Mind the Bump - Soap1 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: two

Chapter Text

They must be drunk.

There was simply no other explanation for what was happening. They’d both had far too much to drink. Although, Hermione recalled that she’d only had two glasses of champagne, and he’d never finished the scotch in front of him, occasionally picking it up to swirl it around the large cube of ice before taking a sip, still a finger’s width left in the glass when they’d left.

How had she ended up there in the first place? She should have declined the invitation. Hermione rarely wore gowns, though she had a few in the back of her closet leftover from the balls and events that immediately followed the war. She had pulled out a dress in the most burgundy Gryffindor color she could find, knowing it would drive Theo mad.

She arrived at the gala, presenting her invitation to the witch at the door before entering the ballroom at Theo Nott’s massive estate. It was astounding. A large hourglass much like the ones at Hogwarts was charmed with oversized Galleons that fell down into the bottom as witches and wizards made donations, a large banner reading “Help the Orphans of the War!” displayed underneath it.

Hermione looked around for any familiar faces but saw none. She milled around the crowd, overhearing stuffy and boring conversations about the price of azurewort and the current standings of the national Quidditch tournament. She felt so awkward with no one to talk to, and after a while of wandering around aimlessly, Theo took pity on her and appeared at her side.

“You made it!” he said brightly, and then his eyes swept over her burgundy gown. “Atrocious choice in gowns.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Hermione annoyedly, adjusting the seams at her hips.

“I’m just teasing you, darling,” said Theo, and he leaned in to kiss Hermione’s cheek. “You look positively smashing. That dress may as well be painted on.”

“It’s not too much?” she said uncomfortably.

“The color? Yes. The rest? Absolutely not,” said Theo.

Hermione gave him a good-natured shove on the shoulder, and he jumped away with a grin, his fingers pulling at his tuxedo to readjust it, the forest green pocket square standing out against the deep onyx fabric.

“Is Penn here?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, yes, he’s milling about somewhere soliciting donations,” said Theo.

Penn Derrick had been a few years ahead of them at Hogwarts, a Beater on the Slytherin team. He was ridiculously handsome, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He had started showing up for lunches at the Institute about a year ago, though Theo was still very opposed to defining their relationship (“I have a wandering eye, Hermione. Can’t be locked down.”). Hermione sighed deeply.

“I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know anyone here,” said Hermione miserably.

“You know me,” offered Theo with a winning smile.

“Yes, but you’re too busy entertaining your hundreds of donors to bother with me,” she groaned.

Hermione and Theodore Nott worked together in the Research Institute for the Alchemical Sciences. He had rapped his knuckles on her desk one day nearly four years earlier and invited her to lunch with him in Diagon Alley, and since then, they were daily lunch companions, possibly even friends, though Hermione could not for a minute believe she’d actually accepted his invitation to attend the Nott Gala (“but it’s a benefit for war orphans, Hermione. War orphans. Surely you don’t want the orphans to starve!”)

Yet here she was.

“Well, there is one other person here that you know,” said Theo, and at this, he extended a finger, pointing toward the bar.

She followed the direction of his finger and spotted a very familiar blonde head seated alone, a whiskey held in his fingers, his head resting on his hand as he stared into the bottom of his glass.

Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, perfect,” said Hermione sardonically, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see me.”

“Of course, he will,” said Theo with a devilish smirk. “Come on. I think you need a drink.”

And with that, Theo grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her along toward the bar. She was leaning back into him, her high heels scuffing across the parquet floors as she tried to stop him from pushing her forward, but he had the momentum (and the height) to force her along. Once they’d arrived, Theo leaned forward, getting the bartender’s attention with a nod.

“Champagne, please,” said Theo with a wink, and then, he turned to Malfoy. “Draco! What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

“Sod off,” grunted Malfoy.

Malfoy’s right hand had a ring on the first finger, and it clinked against the glass as he lifted his whiskey to his lips. Theo shifted his body so that Hermione and her burgundy dress came into view. Malfoy’s grey eyes froze for a moment, taking her in, but they dropped back to his drink, swirling it in the glass again.

“Hermione doesn’t know anyone here,” said Theo. “I told her you’d keep her company.”

Theo was pulling a barstool out next to Malfoy, gesturing for her to sit. She pressed her lips together, staring at Malfoy for a moment. He was not looking at her.

She did not know too much about Draco Malfoy’s life post-Hogwarts. She knew he’d gotten married shortly after the war to a girl a couple of years younger than they were. She also knew that his wife had died a few years earlier giving birth to their son, and that he currently worked in the Auror department with Harry. That was roughly the extent of knowledge she had of him.

Theo clapped a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

“Try to be good company for once,” said Theo as he leaned next to Malfoy’s ear.

Theo turned elegantly back to Hermione, indicating the barstool with his outstretched hand, grinning at her. She gave him a withering look, which of course had no effect, and she reluctantly stepped over to the seat, hiking up her dress at the knee so she could sit down.

“You look wonderful, darling,” said Theo, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Enjoy your drink. I’ll see you around.”

And with that, Theo was gone, and she was alone with Draco Malfoy, who was very studiously avoiding looking at her. The bartender handed her a flute of champagne, and she sighed and took a big gulp, the bubbles tingling on her tongue. She fiddled with the glass in her hand awkwardly, spinning it between her fingers as she chewed her lip. Hermione took another gulp.

“It’s meant to be sipped, Granger,” said Malfoy’s baritone voice next to her. “He buys absurdly expensive champagne. He’d be horrified to see you tossing it back like that.”

“Theo is used to seeing me fail to appreciate the finer things. Last year for Christmas he bought me a beautiful dress,” she said, and she gestured around her as though showing a full, fluffy skirt. “It came out like this. Slytherin green, you’d love it.”

Malfoy scoffed.

“Anyway, I mispronounced the name of the designer, and he’s never let me live it down,” said Hermione. “But honestly, ‘Giudice’ is not pronounced like it’s spelled.”

“He only knows how to pronounce it because he spent three years at Hogwarts pining after Zabini,” said Malfoy into his whiskey glass. “Learned some Italian just to impress him.”

Hermione let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Did it work?” she asked with a sideways smile.

“Nah,” said Malfoy. “Zabini is very into women.”

She laughed again and took a gulp of champagne, and Malfoy lifted his whiskey glass, letting the scotch roll over his tongue before his throat bobbed to swallow it. She tilted her head to one side, taking in his profile, considering their light-hearted conversation. She was rather used to former Slytherin classmates by now, and it should not have surprised her that he was not the same vicious, bullying person she’d known when they were kids. Neither was Theo, after all. Hell, neither was Pansy. And yet, something about sharing easy banter with Draco Malfoy caught her off guard.

“So why is Theo foisting you off on me?” asked Malfoy, shaking her from her musings. “Shouldn’t you have a date?”

Hermione didn’t answer.

“Tall, red-haired, bit idiotic?” added Malfoy.

“We broke up. About eight months ago,” said Hermione immediately, and she was fingering the bottom of her crystal champagne flute, not meeting his eyes. “He… erm, he sort of fell in with someone else.”

She was not sure why she was admitting this to Malfoy of all people, why she was elaborating on what happened between her and Ron, but among a sea of couples at the gala, beautiful women hanging on the arms of well-dressed men, Malfoy was alone, too.

“I walked in on them,” said Hermione.

Malfoy exhaled a disappointed sniff.

“Sorry to hear that,” said Malfoy flatly.

Hermione hummed an acknowledgement, tipping her glass back to drain it and motioning to the bartender for another. While she waited, she licked the tip of her finger and ran it along the rim of the glass, a clear warbling note emanating from the vibrating crystal. When the bartender returned, she handed him the empty glass, exchanging it for a full one and taking a sip. It was cold and crisp. Effervescent. She could feel the tingling buzz of alcohol in her brain.

“You know the worst part of it?” she said suddenly, and he looked at her with reluctant curiosity. “Not having someone to tell things. Something good happens to Harry? He tells Ginny. Theo gets a promotion at work? First thing he does is send a Patronus to Penn. Hell, it’s even worse when it’s just boredom. No one to listen to you drone on about your day or about the stupid thing that bitch in finance said.”

“Caitlin,” supplied Malfoy.

Hermione snapped her gaze to him.

“The bitch in finance is Caitlin,” said Malfoy. “Theo’s mentioned her.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, a bit wrong-footed. “Well. Yes. No one to listen to you complain about Caitlin in finance. It’s just… you.”

He had a look on his face, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. He was tapping the side of his whiskey glass, his jaw clenched, but after a long moment, he nodded, taking a deep breath as he did so. She could see the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yea,” said Malfoy. “That’s one of the worst parts.”

There was a long pause. Their elbows were only inches apart, and she was acutely aware of it in a way that she doubted she would have been with anyone but Malfoy. Hermione tucked her arms in closer to herself, taking another gulp of Theo’s expensive champagne.

“Sometimes I see something in the paper, and I turn to tell her about it,” said Malfoy, and his face looked pained.

“Right,” said Hermione, nodding. “And it’s not important enough to Floo a friend, so you just…”

She trailed off. They were both so lonely.

“It’s hard not being anyone’s first priority,” she said quietly.

Malfoy’s grip was tight on his glass, but he finally turned to look at her. She saw his face properly for the first time that evening, for the first time in years. He, too, was criminally good looking. Was it a requirement in order to be sorted into Slytherin? They all seemed to have an aristocratic beauty to them. Malfoy had grown into his pointed chin and nose. His white-blonde hair was hanging down into his eyes instead of slicked back, and his deep-set grey eyes were staring into hers.

The intensity of his stare took her breath away.

There was a heat in it that seemed to surprise them both, and the air changed between them, suddenly charged. Hermione had not been with a man in eight months, not since walking in on Ron with the pretty young witch in the Magical Transportation department, and she was feeling the absence of touch keenly. Her body must have begun radiating her sexual frustration because Malfoy’s body language changed.

Malfoy’s eyes raked down her body, and she felt very aware of the tightness of her dress on her curves, the way her breasts were rising and falling with her breathing, the slit that came up to mid-thigh. When his gaze returned to her face, he turned himself toward her, his shoulders squared to her, his thighs spread so that they were on either side of her body. She noticed then that his tie was loosened around his neck, the top button of his Oxford shirt undone. Her eyes roved his body the way that his had roamed hers. She could see the outline of his muscular shoulders, and she paused momentarily at the crotch of his trousers.

When her eyes raised back up to his face, he lifted an eyebrow as though to say, Well?

“I hate galas,” she said.

“I hate them, too,” said Malfoy, his piercing grey eyes dark.

“Have you already made your donation?” asked Hermione.

“Of course,” he said, and he shifted in his seat. “Theo is always so busy at these things. He probably wouldn’t even notice if we weren’t here.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” she said, taking the last gulp of her champagne and enjoying the boldness it had given her.

There was a moment of hesitation, neither of them willing to say it. To be the first to admit what they were both clearly thinking, because what if the other wasn’t actually thinking it? She felt a mix of nervousness and excitement in her chest as he looked at her. Hermione bit her lip and shifted her body toward him, flipping her crossed legs over one another and letting the toe of her stiletto rest against his calf, lightly enough that she could play it as an accident. He caught the movement, and a slight smirk spread across his face.

“Where do you live, Granger?” he asked.

She let the toe of her stiletto drag against his calf more intentionally this time.

“I’ve got a flat north of London,” answered Hermione.

A feral smirk crept across his face, and he stepped down from the barstool, grabbing his suit coat off the back of the chair and slinging it over his shoulder, holding out a hand palm up for her to take. His fingertips were cold from where they had grasped the whiskey glass, and she noted that on his left hand, he still wore a gold wedding band. This made her heart clench momentarily, but she dismissed it, the fierce look in his eyes distracting her.

He walked purposefully through the ballroom, and she let her eyes scan the crowd for Theo, but he was nowhere to be found. After exiting the ballroom, Hermione gave him a look, asking for permission to Apparate, and he nodded. The familiar tug pulled behind her navel, and then, she was in her flat with Draco Malfoy.

In her flat with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione glanced around, trying to see the flat through his judgmental eyes. There were books tucked in every corner, piled high on the coffee table, and there was an empty teacup on her dining table that she hadn’t put away. She looked back at him, but it was clear he was not looking at her flat. He was staring at her. Nervousness washed over her. She did not know him well enough to have him in her flat, and yet, something about the chasm of loneliness inside her, inside him, had brought them to this moment.

He made the first move.

His hands flew to her waist, pulling her hips against his as he crashed his mouth down onto hers, eliciting a surprised moan in her throat that only spurred him on. Suddenly, their hands were everywhere. His palms were sliding along the slinky burgundy fabric of her dress, and her fingers were frantically pulling the buttons of his Oxford shirt loose. His mouth was hot, his kisses urgent, his tongue grazing hers as he fumbled with the clasp of her dress behind her neck.

“f*cking buttons,” she hissed as her trembling fingers tried to unfasten the third.

A smirk slid across his face, and his own fingers replaced hers, pulling each button apart, and once his shirt was open, her eyes lit on his muscular chest, his sculpted abdomen. He shrugged out of his shirt, and her eyes snagged on the Dark Mark on his left forearm. She had never seen one up close. He noticed where she was looking and paused, looking at her face, giving her the chance to back out, to pump the brakes.

Like she would stop now, with a distressingly handsome half-naked man in front of her.

She wrapped her hands behind his neck, and he crashed his mouth to hers again. There was desperation in their kisses now, and his hands were pulling the straps of her burgundy dress down her arms, the dress pooling on the floor around her. She was naked save for a pair of lacy knickers.

They were drunk. It was the only explanation for how this was happening. Her hands were scrambling at his belt buckle as he held her face in his hands, kissing her deeply, his tongue in her mouth.

“Where’s the bedroom?” he whispered against her mouth as his white shirt fell to the floor.

“This way,” said Hermione, her hands on his body, dragging him backward clumsily until they were in her room.

Hermione’s knees hit her bed and she fell backward onto it, and Malfoy was still kissing her as he stepped out of his trousers, climbing on top of her as she scooted backward on the bed. The only thing separating his co*ck from her c*nt was her lacy knickers and his black briefs. She lifted her hips toward his, craving friction, and he groaned into her mouth, thrusting forward against her.

It happened so quickly after that, a tangle of limbs and hands and mouths and tongues. He pulled her knickers off her legs and licked his fingers before letting them slide up and down her slit, earning a whimper from her. She thought at that moment that he could probably just breathe on her cl*t and she would come. She could feel his fingers slide through the slick wetness pooling at her core, and her legs jumped each time he touched her cl*t.

His hands went to the waistband of his briefs, and she stifled a gasp when his erection came into view. How the f*ck was that going to fit inside her? And yet, she found herself hooking her legs behind his hips, urging him forward, desperate to feel something besides a lonely, empty bed. He was on top of her, and he reached between them to position himself at her entrance. Malfoy groaned low and guttural as he began to slip inside her, and she dug her fingernails into his thighs, pulling him forward and moaning into his ear as he buried himself.

There was a moment when neither of them moved, both of them pretending not to be thinking about the reality that currently Draco Malfoy was sheathed inside of Hermione Granger, but she pressed a hot kiss to his throat, and it spurred his movement. She felt the drag of him as he pulled backward out of her body, and then the stretch and fullness as he pushed in again. She could feel every muscle in his body trembling, strangled groans leaving his throat next to her ear.

She was rocking against him, and her fingers found their way to his silky blonde hair. She saw that his eyes closed for a moment, an expression crossing his face that looked almost like anguish, but it passed, and she pulled his face down to hers in a searing kiss. Hermione was whimpering at each breath now, finding friction on her cl*t with each of his thrusts. The edge was approaching. She would crash over the intense plateau that was building, building from eight months of celibacy, and as Malfoy panted in her ear, she felt her org*sm grip her.

Her back arched, her fingers fisted his hair, her voice cried out, and her core clenched around him, pulsing as wave after wave of org*sm took her. This sent him over the edge, and he thrust forward deeply with a roar, burying himself inside of her as he came, letting himself slip back a few inches and then, with one final thrust, he stilled on top of her.

They were both sweaty and panting as the reality of what they’d done sank in. He pushed himself up onto his hands, pulling his softening erection out of her. She could feel the wetness of his come spilling out between her legs, but she could not find it in her to focus on it, not now that Draco Malfoy was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, completely naked in her bed.

“Well,” said Malfoy, sucking in a breath. “Theo did tell me to be good company.”

Hermione could not help it. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands embarrassedly. Malfoy chuckled as well, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the absurdity of their situation. They lay in silence together for a while, and then, Malfoy reached up to tuck a lock of her curly hair behind her ear. The gesture felt surprisingly intimate.

“I, erm…” he began. “I don’t mean to run, but I really should go. I was supposed to relieve the nanny before midnight.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, trying to hide her disappointment.

It wasn’t that she’d expected him to stay. It was really just that she’d forgotten he had a son to get home to, a place to be besides with her. They climbed out of bed slowly, Hermione reaching for her knickers with her toe but unable to reach. Malfoy leaned down and lifted them up between his thumb and forefinger, a smirk on his face, but a kind one, a playful one. Hermione swiped them from his hand, smiling scandalously at him.

It was a bit awkward, watching him get dressed, following his clothes through the house like a trail of breadcrumbs. Hermione pulled on a massive t-shirt as she followed him, watching him push his arms through his rumpled Oxford shirt and buckle his trousers.

“Your Floo connected?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

He stepped over to the fireplace and paused, turning back to look at her.

“This… this was nice,” said Malfoy.

Hermione laughed.

“Nice?”

He grinned despite himself.

“Nice,” he repeated. “See you around, Granger.”

Chapter 2: five

Chapter Text

“I’m late,” said Hermione as she arrived.

“You’re not late!” said Ginny happily. “Dinner isn’t even ready yet!”

“No,” Hermione said, gripping Ginny’s arm tightly as she pushed past her to walk into Number 12 Grimmauld Place. “I’m late.”

“What do you mean you’re-” and then, realization dawned. “Oh. OH.”

“Yes,” she hissed.

She dragged Ginny by the arm upstairs to the primary bedroom, ignoring Harry’s cheerful “Hey, Hermione!” from the kitchen. They went into Harry and Ginny’s bedroom, and Hermione pushed Ginny by the shoulders down onto the bed.

“You’re not back with Ron, are you?” asked Ginny curiously, her hands resting on her ballooned belly.

“No, no,” said Hermione immediately. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, well, there are a lot of reasons you could be late,” said Ginny calmly. “New diet, extra exercise, a random weird month. You’ve not had unprotected sex, have you?”

Hermione’s face coloured, and she could not meet Ginny’s eyes.

“Hermione,” scolded Ginny.

“I know,” said Hermione miserably, and she felt her voice catch in her throat, sinking down next to Ginny on the bed.

“Who did you-”

“Don’t ask.”

Ginny’s mouth snapped shut, and she held her hands up as though in innocence. Hermione leaned against Ginny’s shoulder, wiping at a tear that had threatened to spill out of her eye. How could she have been so stupid? The entire experience of going to bed with Malfoy had been so bizarre and overwhelming that she’d not stopped to think to cast a contraceptive charm, and of course, she’d sort of assumed he would be taking the potion if he was the sort of man to sneak away from a gala to go to bed with a witch.

She figured he’d probably assumed the same about her. Hermione sighed.

“Can you do the test for me?” said Hermione, wringing her hands. “I can’t bear to do it myself. I just… I need to know, but I also really, really don’t want to know.”

Ginny took a deep breath and drew her wand, but just as she was about to cast the spell, there was a gentle knock on the door, and Harry poked his head in the room.

“Hey, everything alright? James is-”

“NOT NOW,” shouted both women simultaneously.

Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and he ducked out of the room immediately, slamming the door shut behind him. Ginny waved her wand in front of Hermione’s abdomen, and a spiraling golden light appeared out of the end of it, twirling in the air for a moment. They were both holding their breath as they watched the golden cord of light spin in the air once, twice, and then…

5w6d

“What does that mean?” asked Hermione.

“Well… erm,” said Ginny, biting her lip. “Congratulations?”

Hermione wailed and fell backward onto the bed.

“You’re five weeks and six days along,” said Ginny in explanation. “That’s what the spell means. So, who did you shag four weeks ago?”

“I said don’t ask,” she replied glumly, her arm slung over her eyes.

“Is it someone you’ve been seeing?”

“No,” she snapped.

“So, just, like, a one-night stand?” asked Ginny, and Hermione nodded.

Pregnant. Up the duff after a one-night stand with Draco Malfoy. Draco Bloody Malfoy. She wailed out in misery again.

“You could… you know… take care of it,” offered Ginny. “Termination. There’s a spell…”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Hermione, sitting up on the bed at last.

She had thought of this, and though she was vehemently in favour of any woman who wanted that option to have it available to her, it was not the right choice for her. She had a stable job, a nice flat, a supportive group of friends. She was going to be carrying this baby to term.

“Four weeks ago,” said Ginny, musing aloud, a finger on her chin. “You went to that gala, didn’t you?”

Hermione grunted, but she nodded reluctantly.

“Well, I assume it wasn’t Theo,” she continued. “Wow, it could’ve been anyone.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” scoffed Hermione. “You know me. Hermione Granger, she’ll sleep with anyone.”

“Oh, stop, that’s not what I meant,” said Ginny, and then, for a moment, Ginny winced slightly, placing a hand at her belly.

“Everything okay?” asked Hermione.

“Yea, it’s fine,” said Ginny. “Just a few contractions here and there. Still early yet, probably a few weeks to go.”

Hermione stared at Ginny’s round belly with trepidation. Ginny stood from the bed with some difficulty and held a hand down for Hermione, who followed her downstairs to the kitchen where Harry was trying to cook with James underfoot. Harry looked up brightly at them, but his face fell when he caught sight of Hermione, whose expression must have looked very stormy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ginny gave her a look that said, you should tell him.

Part of her didn’t want to. She was not ready to face the incessant questions, the inevitability of word getting out. Part of her wanted to keep this thing a secret forever. Perhaps she could move away. Bulgaria with Viktor? Australia with her memory-less parents?

But her life was here. Her work was here. Her baby would be here, too.

f*cking hell. Her baby. She sank down in a chair at the dining table, letting her forehead drop forward until it was resting on the dark wood, covering the back of her head with her hands.

“Hermione, what’s happened?” asked Harry worriedly, and she felt his hand on her back, patting her reassuringly. “What’s the matter?”

Hermione did not lift her face from the table.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice muffled.

There was a long moment of silence. She did not know what was passing between Harry and Ginny over her head, but after a while, Harry’s hand patted her again.

“Congratulations?” he said, though it was a question more than a statement.

She lifted her head from the table with a snorted laugh.

“Thanks,” she said.

Harry returned to the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove while James pulled open a drawer and started throwing spoons on the floor, which Ginny sent back into the drawer with her wand only for James to toss them again.

“When are you due?” asked Harry politely.

She looked to Ginny for an answer, and Ginny began counting on her fingers.

“November, I think,” said Ginny.

“November, then,” said Hermione dully.

“How are you feeling? I know Gin’s always been horribly sick at the beginning,” said Harry, spooning some stew into bowls for them and sending the bowls zooming to the table.

“I feel fine, really,” she said. “No symptoms at all. A bit tired, maybe, but I’ve been working a lot, so I sort of thought that was why.”

Harry lifted James from the floor and sat him in a chair between him and Ginny, a small plate of fruit and bread in front of him, which he promptly threw to the floor, saved by Ginny’s wand again.

“And… the father?” asked Harry cautiously.

Ginny was not looking at her. Hermione stared into her stew bowl for a long moment while Harry waited for her answer. Once again, Hermione found herself wondering if she could keep this secret forever, raising a child on her own with no one ever knowing who the father was, but she pictured Lucius Malfoy in her mind. He looked identical to his son. The Malfoy genes were strong, possibly too strong to keep this baby’s parentage a secret. Hermione sighed deeply.

“If I told you, you would absolutely freak out,” said Hermione.

“Oh, so it’s someone we would freak out about,” said Ginny curiously. “Hm, that narrows it down.”

“Hm,” said Harry, scratching at his head. “It’s not Ron?”

“No.”

“Is it Charlie?” he asked.

Ginny shrieked.

“No!” said Hermione.

“George? Bill? Is it a Weasley?” he pressed, and Ginny was shrieking louder at each name.

“Not a Weasley,” said Hermione, burying her face in her hands.

“Dean Thomas,” offered Ginny. “Michael Corner?”

“It’s not one of your exes,” said Hermione.

“Is it Theo Nott?” asked Harry. “You know, I’ve always thought he liked you. Does he swing both ways?”

“He only swings one way that I know of, and it isn’t him,” said Hermione.

Harry and Ginny were both tapping their chins.

“Harry,” said Hermione, looking into his face. “You’re not very good at not freaking out. You’re going to freak out.”

“I swear, I won’t freak out,” he repeated, holding a hand up as though taking an oath.

Hermione looked at Ginny, and she quickly lifted her hand in oath as well, nodding vigorously. Hermione took a deep inhale, steeling her nerves, and fixed her gaze on the bowl of stew in front of her before muttering his name.

“Sorry, what did you say?” said Harry, leaning in closer to her.

“Draco Malfoy,” she repeated.

Ginny spit stew onto the table.

“You had a one-night stand with Draco Malfoy?” she said.

“f*ck, and I have to see him at work on Monday,” said Harry, his forehead resting in his hand. “How am I supposed to look him in the eye?”

Hermione was staring at Harry. He and Malfoy worked together in the Auror department, though no one would call them friends. Polite colleagues, perhaps. Still, Harry knew Malfoy much better than she did.

“Harry, what’s he going to do if he finds out?” asked Hermione miserably, but Harry was just shaking his head, clearly in shock.

“What do you mean ‘if he finds out’? Don’t you mean ‘when you tell him’?” asked Ginny crossly.

“I can’t tell him, Ginny! I haven’t spoken more than a hundred words to him since Hogwarts!” she replied frantically.

“If you haven’t spoken more than a hundred words to him, then how did you two…?” began Harry, but he stopped, shaking his head briskly. “Nope, you know what? Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“You have to tell him, Hermione,” said Ginny. “He’s got responsibility in this, too. Medical bills, child support.”

“I don’t want his money,” she hissed.

Harry and Ginny looked at one another from across the table. James was mushing bananas in his fingers, opening and closing his fists experimentally. Hermione was lifting her spoon to take a bite of stew when a roil hit her stomach, a sudden lurch, a gag in the back of her throat. Her mouth watered unpleasantly, and she swallowed thickly.

She pushed the bowl of stew away from her, and Ginny looked at her sympathetically.

“You should tell him,” said Ginny. “Really. And not just for the money.”

“He’s got a son already,” offered Harry. “He’s been through this before. He’s a good father, from what I can tell.”

Hermione did not respond. James was still mushing bananas in his fists, and the sight was making her stomach roil further with nausea.

“Tell him,” said Ginny.

“I can’t,” said Hermione. “This is my life we’re talking about. My baby. Can I trust him with that?”

Harry and Ginny shared a look but did not answer. Hermione huffed a sigh.

“You really think I should tell him?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Harry firmly.

“Send him an owl and tell him you need to talk,” said Ginny.

“Borrow Circe,” said Harry.

Their rapid-fire insistence was wearing down her resolve, and at mention of her name, Harry’s beautiful barn owl Circe floated into the room. Harry raised an eyebrow in Hermione’s direction. Go on. Hermione took the parchment that Ginny had conjured, keeping it out of reach of James’s banana-covered fingers, and she began writing a quick missive to him.

Dear…

“What do I call him?” she wondered aloud. “What do you call him, Harry?”

“I call him Malfoy,” said Harry with a shrug.

“Seems a bit impersonal for a letter telling him you’re carrying his child,” said Ginny.

Hermione scoffed.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione suggested.

“Too formal,” said Harry.

“What did you call him while you were f*cking him?” asked Ginny, waggling her eyebrows.

Harry let out a miserable whimper, and Hermione grunted and returned her attention to the letter, tapping her chin with the end of her quill thoughtfully. At last, she huffed a sigh and penned the words.

Hello,

I wonder if you might have time for tea this weekend. Please let me know if it works for you. You may send a reply with this owl.

Sincerely,

Hermione

She added a flourish underneath her name and rolled the parchment up, tying it to Circe’s leg, and she hooted gladly before taking off through the window in the kitchen.

After dinner was concluded and James was suitably stripped of banana, Hermione hugged Harry and Ginny both and bid them goodnight. Harry squeezed her extra tight, whispering assurances into her ear that all would be well.

Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn’t watching the skies for his reply. Being single was liberating in many ways: there was no man in her life dictating how she spent her time, how she decorated her home. No messes were made by anyone but her. She could do as she pleased, fiercely independent with no one but Crookshanks to keep her company. But at the same time, the yawning stretch of time was daunting, too. While Harry had Ginny and James to keep him occupied on weekends, and Theo had Penn, Hermione usually spent her weekends alone. In between books, Hermione found herself staring out the window, hoping to spot Circe.

The reply came, of course, when she was not expecting it. Hermione was midway through cooking dinner, her stomach suddenly roiling at the thought of a meal that she had decided she couldn’t live without not ten minutes earlier. There was a tapping at the window.

Circe.

Granger, the note began.

Hermione scoffed. She supposed it was marginally better than, “To Whom It May Concern.”

Please come to Malfoy Manor tomorrow at 5 o ‘clock.

Sincerely

Draco L. Malfoy

She scoffed again. Of course, he had resorted to formality. She had not seen nor heard from him for four weeks. Hermione assumed he had been just as mortified by their tryst as she was. But even so, she had found herself remembering the feeling of his hands on her body, touching herself and thinking of him touching her. Imagining having him again in her bed, hearing his grunts panting into her ear.

At least, until she’d begun to suspect she was pregnant. Then, she had started to panic.

She was still panicking as she lifted her hand to snap the knocker on the door to Malfoy Manor. She nearly gave it up, deciding to move to Bulgaria after all and let Viktor Krum help her raise her baby, but the knocker fell, and the door swung open. A stone-faced man opened the door, a slight sneer on his face. He did not speak.

“Erm, hello,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger. I think I’m expected…?”

“Yes, miss,” said the butler. “This way.”

He swept his arm out as the massive door opened. Hermione gazed around the entryway, trying to recall her last visit to Malfoy Manor. It had been… unpleasant, but so much time had passed. It was almost difficult to remember that this was the same place. She was staring at the décor when she heard the clicking of shoes on the marble floor.

“Granger,” said Malfoy, his hands in the pockets of his black trousers as he strode toward her.

He stopped when he was a few steps from her, appraising her. Malfoy’s expression was carefully neutral. There was no sneer, nor was there a smile. He was simply observing her. She clasped her hands in front of her, and the butler stepped between them.

“This way,” he said again.

She noted that the butler did not lead her to the drawing room, where they might usually have received guests. Instead, there was a tea service set out for them in a small parlor near the entryway, tucked behind a grand staircase. The butler gave a stiff bow before he left the room, and Hermione fluffed her skirt as she sat, crossing her legs. Malfoy sat opposite her, his elbows resting on his knees, his stare fixed on her face.

“So, you live here with your son?” she asked in a lame attempt at conversation.

He began pouring hot water onto a tea bag.

“Yes, just the two of us,” said Malfoy. “My mother lives at her family home in France.”

“How old is he?” she said.

“He’s just turned five,” said Malfoy.

“Will he start, erm, some sort of primary school?” asked Hermione. “I’m not really sure what wizarding families do. I started nursery school about that age.”

“Yes, he’ll go to the Agrippa School,” he answered. “It’s where I went.”

“I see,” said Hermione, and she stirred milk into her tea, the spoon clinking on the porcelain.

Malfoy set his cup down, waiting for it to cool enough to drink. He leaned back in his chair, a casual, haphazard pose as he watched her with narrowed eyes.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Hermione was caught off-guard by his bluntness. She could feel the teacup tremble in her hands, so she set it down on its saucer. She wiped her palms on her skirts, opening her mouth to tell him.

And the door swung open.

“Daddy!” called a child’s voice.

A blonde-headed boy with a pointed nose and sharp chin burst into the room at a run, leaping into Malfoy’s lap. The boy looked identical to his father; the Malfoy genes were strong. Malfoy was knocked backward by the force of it, but he caught his son in his arms, a smile on his face as he rested his chin atop Scorpius’s head. She watched Malfoy’s smile with curiosity, wondering if she’d ever seen him with such an expression on his face.

“What are you doing in here?” asked Malfoy. “You’re supposed to be with Nanny Kate.”

“I saw a dragon outside,” said the boy cheerfully.

“Oh yea? A real one?”

“Yes!” said Scorpius.

A harried looking woman flew into the room, her hand on her chest as she gasped for breath.

“So sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “He saw you come through and had to follow. Sorry to disturb.”

“It’s no disturbance,” said Malfoy.

Then, all three of them turned their eyes to Hermione. Malfoy and Scorpius had identical grey eyes that bored into her, and the nanny had a stunned look on her face as though she did not often see young women about the Manor.

“Who’s that?” asked Scorpius.

“That’s my friend,” said Malfoy, and Hermione found her heart leaping unexpectedly at the word. “Miss Granger.”

“You can call me Hermione,” she said immediately, and Scorpius gave her a contemplative look, his small lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed in a mirror image of his father.

Hermione nearly laughed. The nanny scooped him up with more apologies, and Malfoy patted the boy’s back before he was carried out of the parlor. Malfoy had a slight smile on his face as he watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him. There was a long moment of silence, and it seemed almost that he had forgotten she was there.

“Malfoy,” she said, and he jolted to attention.

He leaned down and picked up his teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it down again and fixing his gaze on her face once more. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest, and her hands were trembling furiously, but she clasped them together firmly in her lap and looked straight into his grey eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 3: six

Chapter Text

“Do you really mean to tell me that the first time I f*cked a woman in five bloody years, she got pregnant?!” he snapped.

