary?” Hermione smiled as he kissed her neck again, moving up toward her ear. “You
mean our son’s birthday?”

“No.” She felt his lips pull into his own smile against her ear as he nuzzled her gently. “I mean the
day you finally told me that you loved me. Although I guess that means it would be our
engagement anniversary, too.”

“Ahh, that bit,” she laughed in response. “Does that still matter since we’re married?”

“Maybe not as much,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. It might’ve been the hundredth or the thousandth, but she’d
long since lost count. It held a million different meanings, but they all boiled down to the same
thing. The things he never needed to thank her for, but always did anyway.
 Thank you for not giving up on me. For giving me a chance. For forgiving me. Thank you for our
son. This family. This life. Thank you for loving me. Marrying me. Choosing me.

Thank you for everything.

Chapter End Notes

The final scene was inspired by this beautiful piece of art by heartineyes.

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