“It’s not my fault- wait, five years?” asked Hermione, aghast.

Malfoy was leaning forward, his head between his knees as though he were about to faint, his hands threaded in his blonde hair. Hermione stared slack-jawed at him, astounded and unnerved by his confession. Surely, she was not the first woman he had slept with since his wife died…?

“Granger,” he began from between his legs. “You weren’t on the potion?”

“I figured you were!” said Hermione shrilly.

Malfoy was letting out a deflated noise, and he seemed to sway slightly even as he was sitting down. Hermione reached out for a biscuit on the tea tray, but as she brought it to her lips, she felt a roil of nausea that was becoming frustratingly familiar. She set the biscuit down, willing her stomach to settle. Deep breaths.

A sheen of sweat had broken out on her skin. It was no good. She scanned the room frantically for a bin, finally spotting one in the corner, and she burst toward it at a run. She leaned over it at first, but then collapsed onto the floor next to it, wiping her watering eyes as she vomited.

A pair of hands took her hair and held it back from her face.

Hermione turned and looked up at Malfoy. He was looking down at her with an expression she could not place. There was sadness in it, but resolve, too. Their eyes met for a long, desperate moment before Hermione shifted, sitting with her back against the wall. She waved her wand at the bin to vanish its contents. Malfoy sank down as well, his arms resting on his knees as he leaned against the other wall. When Hermione’s hand went to her mouth, another roil of nausea taking her, he nudged the bin in her direction.

Deep breath.

She shook her head and pushed the bin away.

“You’re really pregnant,” he said in a glum voice.

“Yes,” said Hermione.

He sighed, running his hands down his face.

“Alright,” said Malfoy from behind his hands. “How much do you want? I’ll pay for everything. Just… just let me know how much you need.”

Hermione recoiled. She did not need his money. Her job at the research institute paid her more than well enough to support herself and a child, and she had a sizeable vault in Gringott’s with the money that the Ministry of Magic had provided after the war (sort of a “thanks for defeating Voldemort and sorry for all the trouble!” deposit).

“I don’t want your money,” said Hermione acidly.

“Then why are you here?” he asked in a very detached voice, his pale brows furrowed.

She had not expected this question. He’s a good father, Harry had said. Somehow, she had expected that he would want to be a good father to her baby as well.

Clearly not.

“I just… I thought you should know,” she said.

Malfoy had dropped his head between his legs again.

“I’m never f*cking a woman again,” he said, almost to himself, shaking his head. “Never again. It’s a life of celibacy for me.”

Hermione let out a deflated laugh.

“I mean, you could try men,” she offered.

He gave her a look of death, yet there was humour in his eyes, and she found herself pressing her lips together so as not to smile. Hermione hoisted herself up off the ground, and she watched as he did the same. The tea had grown cold in the centre of the room.

“Your son is very cute,” said Hermione. “He looks just like you.”

Malfoy exhaled a slow breath.

“That’s what everyone says,” he said.

“I wonder if-” she began, but she cut herself off, not ready to start wondering aloud what their child together would look like.

He did not press her to continue. Hermione smoothed her skirt.

“Children survive without fathers all the time,” said Hermione, trying to sound congenial but probably failing miserably. “We’ll be fine. I don’t need your money. You can just pretend we don’t exist.”

Malfoy’s head snapped up at this, his brows furrowed again, but he did not say anything.

“I’m going to get going,” said Hermione.

Her hand went to her stomach, testing it for nausea, and his eyes caught the movement, chewing at the corner of his lip for a moment.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Malfoy,” she said.

She crossed the room and left the parlor, refusing to look over her shoulder to see if he was watching, to see what his face was doing, but as she clicked the parlor door shut behind her, she was nearly barreled over by a waist-high human.

“Oh!” she said in surprise.

“Want to see the dragon?” asked Scorpius Malfoy, his grey eyes bright with mischief.

“Erm, of course,” said Hermione cautiously, looking up to see the nanny watching from across the room with an exasperated smile.

When Scorpius held up a small hand to her, she let him grasp her fingers, tugging her along to the soaring windows in the entryway of Malfoy Manor. He turned the doorknob and led her outside to a massive terrace that overlooked the expanse of grounds and gardens, the nanny following a few steps behind them.

“It’s just there!” he said excitedly, pointing at the sky in the distance, and she followed the direction of his finger.

Hermione saw it.

She giggled. It really did look like a dragon, if she squinted hard enough. A massive, fluffy cloud that was floating lazily over the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Hermione dropped down into a crouch so that she was at a level with him.

“Look at that one,” said Hermione, pointing at another white cloud. “It’s a lion, I think.”

“No, definitely not,” said Scorpius with a mad grin. “It’s a cat.”

“It’s too big to be a cat!” she replied.

“How big do cats get?” he asked, tilting his head to one side and looking at her curiously.

“Hm,” said Hermione, and she held her hand a couple of feet off the ground. “My cat Crookshanks is about this big.”

“You’ve got a cat?”

“Yes,” she said, her elbows resting on her knees as she crouched next to him. “He’s bright orange. He was with me at Hogwarts.”

Scorpius glanced up at her when she mentioned Hogwarts, his eyes alight with excitement. His blonde fringe was hanging down in front of them, and she nearly reached out to push it away, a move she did constantly with James, but she stopped herself.

“You went to Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione with a grin. “I was in Gryffindor.”

Scorpius’s face dropped into a mask of horror that reminded her so much of his father that she nearly burst into laughter, instead biting down on the knuckle of her left hand to stop herself.

“And our house mascot is a lion,” said Hermione, gesturing up to the cloud. “Just like that one.”

Scorpius had his lips pursed sceptically, and she was about to ask him what he knew of Gryffindor when she heard the door to the Manor open and shut, the sound echoing in the air. She turned and saw Malfoy standing there staring at them.

“Dad! Look at the dragon!” said Scorpius, running at his father, who lifted him up and held him against his hip. “And there, that one’s a lion! A big lion for Gryffindor!”

Malfoy’s eyes fell closed, an pained expression crossing his face, and he glared good-naturedly at Hermione, but Scorpius did not seem to notice. Hermione was trying not to grin.

“And she-” said Scorpius, pointing in her direction.

“Hermione,” she reminded him with a smile.

“She has a cat,” he continued.

“I see,” said Malfoy, and he heaved a great sigh.

Hermione smiled then, not bothering trying to conceal it. She walked over to the pair, meeting Scorpius’s bright grey eyes.

“Thanks for showing me the dragon,” she said.

He smiled brightly at her. Hermione gave a slight nod to Malfoy before heading to the door, but Scorpius’s small voice called out.

“When are you coming back?” asked Scorpius, and there was a note of wistfulness in his small voice that made her heart twist in her chest.

He was lonely, too.

She did not know what to say, and she looked to Malfoy for rescue. He rested his head against his son’s.

“I’m sure she’ll visit again sometime, Scorp,” he said.

Scorpius seemed satisfied. Hermione pushed the door open and made her way through Malfoy Manor, the butler waiting for her at the front door to let her out, but just as she was about to leave, ready to Apparate back to her flat, she heard Malfoy’s footsteps coming at a quick pace, his voice echoing in the Manor.

“Wait!” said Malfoy, and he slowed to a stop at the door. “Don’t Apparate. It’s not safe while you’re pregnant.”

The butler’s eyes went wide, but crediting to his professionalism, he said nothing. Malfoy showed her back inside, taking her to a massive fireplace in a room with tall ceilings and ornate furniture, several portraits of men who were clearly Malfoy ancestors staring down at her with haughty expressions. He handed her a bucket of Floo powder, and she took a handful of it, tossing it onto the logs and spinning away home, where Crookshanks was curled up in a ball on the sofa.

When she woke the next morning, she saw an elegant eagle owl waiting at the window, a small box tied to its leg. Hermione opened the window, scratching the owl’s head lightly before she took the package. She untied the string and pulled open the brown paper that surrounded it, and underneath, there was a box of peppermint tea, a note taped to the top.

Astoria used this for morning sickness.

-DLM

Hermione chewed her lip. The gesture was kind, thoughtful even, and she did not know what to make of it. That said, she immediately put the kettle on, hoping that the tea would soothe her unsettled stomach. Less than fifteen minutes later, she had a cup of peppermint tea on the table next to her, one of her feet on the chair as she read the Daily Prophet.

She had to acknowledge that the tea was brilliant. Her nausea had all but subsided. Many thanks were said to Astoria Malfoy, may she rest in peace, and Hermione stuffed the box of tea in her bag. She very nearly Apparated to the office, but she remembered Malfoy’s words and took the Floo instead.

Hermione hadn’t used the Floo to get to the Research Institute in years, and in truth, she was not sure she remembered how to get to her office from the main Floo network. It was far too embarrassing to admit this, so she set to wandering through the facility. As she walked past an open laboratory door, she heard a voice call out to her.

“Hermione!” said the voice, a lilting tenor.

“Oh, hi, Neville!” she said, pausing in front of the lab.

Neville wandered out, wiping dirt from his hands onto his apron, which was already stained a multitude of colours.

“Hey!” he said, and he outstretched his arms to hug her. “I never see you over on this side of the building. Are you lost?”

He had a joking smile on his face, making it all the more embarrassing.

“Actually, sort of, yes,” said Hermione from her place against his chest.

He laughed and released her from the hug, looking into her face with an expression of confusion.

“I had to take the Floo today,” she said. “And I can’t remember how to get to my section from there.”

Neville laughed. He had taken a job in the magical herbs section of the Institute, and even though they worked at the same building, she rarely saw him at the office, but occasionally, he turned up at the Potter home.

“Why can’t you Apparate?” asked Neville conversationally as they walked along the corridor.

“Oh, erm,” she began, scrambling for an excuse that she belatedly realized she should have invented before she got to work. “Just a… I’ve been getting migraines.”

“Ah, I see. Pansy hasn’t been able to Apparate in months,” said Neville cheerfully. “You know, because of the…”

And at this, he held his hands out in front of him as though he were gripping a large belly. Hermione chuckled nervously.

How Pansy Parkinson and Neville Longbottom had ended up together was a mystery no one could solve, not Harry or Ginny or even Theo, but the two of them had met at a Quidditch match years earlier. Neville had grown very tall and very handsome over the years, and Pansy had fallen for him immediately.

“How much longer has she got?” Hermione asked.

“Literally any day now,” said Neville. “She was due six days ago, and I think the next person who asks if she’s had the baby yet is going to get Avada Kedavra’d.”

Hermione laughed. Finally, they approached a doorway with “Alchemical Sciences: T.T.R. Division” across the top. Neville stopped and turned to her.

“Well, here you are,” said Neville. “Listen, I hate to say I hope you keep getting migraines, but it would be nice to see your face around the office now and then when you walk by.”

“You’re right, Neville,” she said. “I’ll stop by more often, with or without the migraines. Please tell Pansy… well, maybe don’t tell her anything at all until after the baby’s come.”

He laughed again. Hermione pushed the heavy door open, feeling the wards slip around her like jelly, and entered the T.T.R. Division.

Something was wrong. There was far too much activity for a Monday morning, the half dozen or so workers in the T.T.R. Division milling about quickly and anxiously. No one stopped to tell her hello, no one was brewing coffee in the tiny office kitchenette. When Hermione entered the office that she shared with Theo, she was surprised to see Harry Potter standing over her desk.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Oh, thank Merlin, Hermione,” said Harry, profound relief on his face as he turned to her, encircling her with his arms in a bone crushing hug before pulling back and fixing her with a scolding stare. “I sent a Patronus to your house, but you didn’t answer. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” she said honestly. “I Flooed straight from my flat to the office. I was just talking to Neville… wait, why are you here? Why are you so relieved to see me?”

“It’s just… when we showed up and you weren’t here, and Hermione, they all said you’re always here early, that you Apparate straight to your office-”

“She can’t Apparate right now,” drawled a voice from the doorway.

“Why can’t she-” Harry began, but then he trailed off, closing his eyes and shaking his head at his own stupidity. “Ohhh.”

Malfoy was glaring at Harry, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he did, though Harry continued on, oblivious, or perhaps immune, to Malfoy’s grouchy stare. Hermione glanced around her office, and she noted that several of the desk drawers on her desk were opened and clearly rifled through, and the same was true of Theo’s. Her most sensitive, confidential files were kept in the cabinet behind her desk, and it was clear that someone had tried to pry it open.

But where was Theo?

“Harry, what’s going on? You still haven’t even told me why you’re here,” said Hermione.

Harry turned to her, a grim expression on his face, and he exhaled a heavy sigh.

“Theo’s been attacked.”

Chapter 4: seven

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand what the ruddy big deal is,” said Theo. “I do not need any Aurors roaming around my lab.”

“Theo, a week ago you were hit in the back with a Sectumsempra while you were working!” said Hermione.

“And I’m absolutely fine,” said Theo with an eye roll. “Honestly, Malfoy was greatly exaggerating its effects back in Sixth year.”

“He almost died, and so did you,” she replied. “You shouldn’t even be back at work yet.”

Theo had spent two full days at St. Mungo’s to recover from the Sectumsempra. It was a close-run thing, and he’d been very lucky that one of the interns had arrived, scaring off the culprit and reaching Theo in time to get him into hospital.

The most unnerving part of the attack was that the attacker had managed to get into the wards, which were keyed to allow only those affiliated with the Institute or with the Ministry. The Auror department had spent most of the week taking down all of the wards and starting over, with only existing employees allowed through.

Existing employees, plus one.

“And why the f*ck do you have to be here? You’re just going to get in my way,” snapped Theo.

Draco Malfoy kicked his feet up onto Theo’s desk, earning a bitter scowl.

“I don’t choose my assignments, Nott,” he said, twirling his hawthorn wand in his fingers. “One of the unfortunate aspects of being nothing but an Auror constable.”

“It’s just ridiculous,” said Theo angrily.

Hermione had to admit that she agreed. Of all the Aurors that could have been assigned to Theo’s case, it just had to be Malfoy. She didn’t even really understand why he had a job at all. The Malfoy vaults were overflowing with galleons, and didn’t he have a son at home to care for? She sipped at her peppermint tea before noticing that Malfoy was staring at her with a raised eyebrow. Hermione stood abruptly from her desk, feeling that the office had a bit too much Slytherin energy in it at the moment.

“I’m going into the lab,” said Hermione.

Theo grunted.

Their division was small in staffing but large in square footage, and Hermione’s shoes clicked across the floor toward the lab. She pulled on a set of protective robes, enchanted with layers of spells and charms, and tied her hair back in a bun.

Though the Aurors had spent hours questioning each of the employees in the T.T.R. Division after the attack, there were some things that no one could reveal. Those secrets remained locked behind the enchanted doors of the T.T.R. Division laboratory. If she were honest, she was not entirely surprised that someone had tried to attack the division to get their secrets. The only surprise was that an attack was successful.

Almost no one but the T.T.R. employees themselves knew what the division did. In fact, no one outside the Research Institute was supposed to know the identities of those who worked in the division at all. They had perhaps the most secret, and the most dangerous, research agenda of the entire Institute.

The Time Turner Reacquisition Division.

It had been an incredibly well-kept secret… until now, apparently. Theo had not gotten a glimpse of his attacker. He’d been hit with the Sectumsempra curse from behind, which in truth likely saved his life. Unlike Malfoy in Sixth year, no vital arteries or organs had been slashed by the curse, but still, he had crumpled face first, only able to see his attacker’s feet and legs as they rifled through the drawers before he’d passed out from blood loss.

Someone had been trying to learn more about what she and Theo were doing, and he’d almost lost his life because of it. Harry had immediately decided that Theo needed Auror protection, and he had very nearly required an Auror to follow Hermione around as well, but she’d protested too vigorously.

“I wasn’t even attacked! I’ll be fine!” she had said.

Hermione entered the lab. Two researchers were bent over a workbench separating grains of sand into two piles, one at a time, by hand. The entire lab had an enchantment on it to prevent magic from being used. It was too dangerous for spells to fly in a room with unstabilized Time Turner parts. Hermione leaned over their backs, inspecting their work. Each grain of sand had to be examined under a microscope; Hermione had purchased three of them from a Muggle laboratory supply operation for her interns to use. Magnetic or volcanic grains of sand had to be removed, as well as any that came from organic matter.

It was a tedious task that would have been finished in an instant with magic, but she and Theo had hypothesized that the reason previous Time Turners had failed was that the use of charmwork left an invisible film of magic on the grains that lingered, preventing the Time Turner from functioning once complete.

She roamed the lab, checking each station to ensure all was well. Potions bubbled away merrily in their cauldrons, and chalkboards were covered top to bottom in Theo’s looping handwriting. They had spent many a late night arguing over which runes should be carved into a Time Turner.

“You’ve never even seen one!” she would snap.

“You were in Third year! You don’t even remember what was on it!” he would spit back.

And yet, for all they fought and argued while inside the laboratory, the moment they stepped out of it, they got along splendidly.

That morning, she spent as long as she dared in the lab. All was well, and though she did not particularly want to return to her office and listen to Theo and Malfoy snipe at each other, she truly did not have much to do there. She spent a couple of hours staring at the chalkboard, scribbling arithmancy equations on parchment as she chewed her lip in thought. When she could no longer think of things to keep her in the laboratory, Hermione said goodbye to her interns and left, removing the protective robes and letting her hair cascade down her back as she pulled it from the low bun.

“Lunch,” said Theo in a grouchy voice when she reappeared in their office. “Let’s go.”

Theo stood quickly from his desk, as though he thought he could lose Malfoy if he moved fast enough, but alas, Malfoy clunked his feet down from Theo’s desk and stood to follow. Theo and Hermione left the T.T.R. Division, Malfoy looming behind them like a shadow as they walked.

“Shall we Apparate to Diagon Alley?” asked Theo.

“No,” said Malfoy and Hermione at the same time.

Hermione turned back and fixed Malfoy with a glare.

“I’ve been getting migraines,” said Hermione in explanation. “We’ll have to Floo.”

Theo narrowed his eyes slightly, much more sceptical of the excuse than Neville had been, but he buttoned his lips and held out an arm for her to take, threading her hand through his elbow. A couple of people waved at her as they walked, paling slightly when they saw Malfoy towering behind her and Theo. There were a handful of wizards in line at the Floo in front of them.

“What shall we have today?” asked Theo as they waited.

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” she offered lamely.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You’re always starving at lunch. I’m amazed that it’s noon and you haven’t already eaten. Shall we get a curry?”

Hermione retched, trying to play it off as a cough.

They popped out of the fireplace one at a time in the Leaky Cauldron, Malfoy going through first, then Theo, then Hermione bringing up the rear. When she came through the Floo, her eyes lit on Malfoy and Theo, who were laughing at something, and she was struck again by how handsome they both were. She did not often think of Theo as handsome, having been desensitized to him at work every day, but standing next to Malfoy, it was truly astounding to see two people who had won the genetic lottery so handily.

Hermione stepped between them, feeling quite short.

“Fish and chips?” offered Theo. “Sandwiches?

Nothing sounded appetizing. How many weeks could a developing fetus survive on nothing but peppermint tea?

“You’re useless,” said Theo in a grouchy voice. “Malfoy?”

“Whatever she wants,” he said gruffly.

Theo heaved a great sigh, muttering under his breath and taking off at a quick walk to leave the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Hermione and Malfoy scrambling to catch up.

It was still chilly in Diagon Alley, despite the approaching spring. Theo was striding purposefully toward one of their favourite lunch spots, a lively place with pub food and outdoor seating, warming charms that kept away the cool March air. Theo placed an order at the window, and then, they all sat at a table, each of them pulling off their coats.

“Why are you acting so weird?” asked Theo.

Hermione and Malfoy shared an accusatorial stare.

“Not him,” said Theo, waving a hand in Malfoy’s direction. “He always acts like this. I mean you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, just… migraines,” she answered.

She could tell he did not believe her.

When their number was called, Theo went to the window to take their food, Malfoy’s watchful eye on him all the way. Malfoy’s body was held stiffly, his leg bouncing rhythmically under the table. She did not know how to talk to him, or if he wanted to talk at all.

“Thanks for the tea,” said Hermione.

“You’re welcome,” he replied shortly.

It seemed a lame attempt at conversation. She tried again.

“How’s Scorpius doing?” she asked, and at this, Malfoy’s body language shifted, becoming more casual, less anxious, a slight smile on his face. She noted this expression with curiosity. It was a different smile, an easy one that had a hint of exasperation in it. Hermione filed it away in her mind, another of his smiles that she had found.

“He wants a cat,” he said.

Hermione laughed.

“Next thing you know he’ll be wanting to be sorted into Gryffindor,” she said teasingly.

He gave a dramatic shudder, but he was smiling.

Theo returned with a tray of food, setting it in the centre of the table and glancing between their faces, waiting for someone to reach out and take a couple of chips. The smell of vinegar hit her nose, but instead of a roil of nausea, she felt a pang of sudden desire. A craving, perhaps.

“Oh f*ck, that smells good,” she said, pulling the bottle of vinegar under her nose and inhaling deeply. “Oh, god, give me some of those chips.”

The two men stared at her in horror as she completely doused a chip with vinegar and popped it into her mouth. She did not care. She had finally found something she could eat without wanting to vomit. She took another chip, pouring vinegar on every square inch of surface area before eating it.

Their lunch was uneventful. No Dark wizards tried to attack Theo in Diagon Alley, leading him on another tirade about how completely unnecessary it was for Malfoy to be tailing him at all. Theo reached out for her arm.

“No Apparating, remember?” she said, wagging her finger before she took his arm.

“Of course,” said Theo.

~

The week passed uneventfully. Malfoy Apparated into the office each morning with Theo and sat in the corner, clearly bored out of his mind, twirling his wand between his fingers while Hermione did her best to pretend not to notice him. By the end of the week, he had become a fixture she could easily ignore, much like a new potted plant. Theo had even grown tired of needling their resident Auror, instead spending his time sitting on top of Hermione’s desk while they discussed the properties of gemstones.

When she arrived at the office on Friday morning, scurrying across the campus from the Floo room, she found Theo sitting on her desk, his wand guiding a quartet of paper aeroplanes in a circle at the ceiling while Malfoy watched disinterestedly. She sat down at her desk, setting down her mug of peppermint tea, pushing Theo’s leg out of her way with the tip of her wand.

“You’re pregnant,” said Theo.

She saw Malfoy stiffen in the corner.

“What makes you say that?” asked Hermione, her voice an octave higher than it usually was.

“You’ve stopped Apparating, you suddenly hate all your favourite foods, you’re exhausted,” said Theo, ticking each off on his fingers. “And you’re drinking peppermint tea all day, which is all Astoria did for four solid months when she was pregnant.”

Theo had jutted his thumb in Malfoy’s direction when he said this. Hermione could feel her face flush with heat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Theo. “You know I wouldn’t have judged you.”

“I’ve hardly told anyone,” she mumbled.

“Does the father know?” he pressed.

Hermione did not respond. She just stared fixedly at the ledger she had open on her desk, checking shipments against invoices for the lab. Theo had a sympathetic look on his face.

“Well, we are going to have to find you an alternative way to work,” said Theo, his hands dropping to his thighs with a slap. “You can’t be in the laboratory.”

“I most certainly can!” cried Hermione, at the same time as Malfoy said, “Why wouldn’t she be able to be in the laboratory?!”

She might have been imagining it, but she thought she heard a note of panic in Malfoy’s voice.

“Don’t bother arguing with me,” said Theo. “There’s no telling what could happen in there. There are more unstable magical items in there than anywhere else in the world, I’d bet, and I don’t want to be responsible for you and little Baby Granger.”

Hermione blanched, and Theo paused, co*cking his head to one side and staring into her face, inspecting her with a rogue grin.

“Little Baby… Weasley?” he asked.

Malfoy scoffed.

“Little Baby… f*ck, I dunno. Krum?” said Theo, watching her carefully for a reaction. “McLaggen? Potter?”

His eyebrow had raised teasingly at the last guess, and she exhaled a laugh.

“Hermione, just tell me which arsehole is responsible for your condition, and I swear, I’ll only Cruciatus him once,” said Theo.

She could not help it. Her eyes flickered to Malfoy’s face. He had his arms folded in front of his chest, staring at her with piercing grey eyes. Theo’s smirk dropped, and he glanced between the two of them in abject horror.

“Oh, no,” said Theo. “Oh, no, no, no.”

Hermione’s gaze snapped back to Theo. He looked pale, and he was shaking his head briskly.

“Little Baby Malfoy?!”

Chapter 5: eight

Chapter Text

“You were supposed to keep her company! Talk to her!” said Theo. “Not get her pregnant!”

Hermione’s face was in her hands, but she could see Malfoy scowling at Theo through her fingers.

“Can you please keep it down!” hissed Hermione, casting an Imperterbatus charm on the door.

“And you!” said Theo, rounding on her. “This man is my best friend, and he hasn’t been laid since his wife died!”

“Yes, I had heard that bit, thanks,” she said.

“Oh, Merlin, it happened at my gala, didn’t it,” wailed Theo miserably. “You just had to go looking all beautiful and stunning, Granger. The poor bloke couldn’t help himself! Hell, I almost couldn’t help myself!”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open at this, but she shook her head. She did not have the brain capacity to deal with that statement.

“How did you manage to get her up the duff?” Theo asked, turning on Malfoy. “Haven’t you heard of birth control?”

“I thought she was on the potion,” he said, his arms crossed in front of him.

“And I thought he was on the potion,” said Hermione.

“Don’t you think for one second that you can leave Granger’s baby without a father,” snapped Theo, his finger wagging in Malfoy’s face. “You will not leave her to fend for herself just because you’re terrified.”

At this, Malfoy stood abruptly from his chair, sending it clattering backward to the ground behind him. He fixed Theo with a murderous stare, looking as though he very much would like to say something he’d regret, but instead, he stormed out of their office, slamming the door shut behind him so forcefully that the diplomas rattled on the walls.

Theo exhaled a sigh that puffed out his cheeks.

“Probably shouldn’t have said that last bit,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Why is he terrified?” asked Hermione.

Theo motioned for her to sit down, and he tapped his wand on the cup of peppermint tea on her desk to warm it. She sipped it, more to have something to do with her hands than anything else. Theo sank down into his desk chair and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

“After Astoria, he was… he was a bit of a mess, Granger,” said Theo honestly. “I spent a lot of time with him the year after she died. He was like a walking corpse, aimless. Narcissa was raising the baby because he couldn’t handle it. He stopped seeing any of our friends, stopped flying. Stopped doing everything that made him Draco Malfoy. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get him back.”

“Oh,” she said, and Theo nodded.

“When Scorpius started walking, he snapped out of it. It was like he finally remembered he had someone that needed him. He loves that boy,” he continued, and Hermione smiled. This she knew. “But he swore to me he’d never marry again, never have any more children, because he was absolutely terrified of going through it all again.”

Theo leaned his head back in his hands.

“I know you’re not with him, Granger, but even so, if you died giving birth to his baby? I think I’d lose him for good,” said Theo, a sadness in his voice that she rarely heard from him.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking on his words. She was not unfamiliar with loss. The Weasley family still had a gaping chasm in it where Fred had once been, and she had found herself missing more than once the flighty, unserious presence of Lavender Brown. Dennis Creevey had lost his brother in the Battle of Hogwarts, and then not three years later, he had lost his young wife, a Muggle woman who had been refused treatment at St. Mungo’s. She did not know Dennis well, but she had seen a vacancy in his eyes that she never wanted to see in Malfoy’s.

“What was she like? Astoria?” asked Hermione.

Theo let a true smile slide across his features, as though recalling a long-forgotten memory of someone he had clearly liked very much.

“Ask him,” he said, and then, he leaned forward in his chair. “Really. You should ask him. He loves to talk about her.”

There was a pause, and Theo’s smile grew wistful.

“Even when it hurts,” he added.

That afternoon, Harry appeared in the doorway of her office, Malfoy standing behind him looking rather ferocious. Harry had his arms crossed in front of his chest imperiously, and then, he gestured for Malfoy to enter.

“Malfoy’s asked to be removed from this case,” said Harry. “So, whatever you two are doing to him, please cut it out. I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

“It wasn’t my-”

“Listen,” said Harry firmly. “I know we all know about the… complication…”

At this, Harry gesticulated wildly in the direction of Hermione’s pelvis.

“But we’ve got a serious problem here,” he continued. “We’ve run an analysis on the wards, and someone tampered with them the night before the attack. This wasn’t random, it was planned. Calculated. I’m going to have both of your homes evaluated, and I’d like to have someone assigned to each of you outside of work hours-”

Theo and Hermione both began sputtering protests, but Harry held up a hand to silence them.

“But for now, I’m short-staffed, so you’re sharing Malfoy,” began Harry, glaring in Malfoy’s direction, “who will not be leaving during his on-duty hours again.”

Harry gave Hermione a look, placing his hand on her arm.

“I want you watched over by the best, and he’s the best,” said Harry, and his mouth twisted into a slight smirk. “Plus, he’s got a vested interest in making sure you stay alive now.”

At this, Malfoy’s expression grew sour again, but Harry just clapped him on the shoulder as he left the office, and she could hear him whistling as he strolled down the hallway to leave the division.

~

The next weekend was Easter, and Hermione found herself reluctantly agreeing to go to the Burrow. She didn’t particularly care for it, given everything that happened with Ron the previous summer, but she didn’t exactly have anywhere else to be, either. Theo and Penn were throwing a ridiculous brunch that they had invited her to, but she had gotten into quite enough trouble at Theo’s last event and did not want to risk any further. She pulled a floral dress over her head, gazing at the way it hung over her belly. There was no evidence yet of her pregnancy.

That said, Harry and Ginny had both encouraged her to tell the Weasleys. The truth would out eventually, of course, but she was not looking forward to seeing Ron’s reaction, particularly once the identity of the baby’s father was revealed. She was waffling back and forth on whether to tell them even as the front door to the Burrow opened.

“Hermione,” said Arthur happily. “Glad to have you over. Come on in.”

The Burrow was full to bursting as it always was on holidays. There were five grandchildren underfoot, including James, who was clearly running Ginny ragged. She looked ready to burst at the seams, her shirt having given up on trying to cover her entire belly. She watched James toddle after Bill’s daughter before being scooped up by his mother. Ginny hugged Hermione, and she stroked James’s cheek.

“The rest of the crew is in the kitchen,” said Ginny.

She knew that meant Ron. As Hermione walked through the Burrow, she overhead smatterings of conversation in familiar voices: George discussing the success of the new shop in Paris (“Fleur’s sister is managing it for us”), Percy talking about the final payouts from the Ministry’s “Families of the Victims” fund (“ridiculous that Muggleborn families are only just now seeing the money, eight years later”). As she walked into the kitchen, she spied Harry’s black hair in a sea of red. He turned, smiling brightly at her, but as he did, she saw them. Ron and his new girlfriend were seated at the table, and the laughter in their faces died when they saw her.

Hermione did not know if it made her feel better or worse that Ron’s new girlfriend looked nothing like her. She was very tall and rail-thin, and she had light brown hair that hung neatly to her collarbones. Even her name felt opposite; instead of the long, rounded syllables of Hermione’s Shakespearean name, Ron’s new girlfriend was much simpler: Hope.

Ron and Hope. R & H.

She sighed.

Harry hugged her tightly, his hand tugging playfully at the ends of her curly hair, smiling broadly at her when he pulled away, and then, Bill clapped her on the shoulder. She was glad to see him. Hermione had done an internship with him at Gringotts after her mastery studies. He still looked as cool as ever: red hair tied in a bun on the back of his head, and a new tattoo wrapped around his forearm. A Hungarian Horntail.

“Hey, Hermione,” said Bill. “Want an IPA or a stout?”

Her mouth almost wrapped around the word “stout” before she recalled she could not have either. She looked over to Ginny, who gave an encouraging nod.

“I can’t,” she said, and then, she steeled her nerves. Might as well get it out of the way. “I’m pregnant.”

A sudden hush fell over the Burrow. Ron was staring at her open-mouthed, and Molly’s wand was frozen mid-swish, the vegetables she had been cutting hanging limply in the air over a pot of stew. Ginny and Harry were sharing a worried look, and Hermione felt her stomach dropping down into her shoes.

Fleur recovered first.

“But congrazulations, of course!” she cooed, a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “When will ze baby come?”

“November,” said Hermione, forcing a smile on her face.

Fleur gave her a congratulatory hug, and the murmur of conversation resumed in the Burrow, the vegetables dropping into the pot. Bill hugged her next, a whispered congratulations in her ear, but Ron was still staring. Harry crossed the room to her and patted her shoulder reassuringly. Once the vegetables were in the stew, Molly summoned a book from a high shelf called The Witch’s Guide to Magical Pregnancy.

“It’s not like Muggle pregnancies, dear,” said Molly, pushing the book into her hand. “Much more to worry about.”

“Oh,” said Hermione nervously. “Thank you.”

“Have you been to St. Mungo’s yet?” she pressed, and Hermione shook her head. “Be sure to do it. There’s a lot to consider with magical pregnancy.”

Hermione was about to ask Molly what there was to consider, but at that moment, the grandchildren tumbled into the room. Molly scooped up Fred, a bubbly four-year-old with dark auburn hair, and kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

When dinner was ready, Hermione sat herself next to James, hoping that this would put enough space between her and Ron, but inconveniently, Hope climbed onto the bench across from her, and Ron sat next to Hope. He was looking at her furtively, a dazed expression on his face as though he could not fathom how she had managed to get pregnant.

“So,” said Ron, and Hermione’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “A baby?”

“Yes,” she replied, staring into her stew and realizing she had no appetite.

Hermione pulled out the box of peppermint tea from her bag, summoning a mug from the centre of the table. Ron was watching her as she conjured boiling water with her wand. Hermione took a deep inhale over the mug, willing the nausea away.

“How did you…” Ron began, but he trailed off.

She knew that he was fishing for information on the baby’s father, and judging from the hush in conversation around her, he was not the only one who was curious. Hermione did not mind sharing with the Weasleys that she was pregnant, but she felt she needed a bit more time before she admitted that the baby belonged to Draco Malfoy.

She needed more time because she still did not know what relationship he intended with this child. The Weasleys would ask questions, very normal questions about how involved he planned to be, and Hermione had no answers to them. She did not know how to ask him. He was a taciturn presence in her office, grouchy from time to time, but he was not cruel. On occasion, he was even thoughtful. After all, the tea that was steeping in front of her was thanks to him.

Ron tried again.

“Who is the-”

“You know, in France, it is much more common zat witches have children on zeir own,” offered Fleur. “My mozzer did not marry my fazzer until after I was born. They waited, you know, to see if zeir magic would entwine.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.

“Almost any witch and wizard can conceive a child together,” said Molly from the middle of the table, jumping into the conversation. “But in some pregnancies, the wizard’s magic sort of… interacts with the witch.”

“Like a song,” said Fleur, and she glanced at Bill with a beatific smile. “Ze magic ties together. It makes for a very difficult pregnancy, of course.”

Fleur stole a look at Victoire, who was chatting animatedly with Fred and paying her mother no mind.

“But ze magic of ze witch and ze baby just… cooperates. Multiplies,” said Fleur, and Bill took her hand on top of the table. “It’s how you know.”

“Know what?” asked Ron.

But Fleur did not answer. She had a starry-eyed smile only for Bill, and he leaned down and bestowed a kiss on her lips.

“Of course, if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t mean anything,” said Molly quickly. “Most pregnancies are perfectly normal, no magical multiplication. It doesn’t mean anything less about the couple.”

She was looking at Ginny and at George, who both clearly had not experienced their magic tying together. Hermione was also quite certain that her magic would not be entwining with Malfoy’s, thank you very much. She was not even certain she believed in such nonsense. The placebo effect.

As dinner ended, most of the party began to trickle outside, save for Ginny, who was putting her feet up on the sofa. Hermione followed Harry to the backyard, where George was summoning broomsticks for a pickup Quidditch game. She and Fleur were the only two who opted not to join, so they sat on the cool, damp grass together, watching the brooms soar around above them.

“Who is it?” asked Fleur with a conspiratorial grin. “I won’t tell.”

Hermione let a smile ghost across her lips, but she shook her head.

“You’ll know soon,” said Fleur. “If ze magic is what I said. You’ll feel it.”

“You really felt something?” asked Hermione. “When you were pregnant with Victoire?”

“Hermione,” she replied in a placating sort of voice. “I have loved Bill since I first met him, but after Victoire?”

Fleur could not even continue her sentence. She sighed in a romantic sort of way, gazing up into the sky at Bill, whose bun had come loose into a long ponytail as he flew. Hermione could hear boisterous laughter, but then, suddenly, a streak of silvery white raced through the air, flying toward Harry’s unmistakable figure. He stopped midair, and a Patronus shimmered into view next to him. After a moment, Harry shouted to the others and dived to the ground, climbing off his broom and marching toward her. Hermione scrambled up from the ground.

“I’ve got to go,” said Harry, dropping his broom on the ground and fixing her with a serious expression. “It’s work. They’ve caught the person who broke into the Institute.”

Chapter 6: twelve

Chapter Text

Over the next month, Auror protection at the Institute tripled. Malfoy was following her and Theo everywhere they went, and her home had been visited no fewer than four times as teams of Aurors set up layer upon layer of wards. Harry had come by to test them, ignoring her vociferous protests that none of it was necessary.

Theo’s attacker had been arrested, but they had learned precious little about the motivation for the attack. The man had been hired to break into the T.T.R. Division, told to find a Time Turner and steal it, and he’d been paid handsomely for it, but he had no idea who his employer had been. Neither Veritaserum nor a Pensieve had solved the mystery. The attacker had sent his report back to the anonymous employer, telling his benefactor that the Time Turner had not yet been crafted, and there had been no further attacks since.

Hermione was also relieved that her nausea was beginning to subside, and she had finally found something of an appetite. The Healer at St. Mungo’s had reported that all was normal with her pregnancy, even the insistent cravings for vinegar. At lunch, she and Theo ate fish and chips with vinegar, cucumber salads with vinegar, and roasted vegetables drizzled in a balsamic vinegar reduction that had her moaning in pleasure.

“Keep making that sound, and you’re going to make Draco get you pregnant again,” said Theo.

Malfoy had let out a panicked grunt that he disguised as a cough.

But it was after one particularly vinegar-soaked lunch that Malfoy pulled her aside, ignoring Theo’s raised eyebrow.

“Erm,” said Malfoy, and Hermione realized with surprise that he was nervous. “Scorpius keeps asking me when you’re coming back.”

“Oh,” said Hermione lamely.

“Would you… like to?” asked Malfoy.

She smiled as she pictured Scorpius Malfoy, blond hair hanging down into his eyes as he pointed up at the clouds. He had the most adorable smile. She could remember the longing in his voice when he’d asked her to come back, and for all her complicated feelings about Malfoy, she could not deny his son a new friend.

“Sure,” she replied with a smile.

“Great,” said Malfoy, exhaling a breath. “He’s going to be thrilled.”

“This weekend?” she asked.

Malfoy nodded, a reluctant smile sliding across his face that was the mirror of his son’s.

~

She could hear the slamming of footsteps on marble floors on the other side of the door, and the scuffle of argument between Scorpius and the butler about who would be allowed to open it, but when the door opened, she saw Scorpius’s bright face appear. He took one look at her, and his face fell in confusion.

“Where’s your cat?” he asked.

Hermione giggled.

“He doesn’t particularly like to travel,” she said. “But maybe someday you can come over and meet him, alright?”

Scorpius brightened again, taking her hand and pulling her inside. The butler watched as she passed under his nose, heading straight through the huge mansion and out to the back garden where Malfoy was sitting at a white iron table, a bottle of beer in front of him.

He stood when she appeared.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, and he looked as though he were about to say more, but Scorpius continued dragging her forward.

“I’ve got a kite!” he exclaimed.

They went down the stairs together, Scorpius taking them two at a time, until they reached the grassy expanse of grounds. A kite was on the ground, bobbing slightly in the wind, and Scorpius held it up to her.

“I don’t know how to do it,” he said.

She took the reel in her hand, biting her lip. It had been a very long time since she’d flown a kite, but the memory began to come back to her, memories of running through a field with her father. Hermione smiled.

“You hold this,” said Hermione, handing him the reel. “And start running.”

Scorpius looked at her with scepticism, but she nodded her encouragement, and he took off. She watched his feet flying underneath him, and once he was a fair distance away, she started running with him, holding the kite in the air. Once there was a bit of wind, she released the kite into the air. Scorpius whooped loudly as the kite flew up, up, up, and then, it crashed into the grass.

He looked disappointed, but Hermione just beckoned him back.

“Take up some of the slack in the line,” she instructed. “Let’s try it again.”

Twice more they tried, and by the third try, the kite stayed in the air long enough to make Scorpius giggle with glee. Hermione chanced a look at Malfoy, and even from this distance, she could see the contented smile on his face. He sipped his beer and shook his hair from his eyes.

“Again!” said Scorpius.

This time, when he set off at a run, his feet got caught up underneath him. He began to lose his balance and then, he tumbled to the ground. Hermione froze for a moment, and so did Scorpius, as though not entirely certain what had just happened.

But once he realized his predicament, the tears began to flow. Scorpius wailed loudly, and Hermione raced to his side. He was gripping his knees, though Hermione could see no damage.

Malfoy appeared at their side in an instant, the crack of Apparition echoing through the air, and he knelt down next to Scorpius, who climbed into his father’s arms.

“I think it scared him more than anything,” said Hermione with a sympathetic smile, and Malfoy nodded.

Hermione sat down on the grass, watching him. He was rubbing Scorpius’s small back, patting and murmuring soothing words into his ear. The sight made her ache. Without thinking, she put a hand to her abdomen. Though there was not yet a swell to her belly, she touched the place where she knew the baby grew, wishing that her child would see this side of Malfoy as well.

“You want to keep flying the kite?” asked Malfoy.

Scorpius wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded. Malfoy stood, towering over the both of them. Hermione picked up the reel and handed it to Scorpius, who grinned madly and took off at a run again. Soon, he had the hang of the kite, and he could nearly manage to get it off the ground without her help. Hermione was exhausted, panting heavily from all the running, and she begged off the next round of kite flying, climbing the stone staircase to sit with Malfoy at the iron table.

Malfoy conjured a glass of water for her, nudging it across the table in her direction.

“He’s adorable,” she said.

“He’s busy,” he replied.

“He’s so light-hearted,” said Hermione, though she hadn’t really meant to say it.

She had considered that, for a child with no mother, Scorpius seemed remarkably well-adjusted. There was no lingering sadness or darkness in him. He was happy-go-lucky. Malfoy shifted in his seat, fiddling with the edge of the label on his beer.

“He’s like his mother,” said Malfoy.

Hermione made a humming noise in her throat, watching Scorpius run along in the grass with his kite. She turned, looking at Malfoy’s profile.

“Tell me about her,” said Hermione quietly. “Astoria. Was it an arranged marriage?”

“Erm, no,” said Malfoy, shifting uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “Do you remember her from Hogwarts?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Yea, you probably wouldn’t. She was a few years behind us,” said Malfoy. “She was in Fourth year during my last year at Hogwarts. Just a kid, really. Shielded from the war. She never…”

He trailed off, and she watched his face. His jaw was set tightly.

“She never saw me as a Death Eater. She just saw me as… me,” he continued, and she was surprised to see such wistful sadness on his face. “Just Draco.”

Her heart hurt for him. Hermione knew him as Malfoy. As her childhood tormentor. As a Death Eater. She did not see him as Just Draco. She could easily understand how he’d been drawn to a woman who did not have the same history, the same perception of him.

“Just Draco,” repeated Hermione thoughtfully, rolling his name on her tongue, and he eyed her askance.

“You know, I shouldn’t really have even been named for a constellation,” said Malfoy pointedly. “I’m not a Black.”

“But your mother-”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. “But by all rights, the Black family heir should have been her cousin Sirius. Potter’s godfather. I was born in 1980, and by then Regulus was dead and Sirius had been disowned. Alphard was dead, too, and Orion was near to it. No more Black family men. It was a bold move by my father to name me Draco. He was rubbing it in Orion’s face. That the Malfoys would be taking over the fortune, the legacy.”

“I see,” she said quietly, and she was surprised that he knew this much of his mother’s family history, though she knew she should not have been. Still, it felt strange to hear Sirius’s name on his lips.

“Orion died soon after that. Aunt Bella never had any children, and Andromeda was disowned, so the family fortune passed to me after all,” continued Malfoy. “Everything except that house that Potter has.”

There was a moment of silence, Hermione fiddling with a string at the hem of her shirt.

“So why did you name Scorpius after one, then?” she asked.

He smiled, not meeting her eyes.

“We never… we never talked about what to name him,” said Malfoy. “I think Astoria had some ideas, but she never shared them. She thought it would be bad luck.”

And at this, he leaned his head back, staring at the sky, his eyes slightly glassy.

“Bad luck,” he muttered.

Hermione gave him time to collect himself.

“She died less than a minute after he’d left her body,” said Malfoy, his brows knitted together, shaking his head ruefully. “She didn’t even see him. So, I did what any new father, half-mad with grief would do.”

She looked at him, and he met her eyes. He brought his hands to his mouth as though in prayer, and for one wonderful moment, there was a smile on his lips again, his grey eyes sparkling half with tears and half with laughter.

“I let my mother name him,” he said slyly.

Hermione laughed, and he did, too, a reluctant sort of laugh that dragged out of him despite himself. Their eyes both drifted to the grounds where Scorpius was running at top speed, trying desperately to make the kite fly into the air but failing over and over. His face kept looking up at his father, trying to make sure that he was watching. The kite had gotten tangled, and Malfoy waved his wand haphazardly toward it to free the string from the reel. Scorpius lifted the kite again and threw it in the air, watching it float feebly for a moment before it crumpled to the ground.

“He’d be a good brother,” said Hermione gently.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. She watched him, noticing the small details of him in a way that she hadn’t on the night she’d had sex with him. They’d been too rushed and heated to pay attention, but now, she saw the fullness of his lips, the flutter of his eyelashes, which were a very light brown. She wondered how she had never thought him handsome at Hogwarts, but perhaps their constant sniping at each other had precluded such thoughts. She was Granger, he was Malfoy. And their baby…

“This baby,” she said. “Will this baby be a Malfoy?”

He scoffed.

“I’m sure you don’t want it to be,” he said.

Was he right? She found she was not even sure herself. There were associations with the name ‘Malfoy’ that did not exist for the name ‘Granger.’ While the name certainly would open some doors, it would slam others shut. She did not even know herself if she’d fully made peace with the Malfoys.

“You know, I’ve never properly apologized to you,” said Draco, and Hermione was taken aback.

“Are you a Legilimens?” she asked.

He jerked his head, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What? Why?” he asked in obvious bafflement.

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Apologized for what?”

He let out a rueful laugh.

“For calling you Mudblood,” he said, and she did not even flinch at the word on his lips. It seemed so long ago. “For being on the wrong side of the war. For standing by and watching while my aunt tortured you on my drawing room floor.”

“Oh,” she said lamely. “I don’t blame you for all that. Not anymore. We were kids.”

“Hm,” he said.

She watched his face for a moment, a storm brewing in his eyes, memories that refused to be forgotten. She understood this, as she had many a dark memory herself. What relationship did she want to have with him? Did she want her baby to have with him?

“I like watching you with him,” she began, inclining her head toward his son. “Draco, you’re a good father.”

She did not realize that she had called him Draco until the words had already left her mouth. He sat back in his chair, his fingers tightening on the armrests so that his knuckles went white, and he stared hard at her. Her hand went to her belly again, and his eyes caught the movement.

“I want this baby to have that. I want him or her to have a good father. If you don’t want me to give the baby your name, I won’t. I don’t know how pureblood families feel about bastards-” she said, and he winced. “But with or without your name, I want you to be for this baby what you are for Scorpius.”

Malfoy took another sip of beer. There was a long moment of silence, and she drained her glass of water, watching as Scorpius finally seemed to give up on the kite.

“I can do that,” he said firmly.

Hermione looked at him. His eyes were fixed on Scorpius.

“I’d like to do that,” said Malfoy.

~

Hermione was spending most of her time at the office translating runes in varying combinations. It was horrifically dull work that normally they would have had the interns handle, but Theo was feeling particularly protective over her and simply refused to allow her in the laboratory. The lab itself had been warded with several dozen enchantments, so much so that Harry had agreed that Theo did not need an Auror to accompany him inside it. This meant that a great deal of her time was spent in her office with Malfoy, who kept his feet on Theo’s desk and tried to blend in with the surroundings.

“Can’t you make yourself useful?” said Hermione irritably.

“Doing what?” he asked.

Hermione tossed a sheet of parchment in his direction, a string of rune translations waiting to be transcribed by hand.

“Grab a quill and start scribing,” she muttered.

Malfoy sighed, clearly thinking that sitting in the corner like a potted plant would be preferable to transcribing ancient runes by hand, but he summoned a quill from Theo’s desk drawer and bent over the parchment, blowing his blond fringe out of his face with a puff of air. She could hear the sound of his quill scratching on the parchment, but it paused.

Hermione looked up at him. His grey eyes were narrowed, his brow knitted together.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This is mistranslated,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she snapped, holding her hand out for the parchment.

Malfoy handed it to her, tapping on one of the runes with the quill. It was the rune for travel. She hadn’t mistranslated. Unless…

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered.

“Might explain why it’s not working,” he said, and then, he leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face that drove her mad.

She began searching furiously through her runes texts, and then, she began rewriting the runes on the parchment, adjusting the translations. She set the quill down, staring at the parchment. This was it. This was the rune sequence they’d been chasing for months.

“Malfoy,” said Hermione reverently. “I think this is it. I think we’ve done it.”

He stared at her, one eyebrow lifted as though to say, you’re welcome.

“I’ve got to tell Theo!” she said, and she raced off to the laboratory.

She could hear Malfoy curse under his breath, his feet clattering to the floor as he rushed to follow her, though he was barely out of her office even as she made it all the way down the hall. One of their interns was at the door to the laboratory when Hermione arrived. Hermione smiled at Lauren, but she did not return the smile.

There was something vacant in her eyes, something jerky in her movements. Hermione glanced down at the intern’s hands and saw that she was holding something. Hermione’s mouth fell open, and she glanced back at Malfoy, still half a hallway’s length away from her. She saw when his eyes dropped to Lauren’s hands, registering what she was holding.

“GRANGER!” shouted Malfoy, drawing his wand and taking off at a run.

An explosion rocked the lab.

Chapter 7: thirteen

Chapter Text

Her consciousness had gone black when the explosion hit, and it was thanks only to Malfoy’s quick wandwork that she was alive at all. The entire office staff had been brought to St. Mungo’s immediately, and Hermione had two Aurors stationed at the entrance to her hospital room. Though the Healers were fussing dramatically over her, she felt absolutely fine. A few cuts and bruises, perhaps, but Malfoy had protected her from any lasting damage.

“Hermione!” cried Harry as he burst into the room. “Thank Merlin you’re alright!”

“I’m fine,” said Hermione crossly. “I wish they’d let me leave.”

“You’re pregnant, and you very nearly got blown to bits by an explosive,” said Harry. “You’re not leaving.”

The laboratory intern had been Imperiused. As soon as Lauren had been deemed well enough, she had been interrogated using the most intensive methods the Auror department was allowed to use by law, a combination of Veritaserum and charmwork. Her memory was patchy, Obliviated in places that would help them identify the mysterious culprit, but she’d brought the explosive device into the lab in her coat pocket. Malfoy had spotted the evidence of the Imperius from across the hall and recognized the device at once.

“I wasn’t meant to activate it when anyone was nearby,” Lauren had said tearfully. “Even under the Imperius, I knew I was supposed to detonate it when I was alone, but Ms. Granger showed up so suddenly, after it had already been activated.”

Lauren had been protected by her laboratory robes, so thankfully, she was completely unharmed, but had Malfoy not been there, Hermione would be in pieces.

Malfoy, predictably, was in a strop.

“She can’t be allowed back at the Institute!” he said furiously, pushing past her Auror guards to join Harry in her room.

“What are you talking about? It’s my job!” said Hermione. “And aren’t you supposed to be guarding Theo?”

“Theo was in the laboratory when the explosion went off,” spat Malfoy. “He hardly even knew it happened.”

“Yes, well, the wards around it are fifty centimeters thick!” she said. “So if you’d just let me go in there to do my work then-”

“You can’t go in there to work, you’re pregnant!” he roared.

Harry held up his hands to silence them, though they were both still glaring at each other.

“Hermione,” said Harry. “Nott says you can’t be in the lab, and I trust his judgment.”

Malfoy looked smug.

“And Malfoy. Hermione can’t just quit working because of this,” he continued, and though Malfoy tried to sputter a protest, Harry spoke over him. “But I trust your judgment, too, alright? Why don’t we compromise? I’ll assign another Auror to Nott, and you keep an eye on her.”

Harry had jerked his thumb in her direction.

“And you,” said Harry, rounding on her before she could argue. “You have to listen to him, alright? If you think he’s being unreasonable, you can come tell me about it afterward, and I’ll deal with it, but in the moment, you are to follow his orders.”

Hermione bit back a furious reply. Harry’s eyes softened a bit, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently as she lay in her hospital bed with her arms folded in front of her.

“He saved your life,” said Harry with a smile, and Malfoy averted his eyes, scowling. “I think you can trust him with it.”

She did not know if he meant in Malfoy’s capacity as an Auror or as her baby’s father, and she did not want to think about it.

~

If she had thought having Malfoy assigned to Theo was annoying, it was nothing compared to having Malfoy assigned to her. The moment she’d been released from hospital, he insisted on following her home to reinspect her wards.

“Harry’s already done that,” she groaned.

He was not deterred.

It was the first time that he had been to her flat since the night she got pregnant. They arrived by Floo, and both of them froze uncomfortably. She watched him gaze around, his hands going to the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his neck as though it were choking him. It was in this very room that he had kissed her, that her burgundy dress had pooled around her feet, that his hands had first explored her body. It suddenly felt very warm.

Crookshanks yowled and hissed at Malfoy from his place on the sofa.

“Your cat?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione nodded. Malfoy spent a half hour checking the wards, adding layers of protection at the weak spots. Before he left, he adjusted her Floo network access to limit who could come through and which Floos were connected.

“I’ll leave a connection to Malfoy Manor available,” he said, and he rolled his neck slightly. “Just in case you ever… need anything.”

Hermione nodded, and without any further conversation, he tossed a handful of Floo powder onto the logs and spun away home.

The one saving grace of Malfoy’s presence in her life was that he was very protective of his time outside the office, his time with Scorpius. He left work promptly at half five and never worked weekends. They’d had a particularly vicious argument over where she was allowed to go without him.

“Nowhere,” he’d snapped. “You’re to stay home when you’re not at the Institute.”

“That’s ridiculous!” she yelped. “How am I to do my food shopping?”

Only the threat of getting Harry involved had loosened him. He’d granted her permission to visit Grimmauld Place, and she’d agreed to do her shopping during working hours. Besides, it wasn’t like she was much help at the Institute anyway, having been banned from the lab even as the breakthrough in the runes was getting them closer to completing the Time Turner. Still, though Malfoy had taken up residence in the corner of her office, watching her carefully, he was mostly leaving her well enough alone.

But Malfoy’s magnanimous streak apparently did not extend to letting her go out to dinner unsupervised. Owls were sent rapid fire between them.

I’m going out to dinner with Theo and Penn tonight. -HJG

Like hell you are. – DLM

I’m going to go mad if I don’t get out of my house. Send an Auror if you must. – HJG

Hours passed with no reply, and Hermione assumed he had either given up or had contacted the Ministry to assign an Auror to follow her to dinner, but then, she saw Malfoy’s eagle owl approaching her window. She sighed and opened the catch, taking the letter from the owl’s leg.

I’ve talked to Theo. I’ll be at dinner. – DLM

So, he had got himself invited to her dinner with Theo and Penn. Hermione huffed a frustrated sigh and went to her closet to get ready. She did not look pregnant by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a thickness to her middle that had never been there before. Though her clothes fit her, they hung strangely on her body.

And her breasts.

Her breasts were another matter entirely. At work, she had been dressing in loose fitting shirts that came up to her neck, but out to dinner with Penn and Theo, who would surely be dressed spectacularly, she thought she needed something less frumpy. After trying on three dresses that hugged too closely around her rounded middle, she found a green sundress, perfect for the warm weather of late spring.

She did not think it too obscene, but upon Flooing to Theo’s expansive mansion, she saw that his eyes immediately glued to her chest.

“f*cking hell, Hermione,” said Theo, staring at where the breasts were spilling from the confines of her dress. “Penn, come look at Hermione!”

Penn Derrick stood from the sofa, his hands going to the button on his plum suit coat to refasten it. He raised an eyebrow at her, an appraising glance from head to toe, and politely did not linger on her chest.

“Wonderful, darling,” said Penn with a smile.

“But take a look at her-”

He abruptly stopped speaking when Malfoy came into the room.

Theo had buttoned his lips together, a mischievous smirk threatening to spill over, and he threw her a conspiratorial wink. Hermione suddenly wished she’d brought a shawl to cover up with, but it was too late. There was nothing for it but to wait for Malfoy to notice her...

Yes, there it was. His eyes found her breasts as though they simply could not help but look, and in truth she could not begrudge him, but he immediately lifted his gaze to her face. Professional.

“Let’s go,” said Malfoy in a gruff voice.

Hermione sighed. She did not think they would have a very good time at dinner if Malfoy was behaving like Mad-Eye Moody. Theo sensed this as well, and he sidled up to Malfoy, threading an arm into the crook of his elbow and pressing himself close.

“Darling, we aren’t going to have a very good time at dinner if you’re all grouchy like this,” said Theo playfully. “Can you at least try to have a nice evening?”

“I’m not here for a good time, I’m here to make sure you two don’t get yourselves killed,” he said.

“Hm,” said Theo, dragging Malfoy along toward the fireplace. “You can most certainly do both, can’t you?”

Malfoy grunted a noise that might have been agreement. Theo turned back to her and winked again.

There were no flames in the fireplace, so Penn stepped inside, crouching slightly, before tossing a handful of Floo powder down onto the logs, shouting “The Old Warsaw!” and spinning away rapidly. Malfoy went through next, and Hermione followed immediately afterward. The spinning of the Floo brought an unexpected roil of nausea and dizziness, and she nearly stumbled as she fell out of the fireplace in the restaurant, but a pair of strong hands caught her.

Malfoy.

She looked up into his grey eyes. They were frozen for a moment, staring at each other, his hands at her waist. He had not touched her since the night of Theo’s gala, not even once. Their faces were close, too close, and she nearly wanted him to kiss her, but the fireplace blazed up again, and Theo stepped out of it, interrupting the moment.

“You know, I would not begrudge you if you two wanted to abandon us to go spend the whole night at Malfoy Manor,” he said teasingly, brushing soot from his clothes.

Malfoy’s hands flew off her body like she’d burned him.

The three men began to walk ahead of her, Malfoy’s blond head turning from side to side as he surveyed the restaurant for possible threats. Diners whispered and stared as they walked past, and though at first she thought it might be because of Malfoy’s reputation as a former Death Eater, the stares of the women who watched them were not judgmental. They were hungry. Penn, Theo, and Malfoy certainly made a handsome trio, and Hermione felt rather jealous watching a pair of witches whisper behind their hands and bat their eyelashes in Malfoy’s direction.

She moved her legs faster to catch up with them, feeling as though she had to take two steps to every one of theirs.

Their table was tucked in the back corner of the restaurant, a reserved table for only the most spendy customers, of which Theo always was. Penn held Theo’s chair for him, dipping his head once to kiss Theo’s clean-shaven cheek before taking his own seat. Malfoy held a chair for Hermione, and though she attributed it to his practiced aristocratic manners, it still felt nice to see the pair of witches watch with jealous eyes.

“A Bordeaux,” announced Theo. “Chateau Ausone, please.”

The sommelier smiled, no doubt thinking about the price tag of Theo’s choice.

When the wine arrived, Theo made a great show of swirling it, watching the legs of the wine slide down the crystal, inhaling deeply into the glass, and sipping it. He moaned his approval, and the sommelier began to pour. Hermione and Malfoy both had their hands over their glasses.

“Have a sip, you two,” said Theo, holding his glass out to her. “It won’t hurt anything.”

She did miss wine.

“Just let me smell it,” she said with a grin.

It smelled heavenly. Theo and Penn clinked their glasses together in a toast.

“How’s Scorpius doing?” Theo asked over the first course.

Hermione looked at Malfoy, and for the first time all evening, he had a smile on his face. This was one she’d seen before, a ‘Scorpius’ smile, and she mentally clocked the fact that she’d recognized it so readily. It made her want to learn all of them, every smile he had in his arsenal, and memorize what each one meant. He sipped his water and set it back down on the tablecloth.

“He still wants a cat,” said Malfoy, meeting Hermione’s eyes askance, and she giggled.

Theo laughed, swirling the wine in his glass and taking another sip.

“Is he looking forward to having a little brother or sister?” asked Theo.

The temperature at the table dropped several degrees. Malfoy was staring hard at his water glass, drumming his fingers on the table.

“You’ve not told him,” said Theo, and though there was no bite in his tone, it still felt like an accusation.

Malfoy sighed, looking over at Hermione, letting his gaze sweep down once to her breasts, which were still spilling out of her green dress, but his eyes did not linger there. They went back to her face, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t really know what to say to him,” admitted Malfoy. “How do I explain this?”

Malfoy was gesturing between them, and she felt a bit uncomfortable, like they were talking about her as though she were not there.

“I’ve got a half-brother,” offered Penn.

“Yes, but your mother remarried,” Malfoy said. “Our situation is a bit… different.”

Feeling restless, Hermione had tucked her hands under her thighs to still her body’s movement. The server brought the main course to the table, lamb for Theo and Malfoy, steak for Penn, and chicken with a vinegary sauce for Hermione.

“I’d like to think Scorpius will be happy about it,” said Hermione, picking at her chicken.

“He talks about you,” offered Theo between bites of lamb. “I was at Malfoy Manor last week. He couldn’t stop telling me about the kite.”

Malfoy was stone-faced.

Theo and Penn were too soaked in wine for dessert, and the idea of it made Hermione’s stomach twist, so after Theo threw a handful of galleons on the table (dismissing out of hand Malfoy’s offer to contribute), they returned to the fireplace. Theo took Penn by the arm and with a quick wink, they Apparated out of sight.

“Erm,” said Malfoy uncomfortably. “You won’t be able to Floo home from here, so we’ll have to go to the Manor first.”

Hermione nodded her agreement. He gestured for her to go ahead, and she tossed Floo powder onto the logs, spinning away into the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor. She was shocked to see Scorpius dozing on the sofa, but he lit up brightly when he saw her.

“It’s you!” he said.

It was unexpected, but Scorpius ran to her and hugged her around the middle. The fire blazed to life again, and Malfoy stepped out of it, taking in the sight of Scorpius hugging Hermione. A smile slid across his face.

“Dad!” Scorpius shouted, and he raced to hug his father.

“You should be in bed,” said Malfoy in a gentle voice.

The nanny was in the corner of the room, smiling at Malfoy and giving Hermione a knowing glance that made her cheeks flush.

“He wanted to stay up and see you,” said the nanny. “But you have company. Let me get him upstairs.”

Hermione wanted to say something, to tell the nanny that it wasn’t that kind of company, that she wasn’t Malfoy’s date and would not be staying, but something in the nanny’s eyes, the glint of approval, kept her from speaking. Malfoy squeezed Scorpius once more, bending down to kiss the top of his head.

“I’ll be up to read you a story soon,” said Malfoy, and he ruffled Scorpius’s blond hair.

The nanny shuffled Scorpius along, but he turned and gave Hermione a long look as he left, a pleading look. Don’t leave, he begged. Stay.

Malfoy saw it, too.

Once Scorpius was safely out of sight, they turned to each other. Malfoy had his hands in the pockets of his slacks. His tie had come loose over the course of the evening, and his hair was not so perfectly arranged as it had been.

He looked so handsome.

The desire to kiss him rattled her to her bones so overwhelmingly that she half wondered if there had been an earthquake. Her eyes were staring fixedly at his soft lips, trying desperately to remember what they’d felt like against hers. She wanted to get to know him, to understand him. She wanted to assure his precious son that she would stay, that he would not be lonely anymore.

Suddenly, she realized where she had been staring, and her eyes flicked back up to his. Malfoy was watching her, and she was certain he could see the turmoil written on her face, but he did not say anything. He bit his lip. It seemed to her that he was just waiting for her to go.

So, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bucket and went home.

Chapter 8: sixteen

Chapter Text

She woke up with a start. There was a twisting, cramping sensation in her belly, an odd tingling and pulling that alarmed her. Hermione sat up in bed, her hand resting over the ever-growing swell there. Something was not right.

Mindful that she had never been pregnant before, and not wanting to go to St. Mungo’s for every little twinge, she went to the fireplace and Flooed Ginny.

“Come on through,” said Ginny sleepily.

Grimmauld Place had not yet woken up, but Ginny was awake with Albus, who was nursing, his small arm reaching out to pat at his mother’s breast. Ginny was rubbing her eyes and sipping coffee.

“Are you doing alright?” asked Hermione.

“Yes,” she said through a yawn. “What’s up?

Hermione explained the pain, the strange tingling and cramping sensation, and Ginny’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that normal?” Hermione asked.

“Hm,” said Ginny, her brows creased together. “Listen, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but let’s get you to St. Mungo’s, alright?”

Panic swelled in her.

Albus had finished nursing, and Ginny handed the baby off to Hermione so she could wake Harry. The baby was nearing two months old, and he was giving the most brilliant smiles. He had twinkling green eyes like his father, the tiny wisps of hair on his head a beautiful auburn. Another cramp jolted through her like lightning, and she nearly bent double at the pain of it, letting out a whimper as she cradled Albus against her. Harry pounded down the stairs, Ginny trailing after him with James on her hip.

“Let’s get you to St. Mungo’s,” said Harry.

“You’ll be alright with both of them?” Hermione asked Ginny worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Ginny replied. “If I need help, I’ll Floo mum.”

The labour and delivery ward of St. Mungo’s was relatively slow. A couple of nurses were standing at a station, waving their wands to flip through paperwork. Harry had Hermione by the elbow, but when Hermione bent double and wailed, the nurses leapt to action.

“How far along are you?” asked a nurse.

“Only sixteen weeks,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“Let’s get you to an examination room,” said the nurse comfortingly, and she turned to Harry. “Come on, dad.”

“Oh, I’m not the-”

“Blimey, it’s Harry Potter!” said one of the nurses, and then, her brow furrowed. “This isn’t your wife!”

“No, I’m not the-”

“That’s Hermione Granger!” said a different witch.

Hermione was about to scream.

A nurse helped her along to an examination room, waving her wand over the small swell of Hermione’s belly. A panic was rising in her as the cramping continued. As much as this baby had been unplanned, unwanted, she could not bear to lose it. She had grown rather attached to the little one growing inside her, like there was a secret that only she and the baby knew. Hermione read aloud to it each night, and Crookshanks always rested his head on her growing middle, purring loudly.

“The baby looks fine,” said the nurse reassuringly. “Do you want to know if it’s a boy or girl?”

Another wave of pain washed over Hermione, and she gripped her belly. Harry was standing at her side, trying desperately not to look panicked, but failing. The nurse took her hand.

“You’re going to be alright,” said the nurse. “We’ll get the Healer in here to take a look, but everything looks fine in my diagnostic spells.”

Hermione nodded thankfully. The nurse stowed her wand and made to leave the room.

“Wait,” said Hermione. “Is it a boy or girl?”

A smile stretched across her face.

“A girl,” she said, and with a bright grin, she turned and left the room.

Harry was grinning madly.

“Do you hear that? A girl!” said Harry happily. “Ginny’s wanted a girl both times. She’s going to be monstrously jealous.”

But another wave of pain washed over her, the tingling cramps radiating from her belly, and Harry’s face fell in concern. Harry squeezed her hand, and in short order, a Healer had arrived in her room, smiling happily at her even as she began to cast diagnostic spells.

“All looks fine with the baby,” said the Healer. “This doesn’t look like a miscarriage. That said, you described the pain as a... tingling?”

Hermione nodded in confirmation.

“Hm,” said the Healer. “Can you tell me more about the baby’s father?”

Her eyes flickered to Harry, who dropped Hermione’s hand like it had shocked him.

“Oh, um,” said Hermione. “I’m not with the father. We’re not together.”

The Healer did not say anything, but her eyes narrowed and her quick-quotes quill was scratching notes rapidly. Another wave of tingling discomfort rolled over her. The Healer placed a hand on Hermione’s belly, pressing gently.

“I’d like to keep you overnight,” she said. “Just in case.”

Hermione watched the Healer go. Harry squeezed her hand lightly, and though he tried to offer to stay, Hermione put him off. As much as Ginny said she would be fine without him, Hermione did not think she should keep Harry from his two young babies overnight.

“Alright, but Malfoy will kill me if I leave you without protection,” said Harry. “I’m going to send him a Patronus to let him know you’re here, and I’ll see who I can get stationed in your room tonight.”

But it seemed the Patronus had hardly been sent off before Malfoy was looming in the doorway looking ferocious. His head practically touched the top of the doorframe, and his long arms were folded in front of his chest. Hermione felt a surge of… something.

“I’ll stay,” said Malfoy. “Don’t assign anyone.”

“But Scorpius-”

“Scorpius is fine with Kate,” he snapped. “I’m staying.”

Harry clearly was not going to argue with him. He bent down and kissed her cheek before slipping past Malfoy. She caught his eye once more as he left the room, and he sent her a mischievous wink that made her roll her eyes. Malfoy, for his part, was standing at the foot of the bed staring at her.

“You have a Floo connection to Malfoy Manor,” he said.

“And?”

“You should have Flooed me straight away,” he insisted.

“I wanted to talk to Ginny first,” said Hermione. “She’s done this before. She would know what’s normal.”

“I’ve been through this before, too,” said Malfoy. “I could have told you what’s normal.”

Hermione sighed. There would be no arguing with him when he was like this. His shoes clicked on the floor as he slid past her hospital bed, sinking into the uncomfortable armchair in the corner.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Actually, I’m feeling a lot better. No more cramping.”

“And the baby?”

“Fine,” she said. “Totally fine.”

Healers came in to check on her at regular intervals, and they were all very pleased to hear that the cramping and tingling sensations had ceased. At one point, a Healer cast a spell that created a glowing, shimmering orb of gold above her belly, thumping rhythmically.

“The baby’s heartbeat,” said the Healer with a smile.

Hermione could not help but smile. When she glanced over at Malfoy, however, he had something of a grim, worried expression on his face. She wished she could peer inside his head to find out what he was thinking.

“You look great, Ms. Granger,” said the Healer, scratching notes on her clipboard and distracting Hermione from her thoughts about Malfoy. “If all stays the same, we’ll release you first thing in the morning.”

“She can’t go to work, can she?” Malfoy asked from his place in the armchair.

“She should be fine to return to work,” the Healer said.

This was clearly not what Malfoy was hoping she would say.

As the day wore on, Hermione grew horribly bored, so Malfoy conjured a deck of Exploding Snap cards. He dragged a low table over between them, and she found that, once he was focused on the game instead of on the need to glower at her, he was actually quite good company. She giggled at his singed eyebrows, and he cast a charm to put out the smouldering embers at the ends of her hair.

They were laughing together. His laugh was such a delight. A baritone rumble that started as a sniff in his nose and became a chuckle that crinkled the corners of his eyes. She craved to make him laugh more, and she found herself throwing snarky comments at him just to hear that laugh, just to feel the satisfaction of accomplishing it. For a moment she forgot that she was Hermione Granger, and he was Draco Malfoy, and that they were not together. But she saw the wedding band still on his left hand, and it slammed her back to reality.

“Was Astoria’s pregnancy difficult?” Hermione asked softly, glancing up at him cautiously.

His grey eyes narrowed slightly, still focused on the cards in his hand, but he did not seem offended by the question.

“Not at all,” said Malfoy. “Other than the morning sickness in the beginning and a bit of heartburn at the end, she didn’t have any problems. A very easy pregnancy, as far as they go.”

She wanted to ask more, to press him further. If her pregnancy had been so easy, how did it come to pass that she’d died from it? But she thought this question might be a bit too forward, and he did not offer up an answer unprompted, so she returned her focus to the Exploding Snap game until the hospital staff came by with dinner.

“Brought a meal for your husband as well,” said the staff member in a lilting Irish accent.

“Oh, he’s not my-” began Hermione, glancing at the wedding band he wore, but Malfoy had simply said, “Thanks.”

She stared at him.

“Just easier not to try to explain,” he said after the staff member had left.

It was hospital food, but even by those standards, the meal was rather atrocious. Hermione stabbed her fork into a pale chicken breast, and Malfoy was holding up a limp piece of broccoli between his fingers.

“Times like this I miss having a house elf,” he said. “Could just call one in and have them bring us proper food.”

Hermione had noticed that Malfoy Manor was staffed by a butler and a nanny instead of house elves, but she had not asked him about it. She swallowed a bite of gluey mashed potatoes.

“Why no house elves?” she asked.

“I freed them after the war,” said Malfoy. “They feared me too much. Thought I was like my father, and it reminded me too much of who I was when he lived there.”

It was a serious confession, but Malfoy had delivered it in a very casual tone, as though he spoke daily of the kind of person he had been when his father had lived at Malfoy Manor. Though Malfoy and his mother had been spared Azkaban sentences, Lucius Malfoy was still in the wizard’s prison, and Hermione did not know when he would be released. Did not know if she even wanted him to. Lucius Malfoy would present quite a complication in her baby’s life…

“Does your mother know?”

“Yes, obviously,” he said, looking up at her in confusion. “I mean, she has a lady’s maid now instead of an elf.”

“No, I mean, the baby,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “Does your mother know about the baby?”

Malfoy’s spoon had some grey looking peas in it, and he flung them down onto the plate without trying them.

“Not yet,” he said. “I suppose I’ve been putting it off.”

“Because you don’t think she’ll approve?” asked Hermione quietly.

A brilliant smile stretched across his face, and it made her breath catch in her throat, her heart skip a beat. She did not think she would ever get over how breathtaking this man was when he smiled.

“You’ve never seen her with Scorpius,” said Malfoy, still grinning. “She adores him. Can’t get enough of him.”

This still did not answer her question, and her hand went to her belly, tracing runes on top of it absently as she waited for him to continue.

“She has asked me two dozen times when I’m going to give her more grandchildren,” he said. “So no, Granger. It’s not because I don’t think she’ll approve. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“If she finds out that I’ve gotten you pregnant, that I’ll be once more a single father,” said Malfoy, and as she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off. “Even if it’s co-parenting, Granger, we’re not together. I’m not married. If she hears there will be another Malfoy baby to raise…”

He gave an exhale of laughter through his nose.

“She’ll try to move back into the Manor,” he said, with a good-humoured sigh. “I’m trying to postpone that as long as I can.”

It was a patient exasperation, the kind of good-natured annoyance that Ginny had with her mother. Hermione smiled, and she was about to ask more when a nurse came in to check her vital signs again. The room had grown dark as the light outside the window faded, and after another diagnostic spell revealed that all was well with her and the baby, she admonished Hermione to get some sleep. Malfoy pulled out his wand to shut off the lights.

“Get some sleep, Granger,” he said in the darkness.

She could hear him casting protective spells around the room that would alert him any time someone entered.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked, unable to see anything but his shock of platinum hair in the dark.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied.

Though the hospital bed was uncomfortable, she eventually fell asleep, and she was relieved that no cramping or tingling bothered her through the night. When she awoke, dawn was breaking, the sky outside the window a pale purple. Hermione sat up in bed and saw Malfoy, still in the armchair, one of his arms resting on the table that they had used to play Exploding Snap, and his head lying on his forearm. It looked simply miserable, and she could not believe that he had stayed in the armchair all night.

Somehow, he knew she had awoken, because at that moment, he jolted upright, his eyes fixing on her with concern, and then relaxing when he saw that she was still safe in bed.

“You slept like that?” she asked.

He was rolling his neck, massaging it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Hermione.

Once the Healers had taken a last look at her and the baby, Hermione was to be discharged home. Thankfully, it was a Sunday, so she had the day to rest before returning to the office, though Malfoy greatly protested the idea of her going back to work.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re not fine, you Floo me first,” he insisted, and she reluctantly agreed.

Malfoy seemed to be unsure of which was the safest mode of travel: going through the fireplace before her, to check that her flat was safe, or going through it afterward, to make sure she wasn’t attacked at the hospital. He was standing, a pile of Floo powder in hand, mulling it over in his mind until she finally snatched the powder out of his hand. She could feel the lines of his palms against her fingertips as she took his Floo powder, leaving him staring at her as she tossed it onto the logs and called out her address.

Crookshanks was waiting for her, perking up and stretching, claws extended, before staring up at her expectantly. As she scratched his ears, the Floo blazed up again, and Malfoy appeared.

It was still odd, having him in her flat. It still brought back memories of his hands dragging down her ribs, his mouth against hers. She felt an unwelcome swoop in her belly at the thought of it. He was patting soot from his clothes, but when they heard a shuffling noise in the kitchen, he drew his wand from its holster in an instant, firing up a shield charm in front of her.

“Whoa, whoa!” said Theo with a laugh, his hands out in front of him. “Steady on, Malfoy.”

Malfoy heaved a great sigh, a twirl of his wand banishing the shimmering shield. Theo crossed the room and placed his palms on her upper arms.

“How are you doing, darling?” Theo asked, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“I thought I’d keep you company,” said Theo, and then, he looked to Malfoy. “I’ll keep an eye on her. You can go back home to Scorpius.”

Malfoy hesitated for just a moment, as though unsure if he should be leaving her alone after the scare that had landed her in St. Mungo’s, but the pull of his son was strong, too. He nodded shortly in her direction, reminding her once more that he should be the first she called if there was anything going on with her or the baby, and she assured him that she would. At his insistence, her wards had been adjusted to let him Apparate in and out (“just in case,” he’d said gruffly), and so with a crack, he disappeared.

She and Theo meandered into the kitchen, where he had two mugs ready for them, and with a wave of his wand, both were filled with hot black tea.

“I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time,” said Theo, one dark eyebrow lifted over his steaming mug of tea.

“Like what?”

“You know, all worried and protective over a woman,” he replied, his mug making a heavy clunk when he set it back down onto the table.

“Yes, well, protecting the next generation of Malfoys and all,” said Hermione with an eye roll.

“No, it’s not that,” said Theo knowingly. “It’s you.”

Hermione scoffed.

“It’s not me. We hardly know each other,” she said.

“He’s been trailing after you every day in the office for the last, what, two months? You’re telling me you don’t talk?”

Hermione sniffed. She did not want to answer, because truthfully, they did talk. In fits and starts, in exchanges that were sometimes gruff and snippy, yet sometimes open-hearted, but she had learned rather a lot about Malfoy over the last few weeks. He took his tea black, he hated neckties, and he preferred getting to work early to staying late, and she had shifted her own work schedule to accommodate this. But still, just because she and Malfoy had created a comfortable environment in which to be proximate, it didn’t mean anything.

“I’m just the first woman he’s slept with since his wife died,” she said.

“Not for lack of opportunity,” said Theo, a devilish smirk on his face. “Do you have any idea how many women throw themselves at him? He’s such a romantic figure. The handsome, wealthy widower, devastated over the loss of his wife, just waiting to fall into a woman’s arms and comfort himself.”

The picture Theo had just created certainly was romantic.

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw yourself at him,” she said drily, trying to shift the conversation so that she could ignore the fluttering sensation in her chest.

“Who says I didn’t?” said Theo with a wink.

She let out a scandalized laugh, and his eyes twinkled brightly. But as she laughed, a twinge in her abdomen made her wince, and she massaged her belly. Theo’s expression grew concerned.

“Should we call the Healer again? Or call Draco?” he asked.

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” she said.

Once their mugs were drained, Theo waved his wand to clean them and then leaned over her shoulder to kiss her cheek.

“It wouldn’t take much, you know,” he said into her ear. “Just a little nudge from you. He’d be ready to fall into your arms.”

Chapter 9: nineteen

Chapter Text

“Migraines, hm?” Neville said, looking down at her belly as she walked past the Herbology section of the Institute.

“Hey, Neville,” she said sheepishly. “How are Pansy and the baby doing?”

“They’re just fine,” he replied. “Baby boy, and more than nine pounds of him. She still hasn’t forgiven me. But look at you! You look adorable.”

She blushed.

It wasn’t that she had expected to be able to keep her pregnancy a secret forever, but how did she go about telling people, considering her circ*mstances? Malfoy had said he wanted to be a present father in their baby’s life, but how did she go about explaining that? Oh, yes, I’m carrying the second in succession for the Malfoy dynasty after an ill-advised one-night-stand, but he swears he’s not going to leave the baby fatherless.

Thankfully, Neville had the courtesy not to ask the identity of the baby’s father.

Her belly had even grown large enough that Scorpius noticed it. The next time she saw him, he approached her at a run to wrap his arms around her, but then, he stopped, tilting his head to one side and staring at it.

“You got fatter,” he said confusedly.

Malfoy snorted a laugh, but Hermione was just looking at him helplessly. Though Nanny Kate had begun to glance down at Hermione’s belly with a knowing interest, they still had not told Scorpius about the baby. Was now the time? Her heart raced as she waited for Malfoy to initiate the conversation, but even as his jaw rolled tensely, he didn’t say anything.

“Go on. Show Hermione your broom,” said Malfoy, his voice tight.

Hermione threw an annoyed glare over her shoulder as Scorpius took her hand and dragged her outside. She saw Malfoy’s shoulders lift and lower as though he had let out an enormous sigh. Nanny Kate approached him, murmuring something in his ear, and she saw his lips form the words, “I know.”

Visiting Scorpius at Malfoy Manor had somehow been incorporated into her routine. Every week or two, Malfoy would let her know that his son had once again been asking about her. They did not discuss what it meant that she came to visit so often, and though Theo’s words (just a little nudge) lingered in her mind, she had not done any nudging. Scorpius’s training broom was laying on the grass at the bottom of the stairs to the garden, and he leapt toward it, confidently shouting “Up!”

The broom leapt into his hand. It would not fly more than a few feet off the ground, but it still terrified her to watch him loop around her at a pace that seemed alarmingly fast, though it was probably no faster than a brisk walk. Hermione sank down onto the grass, feeling the blades tickle her legs, exposed in shorts. It was a hot June day, and she extended her legs out in front of her, hoping to get a little colour in the sun while Scorpius zoomed around on his broom.

Malfoy sat at the white iron table on the terrace, supervising Scorpius’s movements with watchful eyes. He should have been wearing short sleeves in the heat, but she knew that he never did. He would keep his Dark Mark hidden even if it were a 35-degree day. After a long time zipping in circles around her, shouting “Watch this!” at regular intervals, Scorpius pulled up to a stop next to her.

“I’m thirsty,” he announced.

Hermione helped him off his broom, and they traipsed up the stairs together. Malfoy stood from his chair as they approached.

“Did you see me, Dad?” asked Scorpius brightly.

Malfoy ruffled his son’s hair, and they all went into the house together. It was strange, how comfortable she had become at Malfoy Manor. Montgomery the butler no longer sneered at her, and Nanny Kate went out of her way to make Hermione feel at home.

The cool air inside the Manor was a welcome refreshment after the outdoor heat. A tray of cold lemonade awaited them on a low table between four armchairs. Scorpius reached for the pitcher immediately, and it was only thanks to Malfoy’s quick wand work that the lemonade did not spill everywhere. He set his wand on the table as he steadied the pitcher with his hands, though Scorpius still insisted on pouring it for him.

“I’m a good flyer,” Scorpius announced as he tried the lemonade, smacking his lips.

“You are,” said Hermione with a smile.

“So’s dad,” he added. “Are you a good flyer?”

Malfoy laughed.

“Not at all,” she replied truthfully.

“It’s the one thing Hermione is not good at,” said Malfoy, grinning into his lemonade glass, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

“Dad could teach you,” offered Scorpius.

She met Malfoy’s gaze then, and there was something in his grey eyes that made her heart leap. The unspoken question in them. The way they darkened slightly as they watched her. The way they acted like a lure, trying to pull her in. She wanted to lean in and kiss him.

He blinked and looked away.

Nanny Kate appeared to bustle Scorpius away for lunch, and though Hermione made to stand and leave, Kate insisted that she not rush off so soon. Kate shot a meaningful glance at Malfoy that Hermione did not miss, and he averted his eyes. Once Scorpius had left the room, Malfoy made to tidy up the tray of lemonade, patting at his pockets for his wand before realizing it was still on the table next to Hermione.

“Can you hand me my wand?” asked Malfoy.

She stretched her hand toward his hawthorn wand. She had seen this wand before, in what should have been her Seventh year at school. Harry had used it during the Battle of Hogwarts. She looked up at Malfoy’s face. He looked impatient more than anything, but the fact that he’d asked her to hand him his wand was a measure of trust that meant something. Wands were an extension of the wizard, something personal, often private, but he was just waiting for her to grab it for him, his hand extended.

“Please?” he asked, one pale eyebrow arched.

Hermione picked up his wand, and it sang in her hand.

She had never felt anything like it. Her own wand did not even feel like this, like there was a plucked string of magic that vibrated from her hand, through her arm, all the way to her heart. Her hand began to tremble as she held the hawthorn wand, staring at it open-mouthed. It was amazing, so overwhelming that tears sprang to her eyes. She thought of Fleur’s words at Easter: the magic ties together like a song. Hermione looked up at Malfoy, who did a double take when he saw her eyes welling up with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It feels…” she began, but she found she did not know how to describe how it felt.

And then, she felt a kick.

Hermione jumped, her empty hand going to her belly. She had never felt the baby kick before. It was like a flutter of indigestion, a gas bubble in her tummy, but as she held Malfoy’s wand, its magic flooding through her like a song, she felt it again. Her eyes snapped up to Malfoy.

“The baby…” said Hermione.

His eyes narrowed in worry, but she shook her head.

“No, no,” she said, trying to find words to explain. “This wand… she knows it. She knows your magic.”

But then, Malfoy’s face dropped in such shock and horror that she almost dropped his wand, even as it still thrummed its magic in her veins.

“No,” he breathed.

He stood from his chair in a rush, his hand going to his hair as he spun away so as not to face her, walking to the window.

“Please no,” said Malfoy, refusing to even look at her, and she could hear that his voice sounded choked.

“What’s wrong?” she said, still marveling at the feeling of his hawthorn wand in her hand.

He let out a horrible, strangled cry in his throat, a gasped inhalation at the end of it. Hermione could feel her heart thudding in her chest, having no understanding of his sudden shift in mood. She felt the fluttering sensation in her abdomen again, the baby flipping inside of her, and she set his wand down. Her body ached at the absence of his magic.

“Malfoy, what’s the matter?” she asked.

He took a thick breath.

“Did you ever wonder, Granger,” he began, his voice trembling, “why I’m an only child?”

She had never wondered this.

“My mother nearly died during childbirth because of… it’s an entwined magic,” said Malfoy, and another thing Fleur had said flashed through her mind: it makes for a difficult pregnancy. “Do you know about it?”

“A little,” she whispered in a subdued voice, and he let out a sniffed exhale.

“It’s not common,” he said, still staring out the window. “But my mother and father had it, and it meant her pregnancy nearly killed her. They didn’t dare try again.”

Hermione’s mouth was hanging open slightly, and her hands instinctively went to the slight swell of her belly. The Healer’s concerned expression was in her mind’s eye, the nervousness that Molly had when she’d seen her last.

“And the worst thing is that Astoria and I didn’t even have it. She died from an embolism,” continued Malfoy, and he gave a hysterical laugh. “I’m going to cause the deaths of two women. Raise two motherless children.”

He began pacing back and forth so forcefully that she half expected the hardwood floors to split open under the thundering of his footsteps. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him to explain what exactly he meant by causing the deaths of two women. Fleur had mentioned a difficult pregnancy, but surely, she would have said if she’d meant a potentially deadly one. But for all she wanted to tell him to slow down, to relax, she did not know how to get through to him.

Suddenly, he stopped pacing and looked at her.

“You said ‘she’,” said Malfoy.

“What?” Hermione said, confused.

“You said she knows my magic,” he repeated. “It’s…”

He swallowed thickly.

“It’s a girl?” he asked quietly.

“Oh,” she said, and a grin crept across her face. “Yes, it’s a girl.”

He let out a watery laugh, both hands sliding through his hair until they were resting behind his neck as he stared up at the ceiling. She could see the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“The cramping, the tingling,” he said suddenly, pausing his steps back and forth. “Does it go away when you’re here? Or when I’m in your office?”

“I don’t think it-” began Hermione, but she paused, realizing that she had never paid attention to the patterns of the cramping and tingling. Once the Healers had assured her that she and her baby were fine, she’d stopped worrying about it, but now that he mentioned it, she only felt them when she was at her flat.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

“f*ck,” he muttered, threading a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have to talk to my mother.”

~

Malfoy was bent low over a thick stack of parchment when she arrived at her office, but he startled and met her eyes when she walked in. They had come to an agreement: they would tell Scorpius together, and then, they would talk to Narcissa. He had tried to insist that he would do both of these things alone, but Hermione flatly rejected it.

“I am the one who’s carrying your baby,” she had said, and Malfoy had seemed taken aback by her choice of words. “I think I should be there.”

She found herself dreading both conversations. She had grown to adore Scorpius as they spent time together in the warm summer sun, and she half felt that she had betrayed him. Hermione didn’t want him to think that the baby was the only reason she was spending time with him, for even though it had been true at first, she could not imagine going back to a time that she didn’t see his sweet face. Malfoy, for his part, had not outwardly expressed his approval of her relationship with his son, but the tight set of his jaw lessened the more time she spent with them.

They were all so lonely. They needed each other.

But she was particularly dreading a conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, necessary as it was. Narcissa needed to find out about the pregnancy from her son and his… his… whatever Hermione was to him, and not from any gossip that spread as people began to clue into Hermione’s growing belly. In addition, she was desperate to get more advice on dealing with the complications of a magically entwined pregnancy. Hermione had sent an owl to Fleur for advice straight away, but the advice had been annoyingly flowery and unhelpful.

You just need to open your heart, the baby’s magic will grow with yours, you must really be with yourself and the baby’s father.

Be with yourself. What utter rubbish.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Potter’s got me leveraging some of my old…” he said, and he paused, his face darkening for a moment, “relationships to try and figure out who’s behind the attacks on your division.”

“Your old relationships?” Hermione asked.

He sighed, as though hating that she was making him say it.

“Former Death Eaters,” he said. “And any of their allies. I hate to say it, but the most likely reason someone would have for trying to steal a Time Turner is probably to go back and change the outcome of the war.”

This had occurred to her as a possibility, though there were dozens of other reasons someone might steal a Time Turner. It could be something as straightforward as wanting to go back before last year’s World Cup and place a bet on the winner. That said, she wasn’t sure that a gambler would be willing to use a Sectumsempra and an explosive device just to win a few galleons.

“Aren’t all the former Death Eaters in Azkaban?” Hermione asked.

“Mostly,” answered Malfoy. “But I’m still being asked to check into the old channels.”

He was scratching at his left forearm absently, as though the mere mention of Death Eaters was making his Dark Mark burn.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Malfoy looked up at her.

“For what?”

“You shouldn’t have to dig through your old life,” said Hermione. “It can’t be easy.”

He shook his head dismissively.

“No, really, it’s okay,” said Malfoy, returning to the papers in front of him, sliding one off the top of the stack and moving it to the bottom. “It’s probably one of the most valuable things I can provide for the Auror department. Insider knowledge. It’s part of what makes me good at my job. Just last year, we were able to bust an illegal pureblood supremacist society because of some… let’s call it past experience.”

She was struck by this, the fact that he saw his history as an asset to his work performance. So many things about him had been unexpected. He not only rejected his past as a Death Eater, a pureblood supremacist, but he used his own history against those very movements.

“Why do you work?” she blurted out.

He glanced up from his parchments again, meeting her eyes. Malfoy leaned back in his chair, steeling himself for a confession.

“The first year after my wife died, I was a wreck. Theo’s probably told you,” he began, and she nodded. “I sort of realized that if I did nothing but rattle around Malfoy Manor all day, I’d go mad. Be useless for my son. So, I took the first job that would have me.”

“An Auror is the first job that would have you?” she asked sceptically.

“Not many are keen to hire someone with this on their arm,” said Malfoy, holding up his left hand. “But Potter…”

He trailed off and swallowed.

“Potter vouched for me,” he said softly. “I had the marks. Outstanding NEWTs in all the right subjects. It was just a matter of getting the department to trust me, and Potter did.”

Harry had not told her this. Perhaps he didn’t want her to think that Malfoy had only got on as an Auror because of special treatment. Malfoy was clearly excellent at his job. His wandwork was unparalleled, and his work ethic second only to her own.

“But you’re still just an Auror constable,” she said, and he gave a rueful laugh.

“He convinced them to hire me on,” said Malfoy. “But hasn’t yet convinced them to give me a promotion.”

This seemed horrifically unjust, and she was about to step onto a soapbox about it, but a shimmering silver Patronus interrupted her. It was a peaco*ck, and it soared over to Malfoy as he sat up abruptly.

Dearest Draco, I’m thrilled at the invitation. I’ll be at Malfoy Manor at 7 o'clock next Saturday. I’m so looking forward to seeing Scorpius. Love, Mother.

Like two soldiers preparing to head into battle, she and Malfoy met one another’s gaze and gave each other a curt nod.

Chapter 10: twenty

Chapter Text

Hermione could not help but think that they made a cozy-looking family. Malfoy was sitting on one end of the long sofa, fussing with the cuff links on his white Oxford shirt. He had dressed so formally for his mother’s arrival that Hermione felt wildly underdressed. She had on a white dress that hid her belly at least as well as anything else she owned, though a close eye would pick up the swell in her abdomen even under the flowing skirts.

Scorpius had galloped downstairs with a book in hand when he’d heard the front door, and the butler gave a reluctant smile as he watched Scorpius hug Hermione tightly around the middle. She brushed his hair back from his eyes with her fingers, a practiced movement now.

“Read this to me?” he asked.

Hermione would never say no to reading.

It was not a tale she was familiar with, but she was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa from Malfoy, Scorpius cuddled against her as she read the book. Malfoy seemed impatient, knowing that they needed to tell Scorpius well in advance of telling his mother. He had wanted to make space for big feelings, and Hermione had a retreat plan in place if the announcement did not go well.

But she would not rush through the book, not when Scorpius was giggling madly each time she made new voices, accenting each. One character was a very poorly done Bulgarian accent, another an even worse American one. She caught Malfoy’s reluctant smile at each of Scorpius’s giggles.

When the book snapped shut, Malfoy’s face grew rather serious, and he angled his body to be facing his son.

“Scorp, I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

Scorpius grew rather still, as though he sensed that something serious was about to happen. His face was drawn, worried, and Malfoy placed a hand on his son’s small shoulder.

“You’ve liked having Hermione around, right?” said Malfoy, and Hermione’s heart leapt at the sound of her name rolling on his tongue.

Scorpius smiled and nodded, but he turned back to Hermione, suddenly looking fearful.

“She’s not leaving, is she?” he asked, a quaver in his voice.

“No!” said Malfoy. “No, no. She’s not leaving. She’s just…”

He was shaking his head briskly. Scorpius was getting more worried by the minute.

“She has a…” said Malfoy, and it was clear that for all the preparations he’d made, all the times he’d rehearsed what he was going to say, it was all muddling in his mouth. “She’s…”

“She’s sick, isn’t she?” said Scorpius tremulously. “She’s going to die? Like my mum?”

“NO!” said Malfoy and Hermione at the same time.

“Scorpius, look at me,” said Hermione, and he turned to her, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m fine. This is good news. It’s something to be happy about, okay?”

His face relaxed slightly, and his eyes snapped back to his father. Malfoy was looking at her with a thankful expression.

“You’re going to have a baby sister,” said Malfoy. “Hermione is pregnant. There’s a baby in her tummy.”

Scorpius revolved slowly until he was facing her, his small jaw hanging slack. His eyes were on her face, but they slowly sank down to the swell of her belly. He frantically leapt off her, and her heart wrenched.

“Did I hurt her?” said Scorpius in a terrified voice. “I was laying on her. Did I hurt her?”

Hermione almost laughed in relief.

“No, no,” said Hermione. “You can’t hurt her like that. She’s fine.”

Scorpius swiveled back to his father.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

Hermione and Malfoy shared a look. A name. She had been so busy dealing with her unexpected pregnancy and the attacks on the Institute that she had not bothered to consider her baby’s name. In a normal pregnancy, she and the baby’s father would pore over a book of baby names, suggesting names and laughing as they vetoed each other’s choices.

This was not a normal pregnancy.

“What should we name her?” Hermione asked.

Scorpius co*cked his head to the side, thinking.

“Chicken nugget,” he said.

She and Malfoy both burst into laughter. Scorpius laughed too, but he leaned his face into his father’s chest in embarrassment as well. Malfoy was patting Scorpius’s back.

“There are still a few months yet until the baby comes,” said Malfoy. “But she’s going to love you, Scorp.”

“Dad?” said Scorpius into his father’s chest.

“Yes?”

“Mum died when I was being born,” said Scorpius quietly, and Hermione’s heart fairly shattered.

“Scorpius, I have so many people worrying about me. Your dad, and the Healers, and my friends,” said Hermione, and she also reached out to stroke Scorpius’s back, noting acutely when her fingers brushed against Malfoy’s. “You don’t need to worry, too, okay? Leave the worrying to everyone else. You think about how you’re going to help once she’s here. Kites and brooms and clouds.”

Scorpius nodded, still facedown on Malfoy’s abdomen. She met his eyes over Scorpius’s head. There was pain there, and worry, and Hermione’s heart twisted painfully.

Nanny Kate appeared in the room, glancing at Malfoy for permission to call him away for his afternoon snack. Malfoy held up one finger, and then, he shifted, pulling Scorpius up from his chest.

“Are you excited about a sister?” said Malfoy, cupping Scorpius’s face in his hands.

Scorpius nodded.

“And you trust me that I’m going to take care of Hermione?” he said, and Scorpius nodded again.

Malfoy wrapped his arms around his son, squeezing him tight and kissing the top of his head. She would never tire of seeing this softer side of him. The good father.

“I love you,” said Malfoy. “Now, go eat your snack. Grandmother will be over soon.”

Scorpius hopped off the sofa and gave Hermione a bright smile before trotting across the room to take Nanny Kate’s waiting hand. He left, and the room exhaled. They were both staring at the door through which Scorpius had left and then, suddenly, wildly, unexpectedly, she felt fingers lacing with her own. She glanced down and saw that Malfoy had taken her hand.

He gave her fingers a squeeze, and she returned it, staring at their joined hands.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “I almost lost the thread.”

“You did great,” she said, and he laughed.

It was not fair of her to think of them as a cozy family. Though she spent time at Malfoy Manor, though she was getting to know his son, though he was in her office every day, this was not a family. He was her assigned Auror. He was her baby’s father, but he was not hers. This fearful reality washed over her, and she tried to extricate her hand from his, but he held her fast.

Hermione looked up at his face. His grey eyes were watching her, a little confusion in them, as though he did not understand why she was trying to pull her hand from his. She bit her lip.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

He released her hand instantly, staring at her and opening his mouth, probably to apologize, but she reached out and grasped both of his hands in hers.

“No, you misunderstand me. I… I like you,” said Hermione, and she almost laughed at her choice of words. Juvenile.

His nose wrinkled up in confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly, but it was not a sneer. There was no judgment in his face. She barreled on.

“I like being around you. I feel better when you’re around, and I don’t just mean the baby. You make me laugh,” she said. “And when I see you with Scorpius, Merlin, Draco, it melts my heart, and I just wonder… I wish that I could know what it’s like to have that side of you.”

He was still letting her hold his hands. He had not jerked away. It was a start, and though she considered she should let him respond, she could not help but let the words tumble out of her.

“I know all this was unexpected, god knows I wasn’t planning on shagging you when we met at Theo’s gala. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but seeing the way you are now has been… surprising. Unexpectedly, I find that I… I like the man you are.”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his, hoping that he took her meaning, and it seemed he had, because his face was soft. There was a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips, as though her words had touched him.

Her heart was thumping in her chest, and it was like she could feel the blood racing in her veins as he looked at her, his grey eyes gazing into hers with something like fondness. He dropped her hands only for a moment, using his palms to help him scoot forward on the sofa until they were close, their legs touching. She could see every pale eyelash, see the slight creases at the corners of his eyes, a few hairs at his temple that might be more grey than blond.

With his fingers, he brushed a curl away from her face, and then, he cupped her cheek. It was all she could do not to nuzzle into his hand, the sensation of being touched by him overwhelming. Their night together had been quick, passionate, intense, but this was tender. She was watching him lean in, inch by inch, and when their lips met…

Her body sang.

A slow, gentle press of his lips, a shifting, then a more confident one. An exhalation of breath through his nose that was almost a moan. An open-mouthed kiss, a slight brush of his tongue. His palm was still on her cheek, and her hand lifted to cover it with her own. She gasped when he intensified the kiss, and then…

She pulled back and yelped. He looked like he’d been burned, but she took his hand and brought it to her belly, pressing his palm firmly against her abdomen. There it was. A flutter. A kick. A broad grin grew across his face.

“Your daughter,” she said.

“Our daughter,” he repeated, and she melted.

Hermione wanted to kiss him again, but she did not know if she was allowed to. His palm was still on her belly, still feeling the flutters of their baby inside her, but slowly, his hand slid off the bump and toward her waist. His grey eyes were staring into hers, watching for her reaction, silently asking, is this okay?

She leaned toward him, letting her arms slide around the back of his neck, and pulled him close to her, and just as soon as her eyes slid closed, his mouth found hers again.

It was more insistent this time. Less gentle. It reminded her more of their ill-advised tryst, his hands pulling her toward him, his tongue sliding into her mouth. A moan left her throat unbidden, and it ignited him, his arms now wrapping behind her back, palms flat against the fabric of her white sundress, though his fingertips dared to stroke the exposed skin of her upper back.

Her brain was fuzzing into a blissful blankness, consumed only by the heady feeling of his mouth against hers, his hands and fingers on her body, the song in her veins as her daughter roared her approval from within, so it was a good thing that Draco still had some of his mental faculties left. When the sound of footsteps thumping through Malfoy Manor jolted him to awareness, he pulled away from their kiss.

But he did not leap back from her. She appreciated this. He stayed close to her, one hand at her waist, a tiny ghost of a smile on his lips. The door to the traveling parlor slammed open, and Scorpius ran in, a biscuit in each hand that he had extended to Hermione and his father as he ran toward them. He dived in between them on the sofa, paying no mind whatsoever to the fact that they were much, much closer together than they had been.

“Nanny Kate told me to bring you these,” said Scorpius proudly.

Hermione nibbled the biscuit, and she and Draco shared a small smile over his son’s head as Scorpius grabbed the book and handed it to her to read again. Draco’s arm was resting along the back of the sofa, and his fingers were making small circles on the skin of her shoulder. Her face felt hot, acutely aware of his touch as she tried to make it through the book, Scorpius resting against her comfortably and totally unaware of what was happening behind his back.

The three of them were making quite the cozy picture indeed when the fireplace blazed to life.

Narcissa was early.

When she stepped out of the fireplace, Scorpius leapt up from the sofa and bolted toward her at top speed, throwing himself into her arms. Hermione had not moved from her place on the sofa, but she noticed that Draco hadn’t either. His hand was still stretched out, fingers just barely touching her shoulder.

It was remarkable, seeing Narcissa with her grandson. Though her memories of Narcissa Malfoy mostly involved an expression of disgust, her nose wrinkled in a sneer, when she was with Scorpius, she had a most brilliant smile on her face. It reminded Hermione much of Andromeda, in fact. Narcissa was kissing Scorpius’s face, and he was giggling madly.

“But Grandmother!” he said, pulling back from her embrace. “Don’t you know I’m going to be a big brother?”

sh*t.

f*ck.

They had not yet had a chance to tell Scorpius to please wait for Dad to tell Grandmother about the baby. Draco’s breath whooshed out of him, and he stood from the sofa.

At that moment, Narcissa’s gaze snapped to her son. There was disbelief there, as though perhaps Scorpius had misunderstood, but when she raked her gaze over to Hermione sitting on the sofa next to him, her eyes stopped for just a moment on the fluffy skirts of her white dress, inspecting.

“Hello, Mother,” said Draco, and Narcissa’s eyes flicked to him, a smile on her lips.

They embraced politely, a little distantly perhaps, but there was affection there. Hermione stood slowly from the sofa, trying to ensure that her dress hid the small bump. Scorpius was beaming at her, one of his hands still in Narcissa’s.

“Erm,” said Hermione nervously. “Hello, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa clearly had noticed that Draco did not correct Scorpius’s statement, and she held Hermione’s gaze for a long moment. They had not properly interacted with one another in years, and the old feelings she associated with Narcissa Malfoy came rushing back to her. Inadequacy, as Narcissa sneered at her in Madame Malkin’s (“scum”), and fear, as she was tortured by Narcissa’s sister in this very mansion. Narcissa seemed to be struggling with memories, too, but Draco jumped in.

“Mother, surely you remember Hermione Granger,” said Draco, his hands in his pockets, probably to keep them from fidgeting nervously.

“She has a cat!” said Scorpius proudly.

Narcissa’s face broke into a smile, and Hermione exhaled a breath.

“Pleasure,” said Narcissa, extending a hand.

Hermione stepped forward and shook it gently.

“It seems we have some things to talk about,” said Narcissa wryly, raising an eyebrow at her son.

“So it seems,” said Malfoy, exhaling with a puff of his cheeks. “Scorp, can you go find Nanny Kate? Maybe she can get you ready for dinner while I catch up with Grandmother.”

Scorpius looked reluctant to leave, but Narcissa bent down and whispered something in his ear, and he flashed a wild smile in her direction before flitting away. Malfoy looked rather aggrieved.

“I’m sure you’ve just promised him something I would not approve of,” he said.

“Of course,” said Narcissa with a smile.

And then, both Malfoys turned their eyes to her.

Though they did not look much alike, their stares matched precisely, their expressions identical. Appraising, scrutinizing, expectant. Hermione smoothed down the front of her dress, and the small swell of her belly showed through her skirts.

“Well,” said Draco. “As you’ve heard, you’re going to have another grandchild.”

To her credit, Narcissa did smile in Hermione’s direction, a knowing sort of smile.

“Was this… a bit unexpected?” asked Narcissa.

“A bit,” said Draco with a laugh. “Please, sit down.”

There was a moment of silence as the three of them took their seats. She did not expect Draco to sit so close to her, but he did. It was strange. She had kissed him before, four months earlier, and thanks to that kiss, she was pregnant with his child, and yet, it had not changed things between them like today’s kiss had. Today’s kiss had allowed him to sit close to her, allowed her to let her knee rest against his as they sat on the sofa. Allowed them to present a united front to Narcissa Malfoy.

“So how did you two… how long have you…” said Narcissa, struggling for the words.

“Hermione and I got reacquainted at Theo’s gala last February,” said Draco.

Narcissa began doing mental math, gazing at Hermione’s belly in an attempt to guess at her due date, and upon reaching the obvious conclusion, she pressed her lips together, but she did not say anything, withholding judgment.

“You know, I’ve seen some of your publications, Ms. Granger,” said Narcissa. “I know you work at the Research Institute with Theo. He’s been ever so complimentary of you.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, shifting uncomfortably.

There was another silence, and her mind was zeroed in on the feeling of Draco’s thigh pressed against hers. The baby was doing backflips in her belly as her heart raced. Narcissa was looking between the two of them, her expression something between incredulity and fascination. Draco’s voice broke the silence.

“It’s a girl,” said Draco.

Narcissa let out a very unexpected yelp, her hands going to her mouth. She was staring at him in shock, and her blue eyes seemed ready to well up with tears.

“A girl?

Draco nodded.

“There aren’t any Malfoy girls,” said Narcissa in a tight voice. “There haven’t been any Malfoy girls for generations.”

“It’s a girl,” Draco repeated.

“Oh, Draco,” she whimpered, and then, Narcissa stood from her seat and crossed to the sofa, falling next to him and wrapping her arms around him. “Please don’t make me name her.”

Draco laughed, patting his mother’s back, but his expression grew serious as Narcissa released her hold on him.

“Mother, we need to ask you some questions about your pregnancy,” said Draco in a low voice. “About the… the entwined magic.”

Narcissa’s face fell, her eyes flitting to Hermione, her mouth hanging slightly open. Hermione felt very uncomfortable being stared at so tenaciously.

“Oh, darling,” said Narcissa, and unexpectedly, she held out a hand across Draco’s lap, placing it on Hermione’s knee. “Tell me.”

The words fell from Hermione’s lips in a rush. The cramping, tingling sensation that only abated when Draco was near, the baby’s animated reaction when they touched (she nearly blushed as she discussed this, but Narcissa’s expression did not falter), and most notably, the song that thrummed in her veins when she held Draco’s wand. Narcissa’s knuckles went to her eyes, wiping the tear that threatened to spill over.

Narcissa sighed, releasing Hermione’s knee and placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder. He was staring imploringly at his mother, begging her to tell him that he was wrong, that this was all a coincidence, that Hermione’s pregnancy would not be a danger to her.

If Hermione was honest, she wished that, too.

But Narcissa nodded sadly.

“It was the same,” said Narcissa. “For your father and me.”

Draco’s head fell backward, gazing up at the ceiling. Hermione’s heart twisted in her chest, both for herself and for him. Her hand rested on her belly as she waited for Narcissa’s advice.

“Of course, you’ll need to move into the Manor if you haven’t already,” said Narcissa firmly.

“What?!” said Hermione.

Draco had closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tightly, but he did not look surprised. In fact, he looked like he had been expecting his mother to say this.

“It’ll get worse,” said Draco with resignation in his voice. “In a few months, you won’t be able to be away from me.”

Hermione looked at Narcissa, but she just nodded in confirmation.

“You can’t fight against this,” said Narcissa. “It’s very old magic. The harder you fight it, the worse it will be for you and your baby. You have to let the magic work with you.”

Open your heart… be with yourself and the baby’s father…

They weren’t dating. They had hardly even kissed. And now, they were expected to live together at Malfoy Manor? She opened her mouth to protest, but Scorpius bounded into the room again, leaping into his grandmother’s lap.

“Montgomery says dinner’s ready,” said Scorpius.

Draco ruffled his son’s hair, and the four of them made their way to the dining room where the table was set for four. Hermione was impressed that there were porcelain plates and a crystal goblet in front of Scorpius’s chair. She had too much experience with the Weasley and Potter children that told her it was a dangerous game, but Scorpius seemed totally unfazed.

Hermione made to sit down, but Draco appeared at her chair before she could sit. He pulled it out from the table and steadied it for her as she sat, arranging her dress around her and placing her serviette into her lap. Narcissa was watching with a pleased smile, and when Draco let one hand touch her shoulder, Hermione’s heart raced while the baby kicked madly in her belly.

Draco sat at the head of the table, and their first course appeared in front of them. Scorpius was eyeing it with some disdain, but he boldly stabbed his fork into the meal.

“Dad?” said Scorpius.

“Yes, son?” he replied, taking a sip of wine from his crystal goblet.

“How did the baby get in there anyway?”

Draco spit wine onto the table.

Chapter 11: twenty-one & five

Chapter Text

Narcissa Malfoy had given her a stack of books on magically entwined pregnancy and instructions to move into Malfoy Manor as soon as possible.

“Can I…” she had whispered before she left, holding a hand toward Hermione’s belly. “Can I touch?”

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Hermione had said.

Narcissa had pressed firmly against the baby, holding her hand there for only a split second, and then, she pulled it away, nodding resolutely and patting Hermione’s shoulder before she left.

Hermione was completely ignoring the commandment to move into Malfoy Manor, although it was true that the cramping and tingling was only growing worse in Draco’s absence. Crookshanks kept crawling onto her belly, purring and nuzzling it in a worried sort of way.

But she saw Draco daily at work, and she and Theo were approaching a breakthrough. Their runes, properly translated at last, thanks to Draco’s help, had been etched by hand into solid gold, the grains of sand sorted, and the charmwork nearing completion. It was only a matter of time that the Time Turner would be finished.

Though she and Draco had not kissed again, there was a new easiness to their interactions, a lightness. They laughed more. Their gazes lingered.

Theo noticed.

“So,” he said over a lunchtime curry. “Are you two f*cking or what?”

Draco let out a sudden cough.

“Theo!” she scolded.

He was undeterred.

“I mean, it’s not like we don’t all know you’ve done it before,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of her growing belly. “Just wondering if you’re doing it again.”

“Why is that any of your business?” she said hotly.

Theo fixed her with a patient expression of the sort that you’d give a small child who’s asked if he can stay up past bedtime. He placed a hand on her shoulder, patting it a couple of times.

“Darling, you’re my two best friends in the world,” said Theo, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, you might as well be, for as much I see the two of you these days. And besides, I’m absurdly nosy, and you know this. Now, children, tell your Uncle Theo what’s gone on.”

Draco and Hermione shared a look, which only served to make Theo whoop with joy, making several of the patrons in the establishment turn to look at him.

“So you are shagging?” he said happily, earning him several glares.

“No!” hissed Hermione, looking around apologetically. “No, we’re not shagging. We just… we just…”

Theo was looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, stop it. We kissed,” Hermione scolded. Draco looked murderous, and Theo looked like Christmas had come early. “And we told Scorpius and Narcissa about the… about the…”

“The thing that happened because you shagged a few months ago,” supplied Theo helpfully.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes,” she said.

“And how did Scorpius react?” asked Theo, his gaze flicking to Draco.

Hermione watched as Draco and Theo shared a long look. Theo’s expression was once again one of patient exasperation, Draco’s slightly off-put, as though the question annoyed him.

“How do you think?” asked Draco.

Theo set his spoon into his curry and pushed the bowl away from him, and he sat back in his chair, eyeing Draco with a superior air.

“Draco, despite your constant fretting about it, your son is a happy-go-lucky and well-adjusted five-year old,” said Theo, and she saw Draco’s cheeks flush slightly. “I’m sure he’s looking forward to having a little brother.”

“Sister,” corrected Hermione.

Theo’s eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“A Malfoy girl,” said Theo with a low whistle. “What did Narcissa have to say about it?”

She and Draco shared a dark look, and Theo adjusted in his chair, concerned.

“If she’s unhappy, she won’t be the second she lays eyes on that baby,” he offered.

“No, no,” said Draco, waving his hand. “She’s fine, really. We’re well past worrying about that sort of thing-”

“The blood status bit or the unwed pregnancy bit?” interrupted Theo.

Draco rolled his eyes, and Theo’s sparkling blue ones flitted to Hermione. He had a disarming smirk on his face, and he threw a wink in her direction. Hermione smiled. The three of them had learned to get along quite well over the course of a few months, and she loved seeing Draco and Theo interact. She knew that Draco had few friends, and that Theo was a cherished part of his life, much as he continued to eye roll him at every opportunity.

She almost hated to see Theo’s face fall when Draco revealed the reality of their situation.

“It’s a magically entwined pregnancy,” said Draco, and Theo’s smirk disappeared. “My mother is helping us navigate that. It was the same for her and my father.”

“Oh, Merlin, Draco,” said Theo, flabbergasted.

There was no more humour in his face. Draco was nodding dejectedly, and Theo’s hand went to his wavy brown hair, carding his fingers through it and sighing heavily. He looked as though he didn’t know what to say.

“Your mother, too, right?” asked Draco in a very sullen voice.

Theo nodded, his eyes closed. And then, unexpectedly, Theo gave a little choked sob.

“f*ck, Draco, I’m sorry,” he said, and he reached out for one of Hermione’s hands, inhaling deeply and finding his voice. “They know more about it now. It’s much less dangerous than when we were born. She’s going to be fine.”

She put her hand to her belly protectively.

“Yea,” Draco muttered unconvincingly.

They were a rather quieter party as they made their way back to the Research Institute. Theo bent and kissed her cheek, squeezing her arm reassuringly before he headed off to the lab. Malfoy took his place in the corner of the office, twirling his wand absently in his fingers, and Hermione sank into her chair. She leaned over the top of her desk, staring at the parchments littered on top of it without interest.

“You okay?” asked Draco.

She nodded.

“Any luck on finding out who attacked the lab?” she asked.

“None,” he said. “No sign of anything in the usual channels.”

“There hasn’t been an attack for weeks,” said Hermione. “Any chance the Auror protection might go away soon?”

“Unlikely,” said Draco.

She glowered at him.

~

On Saturday evening, Hermione dropped a handful of Floo powder into her fireplace and called out, “Number 12 Grimmauld Place!” She spun away and arrived in the Potters’ front room where Ginny was nestled on the sofa nursing.

“Hey!” she said with a smile. “Harry and James are in the kitchen.”

“I’ll keep you company for a bit,” said Hermione, sitting next to Ginny and tickling Albus’s baby toes.

Ginny looked effortlessly comfortable in motherhood, her elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, Albus’s head nestled in her arms as he nursed. She seemed totally at ease, and Hermione bit her lip, nervously worrying about her own maternal instincts, which she considered to be slim to none. She had not really planned on having children at all (a sticking point in her relationship with Ron), much less an unexpected one with Draco Malfoy.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Ginny, reading her internal monologue.

“You make this look so easy,” said Hermione, stroking the bottom of Albus’s foot.

Ginny snorted.

“Well, I’m glad I have you fooled,” said Ginny with a laugh.

Hermione looked at her in confusion.

“I never know what I’m doing. I’m the youngest of seven, so I’ve never been around little ones. I have no f*cking clue what I’m doing,” said Ginny. “James will be three in a few months, and he’s hardly talking, so I keep thinking I’ve done something wrong with him. And Albus nurses twenty-four hours a day, so I have no idea if my milk is enough for him. I’m second-guessing myself at every turn.”

Ginny had one hand on her face, the other still cradling Albus against her breast. Hermione placed a hand on her shoulder, and then Hermione let out a hysterical laugh. Ginny’s head shot up, her brows furrowed as though she thought Hermione was mocking her.

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, trying to hold her laughter in. “It’s just such a relief.”

Ginny understood, and she giggled. They were two young women, flailing about together in motherhood. Hermione had never felt closer to her, which of course, gave her a pang of guilt. She had not yet told Ginny and Harry about the complications of her magically entwined pregnancy. How would they react when she told them she’d have to move into Malfoy Manor? She could envision Harry’s patient eyes as he said, “I just want you to be happy” or some other such supportive nonsense.

“Go on,” said Ginny, jerking her head toward the kitchen. “Go see Harry.”

Hermione stood from the sofa, giving Ginny’s shoulder a squeeze before she went into the kitchen. A twinge in her abdomen made her wince, rubbing at her belly as she walked to the kitchen. She peeked in and saw Harry muttering under his breath as he tried to make the vegetables cut in even cubes. James was hovering underfoot, hands wrapped around Harry’s leg and tugging at his father’s trousers in an attempt to get his attention.

“Hold on, James,” said Harry, waving his wand again and glaring at the unevenly sliced courgette. “How the f*ck does Molly make cut them evenly?”

“How the f*ck!” crowed James.

Hermione let out a peal of laughter, and Harry turned, his green eyes wide with terror.

“Do not tell Ginny that James’s first sentence was ‘how the f*ck’,” said Harry.

She assured him that she wouldn’t, and he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

“You’re looking much more pregnant these days,” said Harry, pulling back and looking down at her belly.

“Thanks?” she said uncertainly.

James was at her legs, and she scooped him up onto her hip in a movement that felt awkward to her, but he happily clung to her as they watched Harry finish dinner. But as another cramp took her by the belly, she had to return him to the ground. Soon, Ginny and Albus joined them, and they sat at the table together, James happily naming all the foods on his plate as Ginny practiced the words with him, Albus lying in a small bassinet near Ginny’s chair.

Hermione was just about to bite into a mushroom when a massive wave of pain wracked her body, a horrible cramp that seized her around the middle and wrenched her until she was doubled over. She cried out and fell out of her chair, her arms wrapping around her middle as she sobbed pitifully, her fingers digging into her sides. James, startled, began to cry, and Ginny pulled him into her lap as Harry leapt from his chair to Hermione’s side. The pain was radiating from her midsection, and her knuckles went white as she gripped Harry’s arm.

“Let’s get you to St. Mungo’s,” said Harry urgently.

“No,” she hissed out through clenched teeth. “Just get Malfoy.”

“Hermione, you need a Healer. We’ll tell Malfoy you’ve gone to-”

“NO,” snapped Hermione, grinding her jaw and gripping her belly. “Having him close will be enough.”

Harry did not take her meaning, but Ginny did a double take.

“Harry, go get Malfoy,” Ginny instructed firmly, setting James back in his seat and kneeling next to Hermione, who had gone to her hands and knees trembling. “It’s one of those pregnancies, isn’t it?”

Hermione nodded miserably as Ginny held her hand, a pained moan leaving Hermione’s throat despite her efforts to contain it. Her eyes were squeezed shut, wondering if it was possible to die of pain like this, wave after wave hitting her like her body was being torn in half. Then, she heard a scuffling from the adjoining room. There were heavy footsteps, the click of shoes she recognized as Draco’s, and a low murmur of Harry’s voice. In a moment, Ginny was jumping away from her, and she could sense Draco’s presence by her side.

The pain began to dissipate as he rubbed her back, but still, she was clammy and sweaty, and she bent sideways and retched, vomiting onto Harry and Ginny’s floor. Draco waved his wand to vanish it. She could feel his hand on her back as tears streamed down her cheeks, her entire body shaking madly.

Draco took out his wand, laying it on the floor and nudging the hilt of it toward her hand.

Hermione paused for the briefest moment, and then, her fingers reached out and closed around it. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, a shudder throughout her body. The wand sang in her hand, all remnants of pain gone. Ginny had let out a little surprised gasp at this. Draco’s fingers scratched Hermione’s back affectionately, and she looked into his face. The baby kicked merrily.

“Good?” he asked, his grey eyes inspecting her sympathetically.

Hermione wiped tears from her face and nodded, sitting up. Harry was pressing a glass of water into her hand.

“What was all that?” asked Harry, a note of panic in his voice.

“It’s… it’s a magically entwined pregnancy,” said Hermione, sipping water. “Like Fleur mentioned when we were at the Burrow at Easter. I suppose over time it’s going to get harder and harder to be away from…”

At this, her eyes went to Draco’s face, and the Potters, even James, all stared at him. Draco averted his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” said Ginny, brushing Hermione’s hair from her face. “Mum could have helped you.”

“I know, I’m sure she could have, but Draco’s mother…” she began, and then, she glanced at him, asking permission to share, and he nodded. “Draco’s mother went through this when she was pregnant. She said I’d eventually have to move into Malfoy Manor.”

To her credit, Ginny did not make any judgmental noises at this statement, perhaps unsurprised by it. At that moment, Albus had started to fuss, and the adults all stood from their awkward positions, staring around at each other. Hermione realized vaguely that this was the first time that Draco had ever been to Grimmauld Place, and he was staring around curiously.

“Erm,” said Harry uncomfortably. “Join us for dinner, Malfoy? I don’t reckon Hermione wants you to leave after all that.”

Draco looked at her, checking to see if she wanted him to stay or go, and Hermione reached out and interlaced her fingers with his, a warmth radiating through her body, the baby doing kick-flips in her belly. He looked down at their joined hands, and she could have sworn she saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, but then, he sighed resolutely.

“Thank you,” he said in a performance of aristocratic manners. “I’d love to join you.”

“What about Scorpius?” asked Hermione quietly, and Harry looked at Draco.

“You know you could bring him, right?” said Harry. “I’m sure James would love running after him.”

Draco smiled, but he shook his head.

“Maybe next time,” he said, and Hermione could tell that he meant it.

Everyone got settled around the table again. James was staring at Draco with some suspicion in his eyes, but he quickly refocused his energy on his plate, shouting “blackberry!” and popping a berry into his mouth. Draco sat next to Hermione, and she scooted her chair an inch in his direction, her body craving nearness to him.

“So, you’d probably have inherited this house if it weren’t for me, eh?” said Harry.

Draco nodded, still glancing around the room.

“Yes,” said Draco. “It would’ve gone to Aunt Bella and then to me.”

The conversation was easy, easier than she might have expected. Harry and Draco discussed work, and Ginny asked Draco about Scorpius and when he’d started talking. Halfway through dinner, Hermione glanced at Draco’s hands, cutting vegetables with a formality that eluded the rest of them, and she noticed it.

He was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

Her breath caught in her chest. When had he stopped wearing it? Why? Her eyes were fixed on her own plate, her mind racing. She did not want to assume that it meant anything, and yet, her mind flashed to the kiss they’d shared. The jolt of electricity at the feeling of his mouth against hers. Her mind had just begun replaying their kiss when James’s voice broke through.

“How the f*ck?” he crowed.

Ginny’s eyes went wide, Harry’s face went red, looking at James as though he’d betrayed him, and Draco tried to conceal his laughter in a cough.

After dinner, Harry began the task of levitating the empty plates to the kitchen sink, ignoring Hermione’s offers to help, and Ginny lifted Albus from his bassinet, bringing him to her breast to nurse again. Draco did not seem phased by this in the slightest. He stood, carrying his plate to the sink after Harry and then returning to the table, standing behind her chair, one hand on the back of it.

“I should get home,” said Draco, and though Ginny said all the appropriate, oh you don’t have to rush off sort of things, he insisted that he should get back.

But she could hear a question in his tone of voice, and she could see it in his eyes when she craned her neck to look up at him. What are we going to do about you?

She could feel the phantom pain in her abdomen, and a sheen of sweat threatened her body at the mere memory of it. Harry and Ginny were watching the pair of them, too, eyes darting between Draco’s face and her own. Hermione did not know how to talk about it, didn’t know what to say. Her hand cradled her small bump as she pressed her lips together.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow at her, the hint of a smirk at the corners of his lips. She knew this smile well enough, knew that it would be followed by a snarky comment or a tease.

“Would you like to pretend you’re going to stay at your flat a while longer,” he began, “or shall we just get you to Malfoy Manor?”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open, and Ginny snorted a giggle into her hand.

“What about Crookshanks?” said Hermione, wringing her hands together.

Draco’s head fell backward, his eyes rolling skyward.

“Scorpius is going to be unbearable,” he said. “He’s been begging for a cat every day for months, and I keep telling him no cats in the Manor.”

“Well, I can’t leave him alone,” she huffed, and she caught a glimpse of Harry trying to conceal his smile.

Draco sighed heavily.

“Alright, Granger,” he said. “Let’s go get your cat.”

Chapter 12: twenty-one & six

Chapter Text

Hermione stared around her flat, fretting over what she needed to take with her to Malfoy Manor. Though she’d known, vaguely, that this was coming, it had really not been much more than a week since Narcissa had said it so matter-of-factly. Hermione had not really had a chance to come to grips with the idea of moving in with Draco Malfoy.

She sighed.

Draco was standing behind her, waiting patiently as she took stock of her flat. She could feel his presence looming as it did when they were in her office. He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived.

“Do you…” Hermione began, and she found nervousness in her voice that she had not expected. “Do you want me to move into your Manor?”

Because that was the crux of the matter. Hermione would, of course, do anything to keep her baby safe, and the ghost of the cramping pain was still there in her belly. If it meant avoiding that kind of horrific agony, she would move into the u-bend with Moaning Myrtle. But at the end of the day, she was moving in with a man for the first time ever, and she wasn’t even sure if he wanted her to or if it was just out of obligation.

“Erm,” said Draco, and she turned to face him, inspecting his expression. “Yes.”

“Because of the baby?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” said Draco, his brow furrowed as though there were no other possible answer to the question.

“I see,” said Hermione, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“And I don’t particularly want you to be writhing around in agony because I’m not around,” he added, and when she looked up at him, he had a smirk on his face.

She supposed that was better than nothing.

Hermione instructed that he should stay on the sofa, where Crookshanks was waiting, watching him with wide yellow eyes. She went to her bedroom and began to pack. How long would she be staying? Would she be coming home to her flat at all, or just living her entire life with Draco Malfoy?

But even just two rooms away, she could sense the magic in her body seeking his, and she began to wonder whether she would be able to be more than a few feet away from him by the end.

Luggage packed, Hermione returned to the sitting room and paused in the entrance, a smile quirking her lips. Crookshanks had crawled into his lap, and Draco’s hand was resting on his orange fur lightly. His head was leaning back on the sofa, his eyes closed, and she wondered if he was asleep. Checking the time on her watch, she realized with a start that it was past ten. She waved her wand and sent the suitcases toward the fireplace before sinking down onto the sofa next to Draco.

His head jerked up, and he blinked blearily, his eyes finding the massive cat in his lap. He, too, looked at the watch on his wrist.

“Let’s go,” she said with a smile, and she scooped Crookshanks into her arms and headed to the fireplace.

Crookshanks did not appreciate the trip, his claws sinking into her arms as they spun rapidly in the Floo network, and he leapt from her arms like a shot as soon as they arrived at Malfoy Manor. Draco followed soon after with the suitcases, patting soot from his clothes and finding her eyes.

“Does the cat need a… you know…” said Draco. “A place to…”

“Oh! No, he’ll slip outside when he needs to,” said Hermione.

“How will he get out?” he asked.

“He’ll find a way,” she said with a shrug. “He always does.”

They stood in the travel parlor for a moment, not looking at each other. She wondered if he was feeling the same heavy sensation that she was: the reality that she was moving into Malfoy Manor. A feeling of nervous energy settled in her diaphragm.

Their bodies began to angle toward each other at the same moment, and she could not help it: her gaze flickered down to his lips. The corner of his lower lip was caught in his top teeth. She pressed her lips together, and then, a horrible question settled in her stomach.

Where was she going to sleep?

Surely, she wasn’t going to be sharing his bedroom?

He must have registered her sudden horror because his brows knitted together in concern.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he said. “You can try staying at your flat a while longer.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s just… I’m not sure where I’ll sleep while I’m here.”

Realization and not a little relief flooded his face.

“I’m not actually sure how far away you’ll be able to be, by the end,” said Malfoy, his hand going to the back of his neck to scratch it awkwardly, his other hand falling into his pocket. “There are, of course, about a dozen bedrooms you could choose from, but I thought…”

She panicked for a moment.

“Not your room,” she said immediately, and his face dropped in alarm.

“No!” he said, and she wasn’t sure if she should be offended by his reaction or not. “No, but I thought…”

Draco took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“There’s a room adjacent to the primary bedroom. Connected through the closet, but quite private,” said Draco, and he averted his eyes from hers. “It was Astoria’s. We called it her boudoir. There’s a comfortable enough chaise that you can transfigure into a bed. I thought it might suit, but I would understand if you don’t want to…”

His face had fallen slightly, a bit of insecurity in his voice, uncertainty of the offer. She recognized it for what it was, though. This was an offer of something very dear to his heart, very personal. Perhaps even more intimate than simply letting her share his own bedroom.

“Of course, I can show you the other rooms,” he said.

“It sounds perfect,” said Hermione. “Thank you so much, Draco.”

He smiled a very tight smile, one that told her his mind was on his late wife, but it did not bother her. Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

“I know none of this was expected,” she said. “This is probably not how you would have liked to invite a new woman into your life, but I’m so grateful to you. You could have been much crueler, but you’ve been very kind. I didn’t…”

She cleared her throat.

“I didn’t expect it of you, if I’m being honest,” said Hermione, and he nodded in understanding, still not meeting her eyes, but she let a small smile creep across her lips. “I didn’t expect to like you so much.”

He gave a snort of a laugh that made her heart skip a beat, craving once again to always be the source of that laughter. Draco took a step toward her, the fingers on one hand grasping her hip and pulling her closer.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is all very weird. I don’t want it to be, but it is.”

She giggled, taking the fabric of his shirt in her hands and looking up into his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, his grey eyes warm and comforting. He bent his neck and kissed her.

Oh, she had missed this. His lips softly met hers, his hands pulling her hips closer to his until the swell of her belly was pressed against him, the baby doing somersaults inside her so fiercely that she was surprised he couldn’t feel it. His hands slid up her back as he deepened their kiss, and she opened her eyes to watch his face. He had relaxed into their kiss, and she noted the absence of the wrinkle in his brow.

Hermione slid her hands behind his neck, trying to get closer to him, trying to feel more of him, and he met her halfway. Draco’s tongue was now gently winding its way into her mouth, and she heard a small groan in the back of his throat that she would do anything to hear again. But after a long moment of kissing, she pulled back, searching his expression.

“I didn’t expect to like you so much either,” said Draco with a smirk.

Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes and pushing away from him, but he grasped her hand and squeezed it once.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Astoria’s boudoir was like something out of a dream. It was soft and feminine, a stark contrast from the stolid, masculine décor of the rest of Malfoy Manor. There was wallpaper, floral and pastel, lining the walls, and the furniture was upholstered in pale pinks and creams. There was a small bookshelf, wooden and painted white, with an array of books, and Hermione was drawn to it like a magnet. She reached out to touch the spines but jerked her hand back and looked at Draco.

“It’s fine,” he said, and he had a wistful sort of smile on his face. “You can touch.”

She tugged a book off the shelf and looked at the cover. A novel: fiction, romance.

“I emptied a couple of shelves for your books,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, her trunk of books had reappeared. “But now I’m thinking it might not be enough room.”

“Thanks,” she said, tucking the romance novel under her arm.

They stood awkwardly in the room for a moment, his hands in his pockets. He pressed his lips together.

“This door leads to my room,” he said, and he pushed it open. She could see a closet full of clothes and a bathroom. “If you need anything, even in the middle of the night, just come on through. I promise not to be naked.”

Hermione could not help the scandalized laugh that escaped her lips. He was smirking at her, and she met his sparkling grey eyes.

“There’s a toilet through here as well, but if you’d rather not share, there’s another across the hall,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the door where they’d entered. “Scorpius’s room is across the hall, too, but he sleeps like the dead. You won’t wake him. Do you need anything?”

Hermione shook her head, her curls bouncing on her shoulders as she did. Draco smiled, an authentic smile that warmed her entire body. He took a step toward her, pushing a lock of curly hair behind her ear. Her body was begging her to follow him into his bedroom, just climb into his bed the same way she’d wriggled her way into his life, but she just watched as he leaned down toward her, pressing a single kiss to her bottom lip.

“Good night,” he said quietly.

“Good night,” she replied.

Draco exited through the door to his closet, pushing it shut behind him.

Hermione swiveled on the spot, looking around the small boudoir. She pulled out her wand, waving it at the chaise and transfiguring it into a small bed with pale pink and cream blankets. She glanced around for something she could use as a pillow, or at least transfigure into one, but her eyes snagged on a photo album on a shelf below a small wooden table.

She wasn’t sure if she should look through it, but she rationalized that if Draco had considered it too private, he would have removed it from the room. Hermione picked up the album, surprised at its weight, and ran a hand over the leather cover. She opened the front cover, and the picture that was looking up at her nearly stole her breath away.

It was Astoria.

She was beautiful. Astoria was dressed in a wedding gown, a long veil flowing behind her light brown hair. She was standing in the gardens at Malfoy Manor, Hermione recognized the spot immediately, and Astoria alternated between adjusting her veil and offering a shy smile to the camera.

Hermione searched her heart for feelings of jealousy at this photo of the woman Draco had loved. Why was there no sting of it? She glanced around the room, seeing the small, intimate place that Astoria had kept for herself, and the only thought in Hermione’s brain was, I wonder if she would like me.

She flipped the page in the photo album, seeing photos of Draco and Astoria staring into each other’s eyes. Unlike Hermione, Astoria was tall, nearly level with Draco’s gaze. Draco looked at his bride with the same tenderness that he had when he looked at Scorpius. The couple did not even bother looking at the camera; they only had eyes for each other.

More photos, more scenes. A honeymoon, perhaps, in a place she thought might be Italy, though she had never been, so she couldn’t be sure. Dinners, galas, parties. Astoria’s belly growing, a blissful happiness on both Astoria’s and Draco’s faces as they prepared for the birth of their child, and then, a sudden stop to the photos. Blank pages. Hermione’s heart ached. She shut the photo album, one hand resting on the back cover.

“I’ll take care of them for you,” she whispered quietly to the woman who had loved him first. “I’ll take care of them both.”

~

A child’s shouts and the door to the boudoir bursting open jolted her awake, and she saw Scorpius’s form bolting through the room, into the closet that was Draco’s and then on to his bedroom.

“DAD!” she could hear him shouting as he ran. “THERE’S A CAT HERE!”

Scorpius had not even noticed her, but Crookshanks sneaked into her room and hopped into her small bed, curling into a ball next to her as she rubbed her eyes, bleary from sleep. She looked around for a clock, but not seeing one, she cast a tempus charm. Seven in the morning on a Sunday. She would have to get used to this.

“This way, Dad! Come see!” shouted Scorpius, and when he burst into the boudoir, his eyes landed on Hermione and Crookshanks.

Hermione almost giggled at the way he froze mid-stride, mouth dropping open. She wasn’t sure whether he was happier to see her or Crookshanks. Scorpius made a running start at her small bed, diving in with a giggle and terrifying the cat, who took off like a shot. Scorpius did not follow him, just burrowed into the bed with her. Her eyes fell closed as he snuggled under her chin.

There was a knock at the door, and she could see Draco waiting just outside, averting his eyes in case she wanted privacy.

“Come on in,” she said.

She watched his features soften to tenderness as he took in the scene, and she saw too that his hand was flexing in and out of a tight fist at his side, fingernails digging into his palms. Hermione could only imagine the swell of pain it brought him to see his son in this room, cozy in bed with a woman who was not the mother he’d never met. But Scorpius had never known this boudoir with his mother in it, so he seemed perfectly at ease snuggling under Hermione’s blankets.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily to the two Malfoys who were in Astoria’s… no, Hermione’s room.

“You brought your cat!” said Scorpius.

“Hermione and Crookshanks are going to stay with us,” said Draco, though he looked very much like he’d rather not be having this conversation while standing awkwardly in the door to the boudoir. “At least until the baby comes.”

“Where will they go after?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Draco opened his mouth but shut it again, realizing that he’d walked right into that one.

“So, you saw Crookshanks this morning?” asked Hermione, nudging Scorpius, and changing the subject to rescue Draco from his flailing.

“He was in my bed!” said Scorpius, and as she climbed out of bed, he regaled her with the minute details of Crookshanks’s appearance in his room.

Draco backed out of the room, pulling the door shut as he went back into his closet, and Hermione pulled out a t-shirt and denims from her suitcase as Scorpius continued chattering away. She ushered him into the hall, assuring him she’d be right out, and he merrily kept at the story from the other side of the door while she got dressed. Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. She pulled her curly hair into a bun at the top of her head and opened the door again, where Scorpius grabbed hold of her hand and began dragging her down the hall.

“It’s Sunday,” said Scorpius with a hint of mischief in his voice. “No Nanny Kate, which means I get sugar cereal for breakfast.”

Sure enough, at Scorpius’s place setting, there was a bowl of something that would have made her dentist parents blanch. She resisted the urge to help him as he began to pour milk from the miniature pitcher, though her wand was at the ready. He was digging into his breakfast when Malfoy appeared, pausing in the entryway, his grey eyes taking in the scene awaiting him.

Cozy. Domestic. Unexpected.

Scorpius took it all in stride.

Malfoy was pouring coffee for himself when she heard the distant sound of a Floo rushing in a nearby room, footsteps echoing through the halls in a very familiar cadence.

“Malfoy, I’ve brought those books on- oh, hello,” said Theo, his lips curling upward deviously when he caught sight of Hermione at the breakfast table. “Fancy seeing you here at…”

Theo checked his watch.

“Half seven in the morning,” said Theo in a voice smooth and rich as silk. “I’d almost think you stayed the night.”

“Hermione and her cat are staying here!” said Scorpius brightly, and Theo crossed the room to ruffle his hair and kiss the top of his head.

“As they should be,” said Theo, and he dropped a handful of books on the table. “Magically entwined pregnancy books.”

Hermione reached out to take one, but Theo batted her hand away.

“These are for him,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Draco, and he grabbed one from the top of the stack. “This one has a few wand puns you might appreciate.”

Draco snorted.

“There he is!” shouted Scorpius, and he stood from the table and bolted after what was certainly Crookshanks even as Draco attempted to call reminders about table manners to his retreating back.

Theo had made himself comfortable, pulling the remainder of Scorpius’s sugar cereal toward himself and stealing Draco’s spoon to finish the last of the bowl.

“So, tell me about this,” said Theo through a mouthful of cereal, gesturing between the two of them with his spoon.

Hermione and Draco shared a look, and he nodded at her. Go on.

“The pregnancy has gotten more… complicated,” said Hermione, and Theo paused with the cereal, looking at her with a serious expression. “I’m not sure if I can really be away from him for long anymore, so I moved into the boudoir down the hall from Draco.”

Theo set the spoon back in the bowl and pinched the bridge of his nose. She did not like the look on his face. The look that said he was thinking of his own mother, who died during childbirth, and of Astoria, who did the same. He was thinking of the year after Scorpius’s birth, when he had almost lost Draco to despair, and the fear that he might lose her and Draco both to her pregnancy.

Theo exhaled slowly, pulling together his composure and arranging his face in his signature devilish smirk, though Hermione knew him well enough to see the strain at the edges of his eyes.

“Well, no staying up late in his bedroom,” said Theo, wagging his finger. “We’ve got a big budget meeting with the finance department tomorrow, and you know who that means we have to see.”

Hermione groaned, Draco sighed, and Theo clapped his hands together resolutely before they all three spoke at the same time.

“Caitlin.”

Chapter 13: twenty-two

Chapter Text

Hermione did not want to feel as though she were living out of a suitcase for at least 18 more weeks of her life, so she began the process of unpacking her things into the closet. Draco had emptied two drawers and a rack for her, and first thing Monday morning, even before Scorpius had a chance to run into the boudoir, she was opening the door to the closet a tiny crack, knocking in case he was inside.

There was no answer, so she pushed the door open and began filing through the clothes on hangers, trying to decide which outfit would be best suited for a meeting with Caitlin, the notorious bitch in finance. Approximately twice a year, the T.T.R. Division was forced to defend their mysterious use of grant funding, and as such, they were forced to grovel before her, pleading with her not to take away what remained in their accounts just because she didn’t understand how it was used.

Hermione was chewing her lip, glancing between two skirts, when the door from Draco’s bedroom swung open.

Hermione startled, and so did he when he saw her. She raked her eyes down his body, realizing that she had not seen him shirtless since February and that she had forgotten how good he looked.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing at sleepy eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Don’t be,” she said, trying to ignore the flush creeping up her neck and holding up the two skirts. “Which one?”

He straightened, running a hand through sleep-mussed platinum hair. Draco had a wistful sort of smile on his face as he pointed to the navy pencil skirt in her left hand. She almost didn’t ask, didn’t want to pry, but she was sharing a home with him, a great deal of her life with him, and it felt unnatural to hold her question in.

“What’s that smile for?” she asked as she pulled the navy skirt off the hanger.

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

“It’s just…” he said, and he trailed off for a moment, still smiling to himself, but shaking his head as though trying to rid himself of wistful feelings. He found her eyes again. “This is very… familiar. A woman in this closet, asking me for advice on her clothes.”

Hermione found herself searching her heart again for the sting of jealousy, for the hurt at being reminded that someone else had been here first, but once again, it didn’t come. She was not jealous.

“I’m not trying to replace her for you,” said Hermione quietly. “I know that no one could.”

His breath rushed out of him in a great whoosh, and she froze, worried that she had said very much the wrong thing, but even as his grey eyes looked pained and world-weary, she saw something in his face that looked like appreciation, admiration. Respect. Hermione smiled at him, and he smiled back, a quiet smile that she was not sure she had ever seen before.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Draco stepped closer to her, and she could feel a thrumming in her veins when he got close, particularly as his hand found her upper arm. He leaned down and kissed her, quickly, and she was suddenly very aware that he was not wearing a shirt. She didn’t know where to put her hands.

But he pulled away before she had to worry more about it, and he went to a rack in the closet, grabbing a button-front shirt, slacks, and a holster for his wand before disappearing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Hermione made her way back to the boudoir, having the sense to shut and lock both doors before getting dressed, which was good, considering that she heard the commotion of Scorpius trying to pull her door open as Nanny Kate shushed him.

“She’ll be out soon,” she heard Kate’s voice say.

Hermione chuckled to herself, the voices and footsteps retreating down the hall. Fully dressed, she stood in the boudoir, glancing between the doors, debating whether to attempt her hair and makeup in the cramped bathroom across the hall or risk sharing a bathroom with Draco Malfoy.

She went across the hall.

Draco and Scorpius were at the table when she descended the staircase, and Scorpius was looking highly disappointed with his breakfast options (fruit and eggs). She noted that Draco preferred coffee in the mornings, sipping it behind a copy of the Daily Prophet, though there was a box of tea bags and a kettle under a stasis charm in the centre of the table.

It was a quiet breakfast, everyone still a bit sleepy, but as it concluded, Draco stood from the table and kissed Scorpius on top of his blond head before glancing at Hermione.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Bye,” said Scorpius, his face resting in his hand as he poked apathetically at the pile of eggs on his plate. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” said Draco with one last pat on Scorpius’s shoulder.

Hermione realized too late that she had a soppy smile on her face, watching the pair of them, and she saw Draco staring at her with a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his lips. Nanny Kate bustled in the room, saying goodbye to Draco and Hermione as they left for the traveling parlor, hopping into the Floo one after another. Hermione noted that, even for the mere half minute that she was standing at the Research Institute without him, her body felt the distance keenly, a wave of discomfort swelling until he appeared behind her.

Troubling.

Of course, they ran into Neville on the way.

“Oi, Malfoy,” said Neville, trotting out of the Herbology division as they walked past. “I was hoping I’d spot you today. Pansy’s had me handing these out at the office. She says it’s pedestrian to send them by owl.”

Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom shared a long-suffering look, complete with good-natured eye roll. She vaguely knew that they were friendly enough since Neville and Pansy had married, but she still couldn’t help the giggle in her throat. They both turned to her.

“Hey! How are you feeling?” asked Neville with a grin. “I’ve got one for you too. Pansy said you should be invited. I mean, not that I wouldn’t have wanted to invite you. It’s just… these things are sort of… well, anyway, here you are.”

It was an invitation to their baby’s christening. She and Neville were not particularly close, and he must have read her expression as she considered this, because he offered an explanation.

“It’s going to be a pretty grand affair,” said Neville sheepishly.

“Grand affair? Pansy Longbottom? Surely, you jest,” said Draco in mock horror.

“I’m trying to keep the guest list below two hundred,” said Neville with a groan.

Draco muttered something that sounded like, “good luck with that,” and he clapped Neville on the shoulder before he and Hermione headed toward the T.T.R. Division.

“I still don’t know why she married him,” he groused once they were well out of earshot.

“Have you seen him? He’s quite fit,” said Hermione with a wink.

He shuddered dramatically.

“Don’t say things like that,” said Draco in a grumpy voice. “It’s bad enough that Pansy married him. I don’t need you commenting on how fit he is.”

“Come on, Draco. He’s six foot two with dark hair, blue eyes, and a jaw that could cut glass,” said Hermione with a teasing smile.

“I’m six foot three,” said Draco with something that looked like a pout, and Hermione was so instantly transported back to their time at Hogwarts that she laughed out loud.

“Yes, I know,” she said, her lips pursed in a small grin. “My neck is going to cramp from trying to kiss you.”

At this, he paused his steps in the hallway, a smile stretching across his lips, and just when she thought he was going to lean down to kiss her, Theo’s voice echoed through the corridor.

“Stop staring into each other’s eyes, we’re going to be late,” he snapped, his footsteps clicking on the floors and his bedraggled-looking Auror protection trailing along after him. “Come on.”

Theo marched straight past them, and Hermione sighed, throwing Draco a quick wink before spinning on her heel to follow Theo to the Finance Department.

The Finance Department was a stodgy set of offices, desks all in an inoffensive shade of grey, fluorescent lighting that flickered annoyingly, and bored looking witches and wizards annotating parchments with quills or balancing ledgers. Caitlin’s office was at the end of the hall, and Hermione and Theo marched toward it together, Draco looming behind them with the Auror who’d been assigned to Theo for the past several weeks (whose name was “Schnell” though Theo inexplicably called him “McCartney”).

Theo knocked on Caitlin’s office door, but he did not wait for her to tell him to enter. He pushed it open and strode inside.

“Well, I suppose we’re due for the semi-annual pillaging of the T.T.R. Division accounts,” he said acidly before sinking into a chair across the desk from her.

Caitlin eyed the two Aurors with suspicion.

“I heard you two have protection these days,” she said coolly, and then her eyes swept down to the swell of Hermione’s belly. “Probably could have used it sooner.”

Draco started forward angrily, but Theo made a little scolding noise at him, holding up a finger and giving him a very serious look. Hermione took a deep breath and sat in the chair next to Theo.

“There are over two hundred thousand galleons remaining from the last grant you wrote, Ms. Granger,” said Caitlin. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t allocate it to another division.”

“Because we have to give a presentation on how we used the money once the project is complete, and it would look awfully strange if we had to report that it went to the Potions lab,” she retorted.

“The Potions lab doesn’t hide how it uses their funds,” said Caitlin, undeterred. “Perhaps if you would submit a report to Finance like every other division at the Institute-”

“You know perfectly well that our division was created specifically with an exemption to that policy,” Theo interrupted furiously, his index finger jammed down onto the top of her desk.

Caitlin was not intimidated. She laced her fingers together in front of her and leaned forward.

“Give me a reason not to take the rest of the funding and give it to Longbottom’s Herbology research,” she said.

“You have no right to any information on what happens in the T.T.R. division,” snapped Theo. “Don’t make me get Parkinson involved.”

Caitlin let out an infuriating little laugh.

“You don’t think Parkinson would be happy if I offered to give two hundred thousand galleons to his son-in-law?” she said. “The Longbottoms haven’t got that kind of money to throw around.”

Caitlin’s eyes flicked up to Malfoy, standing behind Hermione’s chair. Hermione caught the subtext of the glance. The Malfoys do. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Listen, Caitlin, you know we can’t give you any details on what’s happening in the division,” said Hermione. “We’re going to need the rest of that grant money for the security measures that we’ll have to put in place once this project is finished.”

Caitlin opened her mouth to argue.

“Which it is.”

“I’m sorry?” Caitlin said.

Theo had folded his arms in front of him. He had been hoping they’d be able to keep that bit of information to themselves, but there was nothing for it. If the last of the grant funding was taken away from them, it would be a dodgy business trying to let the world know that a new-and-improved Time Turner was completed without being able to pay for a security detail.

“The project is complete. We’ll be scheduling a press release in a matter of weeks, and if the money isn’t there to pay our own security, I’m fairly certain the Ministry will add about fifty more of these,” said Hermione, and at this, she gestured to the Aurors behind her, “and then send the Institute an invoice for it.”

This caught Caitlin’s attention, and she swept her gaze over the Auror contingent again.

“When will you hold the press release?” asked Caitlin.

Theo began to splutter indignantly, but Hermione cut him off.

“You know we can’t tell you exactly,” she said.

Caitlin pursed her lips, considering them. She leaned back in her chair and nodded.

“Alright,” said Caitlin. “You’ve got a month. If I haven’t seen a press release by then, the money goes to Longbottom.”

Theo was muttering under his breath as he stood from the chair, and Hermione followed him out, their Aurors right behind them. As they made their way down the corridor to the T.T.R. Division, Draco’s voice cut the tension.

“Theo, you were right,” said Draco, and Theo paused, looking at Draco with a surprised expression, as though Draco never voluntarily admitted when Theo was right. “She really is a bitch.”

That night, as Hermione climbed into bed, she heard a soft knock on the door to the hallway. Scorpius poked his head in her boudoir, Crookshanks trotting in front of him, and he held up a book with a questioning expression.

Nanny Kate was standing behind him apologetically, but Hermione just smiled and nodded, and he got a running start before leaping into the bed. With Scorpius under the covers and Crookshanks at her feet, Hermione began reading, once again displaying her dizzying inadequacy at accents, but Scorpius laughed wildly despite (or perhaps because of) it.

She saw Draco standing in the doorway watching them just as she closed the book. Scorpius gave her a tight hug, then hugged his father and disappeared with Nanny Kate.

“Thank you,” said Draco.

Hermione co*cked her head to one side.

“For what?”

“For being so good with him,” he said, nodding his head toward the door through which Scorpius had just left. “You wouldn’t have to be. Not every woman would be.”

Hermione scoffed.

“Find me a woman who wouldn’t fall madly in love with that child,” she said with an eye roll, and Draco chuckled.

“I’ve had a bit of trouble finding one who would,” he said ruefully, and then, he seemed to think he’d said too much.

He nearly retreated, but she fixed him with a look, and Draco gestured to a pink-upholstered chair, asking permission to sit. Hermione nodded.

“I know that you’re aware that you’re the first woman since my wife died that I…” he said, and he trailed off nervously.

“f*cked?” she asked in a teasing voice, smirking at him, and she saw a flush creep up his neck, but he was smiling.

“Yes,” said Draco with a smirk, not looking at her. “But I had been set up a couple of times. By a very well-meaning but meddling friend.”

“Tall, dark-haired, thinks himself incredibly dashing?” asked Hermione.

“That’s the one,” he said with a laugh, but then, his face grew a bit serious. “Most witches who are willing to put up with this-”

He had held up his left forearm.

“-are doing it because they see the… financial upsides of it,” said Draco. “I think they saw Scorpius the same way as the Mark. Something they’d have to deal with to get the money. The name.”

Hermione’s heart ached, but at the same time, a fierce outrage bubbled up in her body on his behalf. She sat up stiffly in bed.

“How could they… that sweet baby is nothing like… he’s an angel, Draco,” she spluttered, and he laughed, holding his hands up to stop her.

“I know,” he said placatingly. “I’m just saying, I appreciate it. He really loves you.”

Draco paused. The words hung in the air between them. He really loves you. Scorpius. She had to remind herself that he meant Scorpius. But still, the word lingered. The more time she spent with Draco and Scorpius, the more she could not imagine being away from them. She loved Scorpius immensely. Did she love his father too?

It was too late in the evening to consider such things. She suddenly realized that she was in bed, in a camisole and shorts, tucked under the covers while Draco watched from a nearby chair. He seemed to realize this, too, and he cleared his throat, standing from the chair. He stepped over to her and leaned down to kiss her cheek, but before he could pull away, her hand found his face, pulling him close.

Draco was frozen for a moment, his face inches from hers. Slowly, as though waiting for her to screech for him to leave, he sank down onto the bed next to her. It was intimate, sharing such a space. One of his hands was resting on the bed next to her, the mattress denting down with his weight, and his other hand found her waist.

Draco leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Her hands snaked behind his neck, her mouth opening slightly, seeking more depth from his kiss. Her skin began to heat, and when she heard a soft groan in the back of his throat, she pulled herself closer to him, her breasts against his chest. Hermione could hear her own whimpers, and he inhaled them greedily, his tongue finding hers more boldly than it had before.

The hand he had at her waist tightened, each fingertip pressing into her skin, and then, she began to lay back on her pillow, taking him with her. Without breaking their kiss, he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs and pushing his hips down to hers, craving friction.

Their kissing was careening down a path they’d been on before, a night slightly tipsy from expensive scotch and champagne, a misguided effort to keep loneliness at bay, and thinking of that night, of the rushed sex that had gotten them into this situation, she broke the kiss and pushed back against his chest.

“Stop,” she said quietly.

Draco pulled away immediately, his face stricken.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clambering off her and standing from the bed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Draco,” she interrupted, reaching out for his hand before he could race away from her. “I do want this. I want this with you, but just… not tonight, alright? I want us to take our time.”

He was staring at her face, his grey eyes still slightly panicked, his breathing uneven, and her eyes raked down his body, snagging on the bulge in his sweatpants. Hermione bit her lip and returned her gaze to his face.

“I really don’t want to mess this up,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I want us to get it right.”

Draco softened. He sank down onto the bed again, brushing a curl away from her face. His fingers traveled down her cheek, brushed her shoulder, her waist, and then, came to rest on her belly, where the baby was kicking wildly. A smile slid across his face as he felt the light thumping against his palm.

“I want to get it right, too,” he said.

And with his palm still pressed against her belly, their daughter kicking away merrily underneath, he leaned in and kissed her goodnight, a chaste press of lips before he stood from the bed and left the boudoir, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Chapter 14: twenty-four

Chapter Text

The next two weeks passed similarly and uneventfully. Draco and Hermione ate breakfast with Scorpius in the mornings, quiet and sleepy in the early morning sun. They Flooed to the Institute together, and Hermione spent her days in her office finalising documentation for the security detail they would need post-announcement.

Draco had made it abundantly clear that he would be an integral part of those arrangements.

“You’ll never get a promotion if you just spend your days trailing after me and Theo,” she said.

“I’ll never get a promotion no matter what I do,” he said, brandishing his left forearm about. “And you can’t be more than twenty feet away from me these days, anyway.”

She huffed, but handed him the plans for the press release nonetheless.

They ate lunch with Theo, and sometimes Penn, in Diagon Alley before returning to her office, Draco taking up his position as potted plant in the corner, and they left work at five sharp to relieve Nanny Kate of her duties. Scorpius would be starting primary school on the first of September, and leaving Malfoy Manor and Nanny Kate was weighing heavily on his mind.

“I’ll be away from home all day?” he asked nearly every morning.

“You’ll make new friends,” said Draco reassuringly. “It’ll be fun.”

And then, every evening, Scorpius would scramble into her bed, burrowing under the covers and listening to her read to him, Crookshanks curled into a ball at her feet and Draco watching from the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe with a contented smile on his face. Then, every night, a brilliant, spectacular kiss from Draco that left her shivering from head to toe and craving more, but he did not push.

As the time of the press release grew closer, Draco grew more anxious, his hand at the hilt of his wand more often than not, eyeing everyone in the Institute with suspicion.

“You have got to relax,” hissed Hermione after he drew his wand on an unsuspecting janitor.

But his worries were not unfounded.

On Friday, Theo did not turn up at work.

Harry and the rest of the Auror department descended on the Research Institute. Schnell reported that Theo never arrived, and there was no sign of him at home. Patronuses were sent: Penn had not seen him, and even the Board of Directors for some of Theo’s many charities were contacted, none of whom had any idea where he’d gone.

Hermione could see Draco beginning to unravel.

“You can’t come with us, Malfoy,” said Harry, pushing Draco back into his chair by the shoulders. “You have to stay with Hermione, and I can’t have her traipsing around England looking for Nott.”

Draco seemed to find this wise but infuriating.

But every employee in the division had to be dragged into the Ministry for questioning, including Hermione herself. They made quite the sight: Harry Potter himself leading the way through the Ministry Atrium, followed by a short line of laboratory interns, and then Hermione Granger, escorted by Draco Malfoy, at the rear. Hermione spotted Penn in an interrogation room as she passed, his face looking ashen and worried.

There was an open door down the hall, and Harry was gesturing toward it, so Hermione walked into the room, Draco close behind her.

“You’re not needed, Malfoy,” said the gruff woman on the other side of the table.

“I’ll stay,” he said.

Draco posted himself in the corner, leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest and one foot crossed over the other, the toe of his leather shoe resting on the floor. Hermione sat, her hands in her lap, picking at a fingernail nervously.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” said the investigator calmly. “We’re just trying find him. Now, tell me, when’s the last time you saw Mr. Nott?”

“At work yesterday,” she said.

“Have you seen him outside of work at all?”

“Not much,” said Hermione. “At Malfoy Manor a couple of weeks ago.”

“Why were you at Malfoy Manor?” she asked.

“I…” said Hermione, and her brow furrowed slightly. “I live there.”

The investigator looked up from her notes, the scratching of her quill pausing. Her eyes flicked to Draco, still standing in the corner.

“Does Potter know about that?” the investigator asked him.

Draco gave a short nod. The investigator continued, asking a string of inoffensive questions, and leaving Hermione feeling less, not more, confident that they would find Theo. A knot of worry had tied itself together in her diaphragm. Theo had always seemed rather invincible, his perpetual air of casual indifference seeming like a shield, so to have him missing weighed on her heart.

After the brief interrogation, they made their way back to the Atrium. There was a small café, and Hermione wanted to settle her nerves. Draco tossed a few coins on the counter, and they took their croissants and drinks (tea for her, coffee for him) to a small table in the corner. Hermione picked at the pastry, sipping tea, and Draco could not stop twirling his wand absently in his fingers.

“For the last time, you’ve got to stop,” she hissed, annoyed.

His fingers froze on his wand, and he leaned back in his chair, head lolling backward to gaze up at the ceiling. Hermione sighed.

“We should go home,” she said, and as Draco looked at her, Hermione noted to herself that ‘home’ now meant Malfoy Manor. “I’m not going to be any use at work. I’m just so worried.”

Her elbows went to the table, and Hermione caught her face in her hands. She could feel the steam from her tea rising, and then, she felt Draco’s fingers on her elbow. His face reflected the same worry that hers did. She felt impotent, powerless.

It was early afternoon by the time they Flooed home. Draco was on edge, nearly insisting that they go through the Floo together, but with quiet reassurance, he allowed her to spin away to Malfoy Manor first. They made their way to the back garden, where Scorpius was running around with Nanny Kate, the kite high in the sky. As they sat, watching Scorpius, Draco reached his hand out across the table. She took it.

It seemed a long time that they sat in silence, but suddenly, a loud crack resonated through the air. Draco was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn. Nanny Kate, too, had heard the crack and cast a shield charm around Scorpius, and Hermione stood, staring at the figure who was kneeling in the middle of the grass at Malfoy Manor.

“Theo!” she cried.

Hermione raced down the stairs two at a time, Draco following closely at her heels. Theo was wobbling unsteadily, attempting to stand, and Hermione was about to reach him when Draco’s voiced called out.

“Stop,” commanded Draco, and Hermione froze.

His wand was trained on Theo’s face, and Theo blinked slowly as he stared at it.

“Is the baby a boy or girl?” asked Draco, his jaw set.

“A girl,” said Theo with a smile, and he tried to stand, but toppled over.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and she wrapped her arms around Theo’s shoulders. He patted her back soothingly.

“Oh, Theo, what happened?” said Hermione, running her hand through Theo’s wavy hair and finding a large bump on the back of his head, making him wince.

Scorpius had come running at them, but Draco caught him round the middle before he could knock Theo further off balance. Nanny Kate immediately ushered Scorpius back into the Manor.

“I need to tell Potter you’re here,” said Draco, and he made to stand. “I’ll go Floo him now.”

“Can’t you send a Patronus?” asked Hermione.

Draco averted his eyes, and Hermione looked at Theo, who shook his head. She understood. Draco could not cast a Patronus. Hermione sighed, taking a deep breath and focusing on a happy memory.

“Expecto Patronum,” she said softly, with a swish of her wand, and a silvery otter appeared. “Theo is at Malfoy Manor. He’s alright. We’ll have him to St. Mungo’s promptly.”

The otter dashed away.

Draco and Hermione both turned to Theo, staring at him expectantly. Theo sank into the grass, resting his weight on his hands behind him, and gave Draco a sheepish look.

“I went to Knockturn Alley this morning before work,” he said, and Draco roared in anger, but Theo cut him off. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I couldn’t very well tell McCartney where I was off to! Malfoy, no one knew where I was going. I have no idea what happened, but one minute I’m walking out of Henley’s Apothecary-”

“You saw Flora Henley?” asked Draco, but Theo barreled on.

“And the next minute, I’m waking up behind Borgin and Burke’s. I did the first thing I could think of. I Apparated here,” said Theo.

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You went to Henley’s Apothecary at dawn, without telling anyone, got Stupefied by an unknown attacker, and then woke up none the worse for wear?” asked Draco.

“I wouldn’t say none the worse,” groused Theo, rubbing at the knot on the back of his head.

None of it made any sense.

A silver stag appeared.

We’re waiting. Where the hell are you?

Draco sighed and stood from the grass, offering his hand to Hermione. Theo grumbled as he stood (“oh, sure, help your pregnant girlfriend instead of your twice attacked best friend.” Hermione chose to ignore his characterisation of her). They headed to the traveling parlor and, one at a time, Flooed to St. Mungo’s. Harry was waiting on the other side.

“What happened?!” he asked.

As they were led to an examination room, Theo told Harry the extent of what had happened. There was not much to the story, and Theo was scolded severely for trying to evade his Auror protection.

“Stunned in the middle of Knockturn Alley, though,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Kind of an amateur-ish thing to do.”

“I thought the same thing,” said Draco. “Theo, are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

“Not really,” said Theo. “No one that sticks out.”

The Healers were looking Theo over, running diagnostic spells and checking his reflexes as he grumbled that he felt fine, thank you very much. Once Theo had been given a clean bill of health, the Healers announced that he’d just need to stay a few hours for observation, and Draco turned to Harry.

“I’m going to Henley’s,” said Draco. “See if they saw anything there.”

Harry nodded.

“Take Hermione,” commanded Harry.

Draco sighed for a moment as though he hadn’t particularly wanted to bring her along, but he nodded his agreement, and they headed to the lobby of St. Mungo’s to Floo to Knockturn Alley.

“I’ll go through first,” he said. “It’s ‘Henley’s Apothecary.’ It’ll spit you out right in the shop. You get lost, send me a Patronus.”

He whooshed away in the flames.

Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bucket and tossed it onto the logs, shouting ‘Henley’s Apothecary’ and feeling the spinning sensation of Floo travel before being dumped unceremoniously in a dimly lit room full of bubbling cauldrons. Her eyes found Draco in the centre of the room, tightly locked in an embrace with a young woman.

And Hermione was doused in jealousy.

It was the same sickening feeling in her stomach that she’d had when she walked into Ron’s bedroom to find him naked with Hope from Magical Transportation. A thumping, roiling nausea coupled with a devastating sensation of insecurity.

Draco was hugging this woman in a tight, intimate embrace, and Hermione was monstrously jealous.

They pulled away from the hug, though the woman still had her hands on Draco’s elbows. She was revoltingly pretty: strawberry blonde hair tied in a ponytail at the top of her head and a beautiful, aristocratic face that screamed Slytherin pureblood.

“How’s Scorpius doing?” asked the woman.

“He’s fine. Doing great,” said Draco, and he stepped away from her, gesturing to Hermione. “Erm, this is Hermione Granger. Not sure if you remember her.”

“I do,” said the woman with an annoyingly cute smile. “You took twenty points off Slytherin from me in my second year.”

“Oh, erm, sorry,” said Hermione.

“It’s alright, I deserved it,” said the woman with a laugh. “I’m Flora Henley.”

Flora had her hand extended for a handshake, and Hermione took it, trying to shrug off the feelings of jealousy that had settled in her stomach. She could not look at Draco, feeling almost embarrassed by her enviousness.

“Why are you two here?” asked Flora.

“Theo Nott was attacked outside your shop this morning,” said Draco, and he pulled out a notepad and a miniature quill, ready to take notes. “Did you see anything?”

“Theo?!” asked Flora, her hand going to her chest in horror. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Draco assured her. “Can you tell me a little about your morning?”

Flora began recounting the morning’s events, which were mostly uneventful.

“Someone did come in just before Theo did, though,” she added, a finger on her chin as she recalled it. “They had a badly done Glamour charm on themselves. I didn’t think a thing of it, though. That kind of thing happens a lot in Knockturn Alley.”

“Did that person see Theo arrive?” asked Draco.

“They surely must have,” said Flora. “Less than a minute between them leaving and Theo arriving.”

Draco asked her to recount the interaction in exacting detail. He was good at his job: he revisited the same moment multiple times to see that her story did not change, and he asked probing questions without putting her on the defensive.

“Like I said, the Glamour charm wasn’t very good. Eyes kept changing. Hair, too,” said Flora. “I have no idea who it was, but if I had to guess, I’d guess they were Muggleborn.”

“Why?” snapped Hermione, her hackles up immediately.

“Just some of the questions they asked,” said Flora, unperturbed by Hermione’s interjection. “Things about family magic and blood magic that Pureblood wizards tend to grow up knowing.”

“What did they ask about blood magic?” Draco pressed.

“They wanted to know if there was a potion that could help them track a family member,” she said. “Wanted a way to track location just by shared blood.”

“Is there a potion that can do that?” Hermione asked.

“Nope,” said Flora, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

Draco was scribbling in the notepad. Flora spotted a cauldron nearly bubbling over and raced to it, stirring it a few times before waving her wand over the top of it. She groaned.

“Dad’s gonna kill me if I’ve ruined it,” said Flora.

“How’s he doing? Your dad?” asked Draco, looking up from his notes.

“He’s good,” she said. “Trying to retire. You should come round the house sometime. Bring Scorpius.”

“Hm,” said Draco. “Yea, maybe.”

There was a bit of a shuffle as Draco put his notepad away and hugged Flora again. She gave Hermione a brilliant smile.

“You know, I’ve got all sorts of things that can help you,” said Flora, gesturing toward Hermione’s belly. “Heartburn, nausea, sleep, aching back. Come see me any time. First one on the house. The Auror special, if you’ll promise not to come by Knockturn Alley more than strictly necessary.”

Flora had given her a little wink.

“Oh, I’m not an-“ Hermione began, but Draco cut her off, just saying, “Thanks. We’ll be off to St. Mungo’s to look in on Theo.”

“Give him my love,” said Flora with a smile.

Hermione went through first, and she found herself counting the seconds until Draco arrived behind her, her mind drifting to all the things that he could be saying to Flora, doing with Flora in her absence. A cramp twinged in her belly, but exactly two-and-a-half minutes later, Draco appeared in the lobby of St. Mungo’s.

Theo was in the process of being discharged. When she and Draco got to his hospital room doorway, they saw that Penn had arrived and was standing in the corner of the room, arms folded and watching Theo with a scowl.

“You should have come to find me,” said Penn. “I’ve been worried sick, and the Aurors nearly arrested me because I was the last one to see you!”

“Oh, Penn, I’m sorry,” said Theo. “I woke up groggy and couldn’t think of anywhere to go but Malfoy Manor.”

Draco knocked on the open door, and Theo and Penn both looked up. Theo was gathering his things.

“Come on, McCartney,” said Theo.

“His name is Schnell,” said Draco, for what must have been the fiftieth time. “Why the f*ck do you keep calling him McCartney?”

“Look at his haircut,” Theo replied. “And listen to his accent! Where are you from, McCartney?”

“Liverpool,” said Schnell dully.

Theo looked vindicated. Hermione snorted a laugh, but Draco looked mystified.

“Theo, I can’t believe you know who Paul McCartney is,” said Hermione with a teasing grin.

“I’m a worldly man, love,” said Theo, kissing the top of her head as he walked past her. “See you Monday!”

Penn was still standing in the room, shaking his head with a grouchy expression.

When Hermione returned to Malfoy Manor, she excused herself and went straight upstairs to her boudoir, assuring Draco that she was well, just needed a moment to rest. Her belly twinged slightly at the distance, but she ignored it, settling into an armchair and pulling out the photo album. She flipped through a few pages, past Astoria’s wedding dress and the pictures of the happy couple, and then, she saw it.

They were at a gala in Theo’s ballroom, the tall ceilings and baroque art a giveaway. Draco was in the center of the photo, and Astoria was to his left, his arm wrapped around her, his hand gripping her waist. They were both smiling brilliantly at the camera. To Draco’s right, though, was Flora Henley. Hermione had not even noticed her the first time she’d seen this photo, but now, the energy in the picture seemed so obvious. Though Draco’s gaze went from the camera to Astoria and back, Flora’s eyes kept traveling to Draco’s face, a sort of longing in her expression that Hermione did not appreciate.

Crookshanks pushed his way into the boudoir, hopping up onto the chair and nuzzling the photo album as though encouraging her to put it away. She snapped it shut and tucked it back where it belonged, though the image of Draco and Flora would not leave her mind.

Chapter 15: twenty-five

Chapter Text

“It’s so f*cking hot,” said Hermione miserably.

“You’re just pregnant, it’s not that bad,” said Theo.

“What are you talking about, it’s hot as f*ck,” replied Draco.

They were walking through Diagon Alley arguing over what to eat for lunch. Hermione was between them, though she half wanted to walk behind them so that at least she could walk in the shade of their towering figures, and Schnell (“McCartney”) followed at the rear.

They sniped at each other until they finally agreed to just go back to the Leaky Cauldron and eat there. After settling down with their food, Theo held out one of his chips toward Schnell’s mouth, who pushed his hand away, excusing himself to the loo.

“Theo, you can’t flirt with Schnell,” said Hermione scoldingly. “He’s your Auror.”

He looked between Hermione and Draco with an expression that said, you’ve got to be joking.

“And you’re dating Penn!” Hermione added, and Theo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Can’t be locked down, Hermione,” he said impatiently.

They all started into their burgers when Schnell returned. Hermione, still craving vinegar, doused her chips in it, the smell wafting through the air.

“So, the press release,” said Theo. “It’s time. We’re ready.”

“I don’t know,” said Draco. “Maybe we should hold off until we figure out who’s behind the attacks.”

“Caitlin gave us one month,” said Theo, and Hermione hissed an angry noise at mention of this name. “The press release needs to happen next week. Hermione has the security measures all planned out, and yes, of course, you’re going to be involved, but you have a career, Draco. You can’t just abandon it to follow us around.

“For the next fifteen weeks I can,” he replied sullenly.

Theo nodded, conceding the point. After their burgers were eaten, Theo stood from the table and led Draco, Hermione, and Schnell across the pub to the fireplace.

“See you back at the Institute,” he said.

“Oh, we’re going to St. Mungo’s. I have an appointment with a Healer,” said Hermione.

Theo stopped short, spinning on his heel to look at her, his expression worried.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” said Hermione. “It’s routine to go in at 25 weeks along.”

“Hm,” said Theo, gazing at her in concern before throwing on an indifferent air and shrugging. “Well, not all of us have an excuse to get out of an afternoon’s work.”

Theo threw her a wink and Apparated away with a loud crack, and Schnell grumbled a bit before Apparating away as well. Hermione and Draco went through the Floo to St. Mungo’s one at a time. They made their way to the obstetrics ward.

“Hermione Granger, here for an appointment,” she said as Draco stood behind her.

“This way,” said the receptionist with a smile.

Hermione was escorted into a room with a long bench, a thin layer of paper on top of it for her to sit on. The paper crinkled as she sat, and Draco took a seat in the chair against the wall. A nurse asked her some basic questions and ran a diagnostic spell before leaving to fetch the Healer.

It was a long wait. Draco was fidgeting, twirling his wand in his fingers, and Hermione was kicking the bench absently, but eventually, the Healer bustled into the room.

“Hello, Ms. Granger! How are you feeling?” asked the Healer, waving her wand to conjure a small stool and sitting down on it.

“Fine,” said Hermione. “No problems, really. Other than…”

Hermione trailed off, glancing at Draco. The Healer had an expectant expression on her face.

“Other than?”

Hermione sighed.

“It’s a magically entwined pregnancy,” said Hermione. “We realized a few weeks ago. I can’t be more than about twenty feet from him.”

“Hm. I had a suspicion when you were admitted a while back,” said the Healer, and then, she turned to Draco. “So, you’re dad?”

Draco stiffened slightly, and his hand subconsciously went to his left forearm as though to conceal the Dark Mark, even as it was hidden under his shirt sleeves. He jerked his head in a nod.

“Draco Malfoy, right?” the Healer said.

He nodded. The Healer pressed her lips together, not saying anything, but Hermione did not need Legilimency to know what she was thinking. It was rather well known that Draco Malfoy’s first wife had died in childbirth.

“Well, there’s nothing much to be done other than stay together,” said the Healer. “I will tell you that most of these types of pregnancies deliver early. We’ll start keeping a close eye on you at about thirty-four weeks or so.”

Hermione nodded, her hand going to her baby and rubbing at the bump. The Healer conjured a few pamphlets on magically entwined pregnancy, the information rather redundant after what she’d learned from Narcissa’s many books, but Hermione took them gratefully, nonetheless.

“See you in six weeks,” said the Healer, patting Hermione’s knee.

That evening at bedtime, Scorpius flew into her boudoir, Crookshanks hot on his heels. He tossed his book at Hermione as he dived into the bed, and it flew in a perfect arc into her hands.

“You’ll make a good Chaser,” said Hermione.

“You really think so?” Scorpius said eagerly.

Draco was leaning in the doorframe and watching with a small smile on his face. Hermione tucked Scorpius’s head under her chin and began to read, earning his giggles at all the right places and cherishing them almost as much as the rare laughter she earned from his father. When the book ended, she closed it and set it on the table next to her bed, resting her head against Scorpius’s as he nestled in closer to her.

“Is this what it’s like to have a mother?” asked Scorpius contentedly against her chest.

Hermione closed her eyes for just a moment, and when she opened them, she saw that Draco was leaning his head against the doorframe, trying to maintain his composure. Hermione was not sure how to answer this question, how to reassure him without overstepping.

“Well,” said Hermione, and then, she cleared her throat to dispel the quaver in her voice. “I used to read in bed with my mother every night, so it is a little bit.”

“I like it,” said Scorpius gladly.

Draco let out a choked noise from the doorway, and he disappeared into the bathroom. Scorpius had not noticed anything was amiss, and she stroked his silky blond hair softly.

“Go back to your room,” said Hermione, nudging him gently. “I’m sure Nanny Kate is waiting.”

Scorpius hopped off the bed and scampered out of the room, and once he was gone, Hermione stood and gently opened the door to Draco’s closet. She walked through the closet, through the bathroom, and then, she reached the door to his bedroom. She had not yet been inside. It was ajar, and she pulled it open slightly, knocking to alert him of her presence.

He was sitting on a chair in the corner next to the window, and he had a glass of scotch in his hand, swirling it around a cube of ice.

“Come on in,” he said, and he turned in his chair. “Sorry. I always wonder, you know, should I be over it by now? How does him saying something like that affect me so badly, even five years later?”

“Draco, don’t be sorry,” said Hermione. “He’s just asked what it’s like to have a mother. That almost broke my heart, and she wasn’t even my wife.”

He let out a soft exhale of laughter, and her heart warmed. He jerked his head, gesturing to her to join him, and as she approached, she found herself sinking not into the armchair across from him but into his lap. There was a note of surprise in Draco’s expression, but he set his scotch down and wrapped his arms around her.

Hermione looked into his grey eyes. They were full of warmth and tenderness, and she could feel the press of his fingers on her ribs. She brought her lips close to his, tasting the smokiness of whiskey on his breath, and she kissed him.

She would never tire of kissing him. His lips were soft yet insistent, his tongue dancing against hers for just a moment. Hermione threaded her hands in his hair, deepening the kiss, and he groaned into her mouth. She moved to straddle him, her thighs bracketing his hips and the swell of her belly pressing into his stomach. Her hands went to his face, holding his jaw as they kissed. Draco’s hands roamed her back before sliding down to her hips, pulling her into him and creating a delicious friction between her legs that made her groan, breaking their kiss.

They were both panting, and Hermione rested her forehead against his, biting her lip to keep from grinning.

“Draco?”

“Hm?”

“This chair isn’t very comfortable,” said Hermione mischievously.

He did not take her meaning. His face fell slightly, and he shifted to help her stand, but she grasped his hands in hers to stop him.

“I bet your bed is pretty luxurious, though,” she said.

She watched the realisation rise in his face, his lips stretching into a sly grin. She was biting her lip again.

“It is,” he said.

Hermione slowly climbed from his chair, one foot at a time sweeping off the seat and to the floor. A nervousness washed over her as Draco stood, taking one of her hands in his and pulling her toward his bed.

It was luxurious.

The sheets were a dark forest green and made of silk, and they slid across her skin as she sank down into it. She began scooting backward on the mattress, watching as he climbed in after her, something rather feral and predatory in the smile on his face. When she reached the head of the bed, Draco positioned himself between her legs and dropped his lips down to hers.

It started as any of their kisses did, a jolt of electricity running through her body at the feel of his lips and tongue against her mouth, but she knew immediately that this kiss was different. That it was a prelude. His fingers sought the hem of her camisole and began their journey underneath it, and her hands flew to his sweatpants, trying to slide them off his hips.

The kiss broke for a moment as he pulled the camisole over her head, an urgency to their movements. His shirt was tugged off, his trousers pulled down, her shorts kicked away, and between each of these, another searing kiss, another chance to have his mouth against hers. She could feel his bare skin against her body as he hiked her leg up around his hips, rocking against her in a desperate bid for friction.

“Please,” she whispered urgently.

He groaned.

“I know we’ve done this before,” he said in a husky voice. “But it feels like the first time.”

She giggled. Draco snaked his hand between her legs, shifting his body so that he could slide a finger along her slit, pausing at her cl*t and making lazy circles there that made her legs quiver. He slipped his knuckles into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her legs, letting his hands slide on her legs as he made his way back up her body, stopping for just a moment to lap his tongue at her centre.

“Please, just f*ck me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“In a rush?” he asked teasingly, his fingers and tongue playing in the wetness between her legs.

A frustrated groan left her throat, and he laughed as he kissed his way back up her body. Hermione took his face in her hands and brought him in for another kiss, the magic in her body thrumming, wanting to be closer to him. As close as she could be. And when he lined up the head of his erection with her entrance, slowly thrusting into her body until he was sheathed inside of her, her body erupted in song.

No, not a song. A symphony.

Like a musician was playing arpeggios along her skin, she felt tremors dancing up and down her body. Draco must have felt something, too, because he was frozen, staring at her with wide eyes as his co*ck filled her. Hermione kissed him again, wrapping her arms behind him and digging her fingernails into his back.

She rocked her hips, pleading for movement.

He complied.

With each thrust, he grunted into her ear, the staccato notes making her shiver. Her ankles were locked behind his back, urging him into a rhythm that brought friction to her cl*t with each thrust. He was groaning, a low baritone deep in his throat, the muscles in his arms shuddering as he held himself above her.

A crescendo was building in her body, her org*sm fueled by the friction, by the rhythm, by the magic vibrating through her like a plucked string. He was driving forward into her, his lips pressing kisses against her ear, along her jaw, and his hands playing in her hair.

“f*ck, please tell me you’re close,” he whispered.

“Almost there,” she moaned.

She could see him tightening every muscle in his body as he fought against the swell of his org*sm, but she was close, so close, and as her body began its climax, it was as though a chorus had erupted around her. Her inner walls pulsed on his co*ck, and a desperate wail clawed its way from his throat as he came inside her, thrusting forward until the waves of his org*sm had released him.

A rhapsody.

They stilled, staring into each other’s eyes, astounded.

“That was…” he said, his softening erection still inside her, his breath heaving.

“Yea,” she murmured.

His head dropped down onto the pillow next to hers, silky strands of his hair tickling the side of her face, and she could feel a grin spreading across her lips unbidden. She could feel his ribs expand as he took a deep breath, and then, he slowly pulled himself from her body, a trickle of wetness between her legs as he did. Hermione began to roll off the bed, but his grip held her fast.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To clean up,” said Hermione.

“Mm,” he groaned, his eyes closed. “Stay.”

Hermione smiled, ignoring the mess between her legs as she snuggled next to him. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her, his fingers skimming across her round belly. Their daughter was kicking fiercely, and Draco chuckled as he watched her thump against the wall of Hermione’s stomach.

“What will we call her?” asked Hermione.

Draco’s expression darkened for just a moment, but his grey eyes met hers.

“It’s not bad luck to talk about it?” he said, and she saw a note of pleading in his face. Begging her to tell him she would not leave him alone with their baby.

“Of course not,” said Hermione, cupping his face with her palm.

He relaxed a bit, his eyes falling closed.

“A constellation? A star?” asked Hermione, and Draco smiled, resuming his fingers’ path along her belly. “Cassiopeia. Carina. Moira. Celeste. Astrid.”

But she realized that Draco’s fingers had stopped moving. He was sound asleep.

Chapter 16: twenty-six

Chapter Text

They could not keep their hands off each other after that.

Though Hermione kept her things in her boudoir, and she maintained the evening tradition of reading to Scorpius in her bed, as soon as he was in his room, she immediately scarpered off into Draco’s bedroom where he would play a symphony on her body with his fingers and his mouth and his co*ck. Learning each other’s bodies was an ecstasy-inducing delight, as he found the ways to curl his tongue on her cl*t to make her whine and she discovered that she could call a delectable moan from his throat if she wrapped her lips around his shaft just so.

But she learned other things as well. When she saw a pained expression on his face yet again as she threaded her fingers through his hair, she paused to ask him about it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, averting his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I really do. It’s just that… well, Astoria used to do it.”

“Do you want me to stop?” she said, pulling her hands from his head.

“No,” he insisted, and he took her hands and moved them back into his hair. “It’s a good memory, even if it hurts. Does it bother you to hear it?”

“Not even a little,” said Hermione with a reassuring smile.

Though Theo was crowing with delight when he recognized the look of two people who had finally started shagging on the regular, he soon grew rather exasperated with the way that Draco and Hermione could not stop touching each other.

“Salazar’s rod,” he cursed when he walked into his office to find Hermione perched on Theo’s desk, Draco in between her thighs and kissing her deeply. “I’m happy for you, I really am, but not on my desk!”

Draco and Hermione broke apart like guilty teenagers.

“Come on,” grumbled Theo, grabbing the parchments from his desk and stalking out of the office.

Draco and Hermione followed him, Schnell joining them as they made their way to the press room of the Research Institute. As soon as Theo waved his wand at the double doors to open them, a slurry of camera clicks filled the air.

The security measures were, in Hermione’s opinion, overkill, but neither Draco nor Theo would hear of a pregnant woman standing in front of such a crowd without every possible precaution. There was a shimmering shield charm between the podium and the crowd, and there were several hired security guards, plus additional Aurors, on stage. Harry was one of them, and he sent a lopsided grin her way when she climbed the stairs.

It was Theo’s project, really, so he was the one giving the press conference. Hermione’s eyes scanned the audience looking for familiar faces. Caitlin was there, of course, and Neville was in the third row. There was Dennis Creevey, staring at her with a camera in his hands and looking so much like his brother. Hermione was also surprised to see Flora Henley in the back corner, smiling ear to ear as she caught sight of Draco. Hermione’s stomach clenched, and half of her wanted to drag Draco’s mouth to hers for a kiss just to show the young woman who he belonged to.

She shook her head the clear the thought.

Theo’s winning smile and easiness in front of a crowd had won the audience over immediately, and they were laughing at all the right moments in his prepared speech, but a hush did descend over them as he described the new Time Turner. The reporters gathered immediately launched into questions.

“Do you worry about how such a device could be used?” asked one.

“Are there plans to offer them for sale?” said another.

“What if a former Death Eater got his hands on it?” said a reporter, and his eyes were zeroed in on Draco.

His hand flicked unconsciously to his left forearm.

“The most stringent security protocols have been put in place,” said Theo reassuringly.

“What kind of protocols?” came a voice from the crowd.

“Now, come on,” said Theo, winking to the audience. “They wouldn’t be very good if I described them to you in detail, would they?”

This earned a titter of laughter. The audience, however, seemed to grow tired of asking questions about the Time Turner, because the next question was directed at her.

“Speaking of Death Eaters,” said a reporter, “Ms. Granger, is it true that you’re pregnant with Draco Malfoy’s baby?”

Hermione felt her skin flush.

“That is a highly inappropriate question for a setting like this,” scolded Theo, holding up a finger, and then, he jerked his head slightly and adjusted the button on his suit coat. “We’re finished here.”

Theo stepped out from the podium, gesturing to Hermione that she should go first, and she was keenly aware of the fact that her belly preceded her down the stairs and out the side door. Draco and Schnell were following behind them, their eyes scanning the crowd.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” said Theo, shrugging a bit to adjust the shoulders of his suit.

Hermione sighed.

“I think we’re done for today,” said Hermione, and she checked the watch on her wrist. “We’ve got to get home. We’ve got a party to go to.”

Draco groaned and rolled his eyes, but he dutifully followed her to the Floo network at the Institute. Hermione tossed a handful of Floo powder onto the logs and spun in place until she arrived at Malfoy Manor. She felt the light twinge in her abdomen, manageable but noticeable, and it dissipated as soon as Draco appeared. The baby kicked merrily.

Hermione fell into his arms.

“I’m sorry for what they said,” she murmured into his chest.

She felt him shift, adjusting his head so that his chin was tucked against the top of her head, his hands grasping her tightly. Scorpius bounded into the room, wrapping his arms around them both, and they brought him in for a tight hug, tucking him in between them.

“Hey, Scorp,” said Draco.

“Hey, Dad,” he said.

Hermione spotted Nanny Kate in the doorway, gazing at the three of them with a happy, wistful smile. Hermione ruffled Scorpius’s hair and knelt in front of him, bringing herself to his eye level.

“Where’s Crookshanks?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

“He killed a bird today!” said Scorpius excitedly. “He left it on the veranda!”

She caught Draco’s horrified expression as she stood, Scorpius leaning into her side. Montgomery the butler appeared, extending something out toward Draco.

“A letter came via owl today, sir,” said Montgomery, handing Draco an envelope.

The script on the front of it was bubbly and looping, almost certainly a woman’s. He folded it in half and tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

“Who’s it from?” she asked.

“Flora,” said Draco calmly, and Hermione felt a roar of jealousy in her belly, but Draco just turned back to Scorpius. “Go and get your shoes on. We’ve got to get to the birthday party.”

Scorpius yelped with joy and disappeared with Nanny Kate, and Draco turned to her. She could feel a grin stretching across her face as she looked up into his exasperated expression. Draco Malfoy and his son were going with her to Harry’s birthday party.

The word had spread fairly well that Hermione was pregnant, and Harry assured her that the Weasleys and other assorted guests had been warned not to hound her about the circ*mstances surrounding her pregnancy. She, in turn, had thrust her index finger in Draco’s face and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to be nice and polite to everyone in attendance.

“Even your two-timing ex-boyfriend?” he had asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Even him,” Hermione had said, though her lips were quirking into a grin. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you made sure you’re in his eyeline when you kiss me.”

Though Draco had muttered something about not wanting to be “dangled about” in front of Ron for revenge, she had a feeling he was keen for the challenge.

There was some discussion at the fireplace of how they should Floo through. Scorpius, of course, simply insisted that he was big enough to go through by himself, without an adult, and as he argued with his father over it, Hermione could see the makings of an epic tantrum, so she stepped in.

“Scorpius,” said Hermione, and he froze, glaring at her. “I wonder if you might help me and your baby sister through the Floo?”

He had some scepticism in his face, but he glanced down at her rounded belly and seemed to take the responsibility to heart. Draco gave her a relieved smile and held the bucket out, but Hermione did not take a handful of powder. Instead, she looked at Scorpius, waiting for him to do it.

“Let’s practice what to say, alright?” she said, and together, they spoke Harry’s address aloud a few times before heading to the logs.

Draco caught her arm for a moment.

“You get lost, send me a Patronus, alright?” he said, and she nodded.

Though Scorpius garbled the words “Grimmauld Place” a bit, they still managed to get to Harry’s fireplace none the worse for wear, and Hermione and Scorpius stepped out together. The room went totally silent, every face staring at Hermione standing next to a blond-haired boy who looked exactly like a miniature Draco. It was as though they had not fully believed her situation until they saw her holding hands with Scorpius Malfoy.

“Hi, everyone,” said Hermione with a smile, and Scorpius had glued himself to her side. “This is Scorpius.”

There was a chorus of “Hello, Scorpius!” around the room. Harry made his way across the room to her and hugged her tightly.

“James is in the kitchen,” said Harry, and he bent down to Scorpius’s height. “I’ve got a little boy just a bit smaller than you, but he’s got a training broom. Maybe you could teach him how to ride?”

Hermione saw a tiny smile on Scorpius’s lips, and she felt an almost imperceptible nod against her leg.

“Oh, ’is hair is beautiful,” Fleur said in accented English. “Could be a Veela almost.”

Scorpius had not moved from his place against Hermione’s leg. The fireplace blazed to life again shortly, and Draco’s eyes had searched the room, his expression relaxing when he spotted Hermione and Scorpius.

“Hey, Malfoy,” said Harry, extending his hand in a handshake.

The handshake dispelled the tension in the room, and everyone went back to their conversations. Hermione scanned the room, spotting most of the Weasleys scattered around, though not Ron or Ginny.

“Pansy’s in the dining room,” offered Harry, clapping Draco on the shoulder. “Not entirely Gryffindor energy around here.”

“Thanks,” said Draco.

Scorpius was still holding onto Hermione, but as both Malfoy men looked at her for a clue as to what they should be doing next. Hermione unwrapped Scorpius’s arms from her thigh and took his hand, tugging him along toward the kitchen.

“Draco!” said Pansy happily when she spotted him, a bundle of baby in her arms. “Potter said you’d be here, but I didn’t believe him.”

Pansy’s eyes swept down to Hermione’s belly.

“I didn’t believe him about that either,” Pansy said with a smirk, winking at Hermione. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” said Hermione uncomfortably.

She looked down at Scorpius and saw that his eyes were on James and Victoire, who were standing on a stepstool together and fighting over who would be allowed to stir the cake batter that Molly Weasley was preparing. Draco and Pansy began chatting, and Hermione leaned down to Scorpius’s ear.

“I bet you could help,” said Hermione. “Would you like to?”

Scorpius hesitated. Her heart swelled and ached at the same time, seeing her sweet Scorpius standing in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, fighting to overcome painful shyness. And then, she paused, realizing that she’d just thought of Scorpius as hers. She banished the thought.

“What if I come with you?” she added.

He nodded.

Hermione led Scorpius along by his hand until they reached Molly and two of her grandchildren. James was shouting “MINE!” and snatching the spoon. Victoire, who was perhaps a year older than Scorpius, was making an impassioned case to her grandmother that she should be allowed to stir the cake. Molly, looking a bit frazzled, spotted Scorpius approaching. She smiled a very grandmotherly smile.

“Let’s let this one have a go,” said Molly, beaming at Scorpius.

Molly waved her wand so that another stool appeared, and she handed the spoon to him. He began to stir, uncertainty in his movements, the spoon barely dipping down into the batter. Victoire pushed his hand along, and he giggled as batter began slopping around the sides of the bowl. Molly sighed in defeat.

“I’ll just make another one,” she said, and then, she lifted her eyes to Hermione. “How are you feeling, dear? How far along are you now?”

“About six months,” said Hermione. “And I’m doing alright. Just… I have to stay close to…”

Her eyes flitted to Draco, who was still chatting with Pansy. He was not watching her or Scorpius, and Hermione found this both unusual and reassuring: he trusted her enough with his son that he did not feel the need to hover.

“I understand, dear,” said Molly. “It was the same for Fleur and Bill. You should talk to her and have him talk to Bill.”

This was not a bad suggestion. For all that Hermione had Narcissa to ask about the intricacies of a magically entwined pregnancy, Draco could not exactly ask his father for advice.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a fit of mad giggles from Victoire and Scorpius. She turned her head to see that the bowl of cake batter had overturned and most of it had slopped down James’s shirt. James seemed unfazed. In fact, he was trying to lick the cake batter off his arms. Ginny chose that moment to enter the room, and she groaned.

“Who did this?” said Ginny.

Victoire and Scorpius both pointed to each other. Ginny’s face softened into a broad smile. She took a finger and dragged it through the cake batter on James’s shirt, and then tapped her finger on both the older children’s noses, leaving a tiny spot of chocolate on each. Scorpius and Victoire giggled again.

She felt Draco’s presence behind her. He was staring down at Scorpius rather sternly.

“Relax, Malfoy. They’re having fun,” said Ginny, waving her wand at James to clean him of the chocolate batter. “Let’s get them all outside where they can’t get into as much trouble.”

The back garden at Grimmauld Place wasn’t particularly large, but it was big enough for a group of children to run around chasing each other. Hermione spotted Bill sitting at a table alone, and when he saw them all coming outside, she could swear she saw him frantically putting out a cigarette under his chair. Hermione dragged Draco along to join him.

“Hey, Bill,” said Hermione. “You know Draco Malfoy?”

“Not properly,” said Bill, and he stood from the chair and extended his hand. “Bill Weasley.”

“Draco Malfoy,” said Draco, and he stared at the handshake curiously, as though he hadn’t actually expected to be greeted kindly by everyone at Harry’s birthday party.

“Bill, I wonder if you might keep Draco company for a bit?” she said. “You know, I’m not sure how much you’ve heard about… well, erm, this.”

Hermione gestured to her belly.

“But it’s the same kind of pregnancy that Fleur had,” said Hermione. Bill’s expression darkened for a moment. “I thought you might have some advice for him.”

Bill nodded, gesturing to the chair across the table. Hermione patted Draco’s shoulder before heading out into the garden to watch the children with Ginny. The three kids had become fast friends, James trying to keep up with the older two, and Victoire acting as the clear ringleader of the pack.

“So,” said Ginny, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. “Things going well, then?”

“Mm,” said Hermione, a hint of a smirk on her face.

Ginny twisted around behind her, glancing at where Bill and Draco were deep in conversation.

“Don’t tell Harry I’ve said it, but Merlin, he’s good-looking,” said Ginny conspiratorially.

“You should see him naked,” she replied with a wink.

Ginny shrieked, giggling wildly.

Draco and Scorpius did not stick out as badly as Hermione had feared. Bill took Draco under his wing for most of the evening, and Scorpius and Victoire had such similar hair that they could have been cousins themselves. The children were having so much fun that they almost didn’t want to stop for cake, but after “Happy Birthday” had been sung, and candles blown out, Scorpius and Victoire both stood at the edge of the counter, waiting for a slice.

“Be patient, Scorp,” said Draco in his fatherly voice, the one that made Hermione’s heart melt.

And as everyone settled in with a slice of cake, Hermione rested her back against Draco’s chest, watching Scorpius and Victoire giggle happily. She saw Pansy across the room, watching her and Draco with a knowing smirk, and then, she caught sight of Ron and Hope. Ron was seated in a chair, looking rather grouchy, but he was right in their eyeline. Draco seemed to realize this as well, and so, he leaned his head down next to hers, his warm breath tickling the side of her face, and placed a slow, tender kiss on her temple, one of his hands grasping her hip tightly. Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning.

Chapter 17: twenty-seven

Chapter Text

“Theo, are you going or staying?” she asked. “Narcissa will be over soon.”

“Yes, I know, and you’ve got to finish up a quickie before she arrives,” said Theo with a wink, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Hush,” she scolded. “I’m sure she’d love to see you. Stay?”

“Of course,” said Theo, leaning back in his armchair and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Besides, if I wanted to see knockers that big anywhere else, I’d probably have to pay for the privilege!”

“You don’t even like knockers,” said Hermione.

“I didn’t think I did, but looking at yours-”

“Don’t finish that thought,” said Draco from the opposite side of the room, and Theo chuckled.

Hermione swatted Theo with a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet and adjusted her shirt, though it was true that almost nothing could contain her breasts anymore.

Narcissa arrived via Floo precisely on schedule. She stepped out of the fireplace and patted her clothes before nearly being bowled over by Scorpius’s embrace. The two of them shared a quiet word, and Scorpius giggled madly before tearing out of the room. Draco lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Never you mind,” said Narcissa primly.

She hugged her son first, and then, she received a huge bear hug from Theo, nearly lifting her off her feet and making Narcissa laugh brightly. Finally, Narcissa turned to Hermione, placing her hands on Hermione’s upper arms. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing well,” she replied.

Narcissa held a hand toward Hermione’s belly, glancing up quickly for permission. Hermione nodded, and she felt the press of Narcissa’s hand against her, the baby kicking happily. Narcissa let out a squeal of joy that seemed so out of character that Hermione giggled. Everything that Draco and Theo had said about Narcissa with her grandchildren was true.

“And you’re living here now, correct?” said Narcissa as they walked toward the dining room.

Hermione nodded, and when Draco told his mother that Hermione was staying in Astoria’s boudoir, she caught an expression on Narcissa’s face that started as surprise but slowly crept into a knowing satisfaction. Hermione was not sure she liked that look on Narcissa’s face, so she decided to change the subject.

“Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Narcissa, please.”

“Narcissa,” she said. “The Healer said that most magically entwined pregnancies don’t make it to full term. Would you mind… I mean, with Draco… did you…”

“Draco was born five weeks early,” said Narcissa, patting her hand. “But he was absolutely fine. Don’t fret about it, darling.”

Draco looked like he was about to start fretting.

Scorpius joined them at the dinner table, and Hermione mostly kept quiet, feeling somewhat like an interloper at a family dinner. Narcissa, Draco, Theo, and Scorpius chatted animatedly, catching each other up on their lives. Narcissa was loving life in France with her distant Black family cousins, Scorpius was still fretting about starting at the Agrippa School in a couple of weeks, Theo told her about the press conference, and Draco recounted the Auror assignment that kept him trailing after Hermione and Theo everywhere they went.

“Oh, and I saw Flora Henley,” said Draco in a voice that seemed almost intentionally casual, though Hermione wondered if she was reading too much into it.

“Flora Henley?” said Narcissa with a raised eyebrow. “And how is she?”

“Yes, how is dear Flora, Draco?” asked Theo in a syrupy voice.

“She’s fine,” he replied, ignoring Theo. “She’s taking over her father’s shop in Knockturn Alley.”

“Hm,” said Narcissa, sipping at her wine, and then she turned to Hermione. “Pansy Parkinson, Flora Henley, Violet Selwyn. Half the pureblood families who had daughters around Draco’s age named them after a flower.”

Hermione did not understand. Draco had his jaw set as though he’d heard this all before. Narcissa smiled into her wine glass and continued.

“They all saw that I was the only Black to be named after a flower,” she continued. “So, they thought maybe if they named their daughters similarly, it would be easier to catch a Malfoy.”

“I’m sorry, ‘catch a Malfoy’?” asked Hermione, still feeling half a step behind.

Draco groaned, leaning back into his chair and taking a gulp of scotch.

“Draco is heir to the biggest wizarding fortune in Britain,” said Theo. “And those families all wanted a piece of it. What better way to try to snag him than to win over his mother?”

“Fishing for wealthy airs, and using absurd naming conventions as bait,” added Draco with another swig from his glass.

“It came close to working out for Pansy, dear,” said Narcissa with a wink.

Hermione shook her head.

“I’ll never understand pureblood culture,” she said, almost to herself.

Narcissa laughed.

But though the evening was full of laughter and lightness, after Scorpius had been shuffled off to bed, the conversation turned more serious.

“Draco, your father is up for parole next month,” said Narcissa.

Draco stiffened in his seat, and a jolt of worry flashed through her mind. If Lucius were released from Azkaban, what would happen to her? Would he return to Malfoy Manor? Her anxiety felt like a leaden weight in her stomach, as though all the delicious food she’d eaten at dinner had solidified into a mass in her belly.

The baby rolled inside her. From his place beside her, Theo reached over to take her hand, squeezing it once and throwing her a comforting wink. Draco’s elbow was on the table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He doesn’t know about the baby,” said Narcissa, glancing at Hermione. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to tell him.”

“If he’s released from Azkaban, he can’t come here,” said Draco. “Not until I know he won’t…”

Draco trailed off, but Narcissa knew his mind well enough to reassure him.

“Draco, he’s not going to approve of this,” said Narcissa, gesturing between him and Hermione. “But he won’t do anything about it. He won’t hurt her. Blood is blood.”

“Even when it’s dirty?” snapped Draco acidly, and Hermione felt the sting of his words. Theo’s hand squeezed hers again.

“Even then,” said Narcissa in a soothing tone.

Draco clenched his jaw. Hermione’s free hand was stroking her belly, drawing runes on top of it as the baby squirmed inside her.

“His hearing is in five weeks,” said Narcissa. “I’ll be back in England for it. If he’s released, I can’t take him to France. He won’t be able to leave the country.”

“Take the cottage in Yorkshire,” said Draco, but Narcissa didn’t look convinced.

“Or take my loft in London,” offered Theo. “I bought it a couple of years ago but haven’t even used it. It’s very fancy. Horribly nouveau riche. Modern art floor to ceiling.”

Narcissa snorted a laugh, but she gave a bit of a shrug.

“The Yorkshire estate is more likely, I think,” she said.

“At least until we’re all sure that Hermione and the baby will be safe and happy,” said Theo.

Draco was twirling his wand in his fingers again, brooding silently. Montgomery appeared, another envelope in his hand with the same swooping, feminine writing. Draco held his hand out to take the letter, folding it once and tucking it into his pocket without reading it.

He was saving the letters for later. Hermione’s heart wrenched further.

It was Theo who spotted her shift in mood, and as the dinner was ending, Narcissa standing and kissing Draco’s cheek, he pulled her aside. Theo tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” she lied. “Theo, how’s Penn? I haven’t seen him around much.”

“Ah, well,” shrugged Theo. “I can’t be locked down, you know. And he was starting to feel like a chain.”

“Theo, he loves you,” said Hermione.

Theo gave a very overdramatic shudder.

“Don’t say things like that,” he hissed, though he was grinning madly, and Hermione laughed. “Do you suppose McCartney’s single?”

Hermione smacked him on the arm.

Scorpius had raced back into the room to hug Narcissa and Theo before they left, and Narcissa pressed her hand against her belly again, feeling the baby kick her resoundingly.

“Have Draco sing to her,” said Narcissa. “She can hear it.”

Hermione could not really imagine Draco Malfoy singing to anyone, much less to her belly, but she promised to suggest it.

That night, Draco was not hovering in the doorway as she read to Scorpius, so after she sent him scurrying off to bed, she pushed the door open to his bedroom to see him seated in the armchair by the window reading the letter from Flora. She tried to suppress the jealousy in the pit of her stomach, trying not to think of Narcissa’s words and of the pureblood families with daughters Draco’s age who would still love to “catch a Malfoy.” She knocked gently on his door, and Draco looked up, a smile creeping across his lips.

“Hey,” he said softly, folding the letter and tucking it away again.

“Hey,” she replied, biting her lip nervously.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head briskly, willing herself not to think of it. Her mind had been racing with thoughts of Flora Henley, a vision in Slytherin beauty, stealing glances at him in a photograph, smiling at him from the audience of their press conference. She was born and bred to be a Malfoy’s wife. Now that Draco had Flora back in his life, what was stopping him from deciding he’d rather have a pureblood witch in his bed?

Hermione’s hand rested on her belly. The baby. The baby was all that was stopping him.

“Is the baby alright?” he asked, as though giving voice to her worries.

“She’s fine,” said Hermione. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Oh,” said Draco, his face crestfallen. “Of course.”

“Good night, Draco,” she said quietly.

He smiled softly at her, a smile that made her heart swell with warmth. She realized just how much she had grown to… love him. It terrified her. She had loved Ron, and he had broken her heart. Now, she panicked that Draco was going to break it again. Still, his grey eyes sparkled as he grinned.

“Good night, Hermione.”

~

On Sunday morning, Hermione woke up to Scorpius leaping into bed with her and burrowing under the covers.

“Sugar cereal today?” she asked quietly.

“Yes!” he said excitedly.

“And then this afternoon, the baby christening,” said Hermione.

Scorpius pursed his lips. He did not look impressed.

They climbed out of bed together, Hermione ushering him into the hall so she could pull on her clothes. As she pulled her jeans from the drawer in the closet, she could see that the door to Draco’s room was ajar, but the lights were dim, so she assumed he was still sleeping. Making her way into the corridor, Scorpius grasped her hand, and they trotted down the staircase together.

“What’s a baby christening like?” asked Scorpius as they walked.

“I’ve never been to one for wizards before,” said Hermione, and then, she leaned down conspiratorially. “But the ones for Muggles are very boring.”

Scorpius had finished his sugar cereal and dragged Hermione by the hand to the back garden, and Draco still had not made an appearance. They sat on the stone steps, staring up into the sky and finding clouds shaped like lions and serpents and turtles. Crookshanks made his way out to them, winding around their legs and nuzzling into their hands to be pet.

“Can we fly?” asked Scorpius.

Hermione bit her lip, uncertain. She was not sure about letting Scorpius fly without Draco around, but Scorpius was staring at her with his most winning smile, one that reminded her so much of Draco that it hurt, and she could not say no. They wandered to a shed on the grounds and pulled out Scorpius’s training broom.

“Watch this!” said Scorpius, and he zoomed off in a move that terrified her.

Though she craved to shout at him to be careful, she swallowed the words. His blond hair was waving in the wind as he laughed, making figure-eights around her. She finally sat down on the grass and watched him, trusting that he knew his limits. At last, he pulled the broom up to a halt beside her and dismounted.

“Want to try?”

“Oh, no,” said Hermione immediately. “No thank you.”

He collapsed into the grass next to her, picking a few blades off and tearing them to bits, tossing the remains onto the ground. He rested his head beside her, and she wrapped an arm around him.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he said it.

“I love you.”

His voice was small, but his words were confident. He said them so easily, leading with his emotions in a way that made Hermione certain he would not be sorted into Slytherin. Her lips quirked into a smile as she squeezed him closer.

“I love you, too, Scorp,” she said.

After a long while of staring at the clouds, Hermione began to wonder where Draco was. It was approaching lunchtime, and she still hadn’t seen him. It was unusual, especially on a Sunday. Hermione and Scorpius returned the training broom to the shed and traipsed across the grounds, back up the stone steps and into Malfoy Manor for lunch.

But when they reached the table, Hermione froze. Seated at the head of the table was Draco, looking through the newspaper, and in the chair next to him was Flora Henley.

Chapter 18: twenty-seven & one

Chapter Text

“You could have said that you were having another baby,” scolded Flora. “I feel like a right idiot.”

“It didn’t come up,” said Draco absently.

Hermione was watching them chat and feeling out-of-step, wondering if Draco had been with Flora all morning while she’d been outside with Scorpius. Had he seen her the night before, after she’d gone to bed?

“I’m going to have a sister!” said Scorpius over his sandwich.

Draco pursed his lips, and Hermione tried to read his expression, but she couldn’t. Was he annoyed at Scorpius for revealing this? Annoyed at Hermione for bringing him in and interrupting his lunch with Flora? She watched his face, willing him to look up at her, but his eyes were glued on the newspaper.

“And I had no idea you two had anything going on,” Flora said to Draco, her eyes flickering over to Hermione. “You hide it so well!”

Hermione did not take this as any kind of compliment. Flora was smiling angelically. Hermione wanted to ask her why she was at Malfoy Manor, but she did not know how to do so without sounding rude.

Thank goodness for Scorpius.

“Why are you having lunch with us?” he asked bluntly.

Flora laughed, and it was an adorable laugh that set Hermione’s teeth on edge.

“I’m going to Miss Pansy’s baby christening, too,” said Flora. “So, I made plans with your dad for us to go together.”

They had made plans to go together. Draco had been missing all morning. Hermione felt as though her entire body had been doused in petrol, a clammy feeling in her skin and a roil of nausea in her belly. Her mind flitted through images of Ron and Hope in bed together.

She wanted to skip the christening all together.

“Hermione’s going, too!” said Scorpius.

“Of course, she is,” said Draco.

Smelling of grass and wind from her time outside with Scorpius, Hermione went upstairs to get ready for the christening. When she closed the door to the boudoir behind her, she felt tears threatening her eyes. She felt betrayed and stupid. Her hands went to the photo album on the low shelf, flipping through the pages and finding Flora’s face smiling up at her in more than one picture, though Flora’s eyes were always seeking Draco. Had Astoria known about this? Obviously, they had been friends. Hermione felt betrayal on Astoria’s behalf, as well.

Seething with embarrassment and anger, Hermione pulled on her pale pink dress, which hung closely around her belly. When she went into the hall, she saw Scorpius waiting for her, dressed in fine trousers and an adorable button-down shirt. He held out his hand.

Draco was fiddling with his cuff links when she and Scorpius entered the traveling parlor, and Flora was looking annoyingly adorable and frustratingly thin. Hermione could not help but glance down at her growing belly, pressing her lips together.

“Can we Apparate from here?” asked Flora.

“You can,” said Draco offhandedly. “But we’ll take the Floo.”

Flora had a confused look on her face.

“She can’t Apparate,” said Draco in explanation, jerking his thumb at her, and Hermione felt like an inconvenience. “It’s dangerous for the baby.”

Flora nodded. Scorpius went through the Floo with Draco, and Hermione followed. They arrived in a spacious parlor in Neville Longbottom’s home. The Longbottom house was not nearly as grand as Malfoy Manor, but the effect was starkly different from being at Harry’s birthday party at Grimmauld Place. This was not a cozy gathering among friends. This was a society event.

Hermione had never felt so out of place.

But Neville was at her side to greet her in an instant. He had a handsome smile on his face, and Hermione melted into his hug.

“I’m so glad you made it,” said Neville. “And that you brought the family, too. There are about fifty Institute security wizards here, so Malfoy, you’re off duty. Try to have a good time.”

Neville winked at her before flitting away to entertain another guest. Flora had immediately floated into the crowd, greeted at every turn by a perfectly dressed witch or wizard. Draco was accepting a few handshakes from faces that were vaguely familiar to her (Blaise Zabini she recognized, and a woman that she thought might have been a year or two ahead of her at Hogwarts). Scorpius was craning his neck up to watch the stilted, formal greetings, and then, his eyes looked for Hermione in the crowd.

Hermione grinned and held a hand toward him. As Scorpius moved away from his father, she saw Draco’s eyes follow him, and upon seeing that he had made it to Hermione, Draco gave her a small smile before returning to his conversation.

“Let’s go find the baby, hm?” said Hermione, and they milled through the crowd looking for Pansy and baby Augustus.

They had to pause at the table, which was spread with hors d’oeuvres, though Scorpius eyed them with some disdain. It was all very fancy and formal. Hermione spotted a pile of fruit and made Scorpius a plate, and he snacked happily as they moved through the crowd.

“Oh, my, that must be the Malfoy boy!” said a voice.

Hermione stopped, searching for the voice, and saw a trio of witches looking at Scorpius with interest. Hermione placed a hand on his back.

“He’s so precious,” said the woman in the centre of the trio, holding a glass of champagne and gazing beatifically at Scorpius. “Such a shame about his mother.”

Hermione pulled Scorpius closer to her, a swell of anger rising in her at the woman’s words. To bring up such a thing in front of Scorpius! The woman was around her age, though she was not familiar. This was not necessarily surprising. Unless a person her age had been in Gryffindor, or in her year at Hogwarts, she rarely knew them. The same was not true in reverse, however, as few witches or wizards were unaware of Hermione Granger.

“I’m assuming you’re the nanny?” she asked, but Hermione could see in the woman’s face that she knew perfectly well who Hermione was.

“Of course, not, Vi,” said another of the witches. “That’s Hermione Granger.”

“Oh, silly me,” said the first, extending her hand in introduction. “I’m Violet Selwyn.”

Though Hermione shook Violet’s hand politely, she could have groaned, thinking of nothing else but Narcissa’s words about pureblood society daughters being named after flowers to “catch a Malfoy.” Violet glanced down at Scorpius.

“I saw Flora come in with Draco,” said Violet, and the other two women tittered lightly. “Scorpius, you should introduce us to your father.”

Scorpius, for his part, did not respond. His hand found Hermione’s, and she made a vague excuse before taking off through the crowd, Scorpius trotting along beside her. Finally, she spotted Pansy, a small baby in her arms with a round face and bright eyes. Pansy saw her approaching, smiling when her eyes caught sight of Scorpius next to her.

“Hey, Scorp,” said Pansy. “Having fun?”

“Hermione said it would be boring, but it isn’t yet,” said Scorpius, and Hermione flushed while Pansy laughed.

“Yes, well, you arrived after the boring part was over,” said Pansy with a wink.

“Sorry,” said Hermione. “We didn’t think we should bring a five-year old to the ‘boring’ part. Thought he might get antsy.”

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. Hermione and Scorpius took off through the crowd, but she could see he was bored by the drone of small talk among the adults, so they went out into the back garden together. Two security wizards outside the door watched her closely, their arms folded in front of their chests.

Hermione sighed. She had never been to a society event in her life, and she found that she was just as bored as Scorpius, so it was almost a relief to be able to escape with him to the garden. In fact, they both breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them, and the chatter of the party was replaced with the soft sounds of wind through the trees.

“Well, what do you think of the party?” asked Hermione, still holding his hand.

Scorpius wrinkled his nose, and she laughed.

There was a Quaffle lying in the grass out in the center of the garden, and Hermione tugged Scorpius along to it, picking it up and tossing it in his direction. He giggled as it fell through his hands, but then, he sent it soaring back to hers in such a perfect throw that she half wondered if some uncontrolled underage magic had been involved. She wasn’t sure how long she and Scorpius had been throwing the Quaffle, but at some point, she felt a pair of eyes watching her.

Draco.

He was standing outside near the door. He had one hand in his pocket, standing balanced evenly on both feet. His blond fringe was hanging down into his eyes slightly, and she longed to cross the grass to him and push it out of his eyes. He had a familiar contented smile on his face as he watched her and Scorpius toss the Quaffle back and forth.

The door opened and someone must have called his name, because he jerked toward it, removing his hand from his pocket and walking back inside. Hermione suppressed a feeling of jealousy, wondering if it was Flora or Violet, or some other pureblood society witch.

But a few moments later, the door opened again, and Theo stepped out, a handsome smile on his face as he trotted toward them in fancy leather shoes, intercepting the Quaffle mid-arc and scooping Scorpius up into his arms.

“Taken down by a rogue Bludger!” roared Theo, and Scorpius laughed loudly.

Once Scorpius was back on his feet, Theo handed him the Quaffle and stood next to Hermione, taking it in turns with her to throw the Quaffle with him.

“Wow, I should have a kid,” said Theo. “Really good excuse to escape a party.”

“Maybe you should host another gala,” said Hermione in a grouchy voice. “And be ‘good company’ for one of your guests.”

Theo burst out into laughter.

After a while, Scorpius was even bored of throwing the Quaffle, and Hermione was beginning to feel a vague tingling cramp in her abdomen, so they all went inside to find Draco. He was sipping a glass of sparkling wine and talking to Blaise Zabini and two wizards that she didn’t recognize. His face was perfectly polite, but not particularly warm, though that changed immediately when he spotted her and Scorpius approaching. His grey eyes warmed, and his smile softened. She saw that Blaise noticed the shift in Draco’s expression, and his eyes slid to her, appraising her up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“Blaise!” said Theo, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

Theo, Blaise, and the two other wizards began chatting, immediately launching into tales from their Hogwarts days (“and then Malfoy starts whining that the Hippogriff maimed him!”). Draco chuckled, adding a few caveats to the tale, and then, he leaned down, and she could feel the warmth of his breath as he whispered in her ear.

“You alright?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, and her worries and anxieties melted away when she felt his hand snake around her waist. Her eyes scanned the crowd to see who was looking, and she was pleased to see Violet Selwyn watching with pursed lips. Hermione let her head rest against Draco’s shoulder, and the baby kicked merrily.

Chapter 19: thirty

Chapter Text

Draco and Hermione were spending too much time together.

They’d gone from hardly knowing each other to a one-night stand to spending nearly twenty-four hours a day together in the span of just a few months, and it was beginning to wear on them. It didn’t help Hermione’s mood that owls from Flora Henley arrived a few times a week, and Draco never read her letters in Hermione’s presence. He was fidgety as he sat in her office and short with Theo, who merely eyed him judgmentally but said nothing.

It all came to a head on Scorpius’s first day of school.

“I want Hermione to walk me!” he wailed as they stood at the massive fireplace in the Agrippa school.

“Son, she can come with us,” said Draco frustratedly. “We can both walk you.”

“Look! The other kids all have mothers!” said Scorpius tearfully, pointing to other children walking through the school and holding their mothers’ hands.

Draco closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly, trying to keep a handle on his emotions. Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable. She was not his mother, not even his stepmother, but she did not want him to feel rejected, so she deflected.

“Scorpius, look,” said Hermione, pointing out another family. “That girl’s father is walking with her. Let your dad walk you in. He’s going to miss you so much.”

But this was very much the wrong thing to say, as the realisation that he would be away from home all day missing his father sank in, and Scorpius began to cry. Draco gave her a look that said, thanks a lot. Hermione felt stupid and inept. Draco knelt down and squeezed Scorpius tightly.

“Come on,” said Draco softly into Scorpius’s ear. “Let’s all go in together.”

Scorpius was not the only young one who was tearful on the first day of school, and thankfully, the teachers seemed completely unfazed. They showed Scorpius where he could put his things and let him squeeze his father and Hermione tightly.

“Alright, Mum and Dad,” said the teacher gently. “It’s time to go.”

Draco did not bother correcting her. He ruffled Scorpius’s hair, and Hermione followed him out of the classroom, heading for the fireplace and going straight to the Research Institute. Theo was in the office, and Schnell was standing behind him, arms folded in front of his chest.

“Hey!” said Theo. “How was the first day of school? Scorpius excited?”

“He cried,” said Draco with a pout.

“I think that’s pretty normal,” said Theo with a wave of his hand.

But as Theo’s eyes drifted over Draco and Hermione’s body language, he scowled.

“Everything alright with you two?” he asked.

They did not even answer, and Theo chewed the inside of his cheek as he surveyed them, seemingly debating whether to wade into their relationship problems and then deciding better of it.

Security at the Institute, and especially in the T.T.R. Division, had quadrupled since the press release, and it was wearing on everyone. There were twenty identification checks per day (Hermione lost count of how many times she had to list her favourite fruit or the precise way she took her tea). It was grating on her nerves, and Draco’s too, as plenty of security wizard eyes roved over his left forearm before allowing him to pass through.

But there was still too much work to be done and given that the radius around Draco that she had to stay within seemed to be ever-shrinking, they sat in the office together all day while she designed testing protocols and he twirled his wand in his fingers.

“School ends at 3,” said Draco as the clock struck half two.

“I remember,” she said in a testy voice.

He set his jaw and did not say anything else.

It was ten to three when she finished the last of the protocols, folding the parchment into an aeroplane and sending it off to Theo in the lab. She stood from her chair, and Draco followed her down the long corridor to the Floo network. With a sigh, he reluctantly let her go through the Floo first, and she arrived at the Agrippa School, where a long row of parents was waiting to pick up their children.

There was a queue in the Floo network, several other parents popping through after her, and she rubbed at her belly, feeling Draco’s absence keenly and noting the growing cramp in her belly.

“Alright?” asked a mother next to her, noticing Hermione’s wince and swollen belly.

“Fine,” she lied.

“How long do you have?” she asked kindly.

“I’m due in November,” said Hermione.

“Mm,” said the woman knowingly. “A couple months to go, then. Which of these is yours?”

She was pointing at the line of children appearing through the large doorway. Hermione felt a pang of pain in her abdomen as she searched for Scorpius’s blond head, gesturing toward him, and the woman smiled before showing Hermione her own child, a red-haired girl standing a few feet behind Scorpius. Witches and wizards were popping out of the fireplace in rapid succession, and Hermione vaguely wondered if she should be worried that Draco hadn’t arrived yet. What was keeping him?

Scorpius caught sight of her and grinned, waving and jumping in the air. She smiled and waved back, ignoring the tingling and cramping in her belly. As soon as the teacher released the class, he ran for her. In his hand was a stack of artwork, including a small paper crown with his name on it (the “p” adorably backward). He slammed into her in a massive hug.

“Where’s dad?” he asked.

Hermione was about to say that he was on his way, but at that moment, the spasming pain in her belly disappeared, and Hermione turned, knowing she would see Draco behind her.

“Sorry, got held up in the Floo queue,” he said as he hugged Scorpius.

“It’s fine,” she said with a slight smile.

That evening, Scorpius was a nonstop chatterbox, telling them every detail of his day (“the teacher’s favourite color is orange! And the boy who sits next to me is named Jack!”), which was appreciated, as Hermione and Draco were still… off.

It was too much proximity, and Hermione was torn between a mounting annoyance at her reliance on Draco’s presence and a desperate urge to mend things between them. She huffed a sigh, hardly touching her meal.

But Scorpius did not notice the caution and unease with which Draco and Hermione were interacting, and as soon as he was snuggled into bed with Hermione, he shouted for his father. Draco seemed to have some reluctance, but he stood in the doorway nonetheless, resting one shoulder on the edge of it, his head towering near the top of the doorframe. His reluctance made Hermione anxious and even more annoyed, and once Scorpius was off to his room, she could not help it. Her anger burst out of her.

“What is your problem?” she hissed, standing in the middle of the boudoir and crossing her arms in front of her chest, glaring at Draco.

Draco looked stunned.

“What?”

“You’ve been acting like a right bastard all day,” she said angrily.

“No, I haven’t,” he said petulantly.

“Oh, don’t bother pretending,” said Hermione with narrowed eyes. “Just tell me why the f*ck you’ve been an ass all day.”

“It’s his first day of school, Hermione, and he didn’t even want me to walk into his class with him!” he spat. “He wanted you! Kind of makes me feel like a sh*t dad, you know?”

Hermione heard the words and knew he had just revealed an insecurity. He was being vulnerable with her, and she should pause and comfort him, but her annoyance won out.

“Don’t blame him for your sh*t attitude,” she said.

Draco continued as though he had not even heard her.

“But I guess I shouldn’t even be surprised that he thinks I’m a sh*t dad when you’re always around being f*cking perfect,” he said angrily.

Once again, she heard the words, and the rational part of her brain told her to slow down, to talk to him instead of yelling at him, but whether it was proximity or hormones, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Listen, I’m sorry, alright?” she snapped, but she knew that her tone did not sound anything like sorry as anger roared in her veins. “I know you don’t want to have to drag me with you to everything you do, but there’s nothing I can do about it!”

“Of course, there isn’t,” he snapped back in a vicious tone. “We’ve got ten more weeks of this!”

“If you’re so sick of me, then why don’t you just go over to Flora Henley’s house!” roared Hermione. “Just like I know you want to!”

Draco looked taken aback, his head jerking sharply as his grey eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you sending owls back and forth with her!” said Hermione, stepping toward him and raising her finger in his face. “Your perfect pureblood witch named after a flower just like your mother! I know you’d rather be sleeping with her, so why don’t you just go! I’ll survive it!”

He was staring down at her, seemingly unable to respond, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. Hermione’s cheeks heated, every insecurity she felt, every memory of Ron and Hope channeling itself into pure rage.

“So go on! Get out of here and go stick your co*ck into Flora f*cking Henley!” she yelled.

Draco exploded.

“How dare you! You really think I’d cheat on you?! I’m not Weasley!” he shouted. “I would never sleep with anyone else while I’m dating you!”

It was like a record scratched in her brain. She took a step back, her inner monologue completely stalled out.

“While you’re dating me?” she said quietly.

Draco’s chest was heaving with angry breaths.

“We’re dating?” she asked.

“What the f*ck else are we doing?” he roared, his hand threading in his hair. “We kiss, we f*ck, you live in my house, you’re pregnant with my baby. If this isn’t dating…”

He broke off, seemingly realizing that they were not on the same page. He seemed flustered, embarrassed. Even hurt. He turned away from her.

“Oh,” he said in a voice that sounded so dismayed it hurt her heart. “I just thought… I’m sorry, I should have known you wouldn’t want to date someone like me. If this is just temporary, until you can be away from me… I totally understand.”

He was not looking at her. Hermione did not know what to say, her brain still struggling against the tide of anger that had launched them into this fight.

“Just, please keep coming to see Scorpius after,” said Draco, and his voice grew tight and choked. “He won’t understand.”

The tide of anger ebbed. Draco began to leave the room, and Hermione knew she had to find her voice before he could leave.

“Draco,” she said, and he paused, his hand on the doorknob.

She let out a little laugh, her hands covering her face. When she spread her fingers, she saw that he was looking at her curiously. She laughed again, crossing the room to him.

“We’re dating,” she said.

“We don’t have to be-”

But she cut him off with a kiss.

Her hand snaked behind his neck, pulling him down to her so that she could reach his lips without standing on her tiptoes. He was hesitant at first, his hands barely resting on her waist, his lips not moving on hers, but when she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue dance into his mouth and pushing him backward until his back was against the wall, he groaned low in his throat.

Draco’s hands wrapped around her back, sliding under her shirt, each fingertip pressing into her bare skin. She pushed into him, her breasts on his abdomen, her belly squeezed between them as their necks craned to bring their mouths even closer. He let his hands skim down her body until they hooked underneath her bum and pulled her upward, carrying her to her bed and throwing her down unceremoniously on top of it. He crawled on top of her, his hips thrusting against her core, craving friction.

He pulled his wand out and cast a locking charm on the door to the hallway, and Hermione giggled, but her giggles turned to gasps as his fingers began flying across her clothes, pulling them off her body until she was naked before him. His own shirt was tugged over his head, and then, his palms started at her collar bones, sweeping down to her breasts, and letting his thumbs slide over her nipples. His hands followed the curve of her swollen belly, gazing at her with reverence.

“Draco,” she said softly, and his grey eyes darted up to hers. “When you said I wouldn’t want to date someone like you…”

He averted his eyes.

“A Death Eater,” he said darkly. “A Malfoy.”

“A good man,” she added, and she let her fingers trace the outline of the Dark Mark on his left forearm, watching him shudder as she did. “Kiss me.”

He looked at her, searching her face, and he must have been satisfied with what he found there, because he leaned down, supporting his weight with his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her.

Her belly was too big for him to be on top of her comfortably, so after Hermione made quick work of his belt and trousers, she sat up, kissing him deeply before turning over so that she was on all fours. He made a low growl in his throat as his hands brushed her waist, the curve of her arse. His fingers dipped along her slit, finding her wet and ready for him, and then, he lined his erection with her entrance and thrust forward.

Hermione saw stars.

The angle of his thrusts found the sensitive place along her front wall, and she whimpered. The sounds she was making spurred him on, and with his hands gripping her hips tightly, he sped up his movements, making her whine and moan even more. Each thrust sent the head of his co*ck over the swollen place inside her, and a tight coiling in her pelvis began to build.

“Please,” she whispered. “Harder.”

He complied.

His hips snapped against hers with a rhythmic slapping of skin, and she could feel her org*sm, elusive and just out of reach. Her eyes were screwed shut, begging her body to release.

Draco leaned over her back, one hand going under her chin and pulling her face back to his, kissing her jaw, whispering curses into her ear.

She erupted. Her inner walls clenched on his co*ck, her vision went white, and she cried out loudly. He followed her over the edge, roaring into her ear as he continued thrusting through the aftershocks of their org*sms. Finally, panting and pulse racing in his skin so forcefully that she could feel it, he pulled himself from her body and collapsed onto the bed next to her.

They lay in silence for a long time, staring at the pale pinks and creams of the boudoir. They had never had sex in this room. She wondered vaguely if he and Astoria had ever done so but didn’t think it was appropriate to ask.

“Flora was Astoria’s best friend,” said Draco. “I always knew that she… liked me. It wasn’t a very well-kept secret.”

He had a small smile on his face, and she rolled onto her side to look at him, seeing his profile lit by the small lamp on her bedside table.

“Astoria didn’t like it any more than you do,” he said with a smirk, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “And yes, she’s been sending me owls, but it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s friends with the Greengrass family. They haven’t…”

He trailed off, and she didn’t push him, just waited for him to continue. He cleared his throat.

“They haven’t really been part of our lives,” said Draco. “I cut them off after she died. I think I convinced myself that it would be too painful for them, but really, it was too painful for me.”

Hermione’s finger was tracing his nose, the side of his face, his jawline. He was staring straight ahead, but he turned his head and looked at her.

“She’s trying to help me mend things,” he said.

Hermione nodded.

“Next time, tell me,” she said. “You can’t keep things like this from your girlfriend.”

She was not expecting the sudden sly smile that crept across his face, and seeing it warmed her heart. The word “girlfriend” had felt unfamiliar on her tongue. When she had heard Theo say it weeks ago it had felt like too much, but now that it was out, hanging in the air between them, it didn’t feel like enough. Draco turned to look at her, cupping her face in his palm.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“I’m not sure I am either,” said Hermione, averting her eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you,” said Draco, his hand falling to the mattress as he shifted his weight to look at her. “I truly didn’t think there was anything to tell, but I suppose with hindsight…”

Hermione quirked her lips in a half-smile.

“You can see how it looked?”

He chuckled and nodded.

“Sleep in my bed?” he asked.

That was new. Usually, Hermione slunk back to the boudoir at night. But she gazed at Draco’s face, and at the open-hearted emotions that she saw there. Hermione nodded, and they both climbed out of bed, pulling on their underthings. She picked up her shirt from the floor and followed him into his bedroom, climbing under the sheets and settling against his chest. She felt the press of his lips on top of her head.

“We still haven’t thought of a name for her,” said Draco.

“I know.”

He began listing names, stars and constellations, his voice rumbling in his chest against her ear, and though she fought against the surge of sleepiness, her eyes fell shut and her mind went fuzzy as she sank into sleep against him.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, but she awoke with a start sometime later, still snuggled against Draco’s chest. There was a twinge in her belly, but this one was not familiar to her. It didn’t feel the same as the tingling sensation that thrummed in her body when she was away from Draco. It felt more like a period cramp, and it radiated around to her back. It faded, and for a moment, she almost fell back asleep, but a few minutes later, it started up again.

“Draco,” she whispered, jostling him slightly.

He startled awake.

“What’s wrong?” said Draco.

“How do I know what labour feels like?” said Hermione.

Draco immediately sat up in bed.

“Cramping like menstrual cramps. Tightness in your belly. It comes and goes in waves,” he said, his brows furrowed so that there were deep creases in between them.

Hermione nodded, a wave of panic in her chest.

“We need to go to St. Mungo’s,” she said.

Chapter 20: thirty-one

Chapter Text

From the serious expressions on the nurses’ and Healers’ faces, Hermione knew that there was a problem. Her baby was trying to make her appearance ten weeks early.

Narcissa had raced back to England and was in her hospital room with her, rubbing Draco’s back as he held Hermione’s hand, looking ashen. They were feeding her a new potion every hour and continually running diagnostic spells to check her over: the timing of contractions, the baby’s heartbeat, the length of her cervix. There was concern all around.

The security measures added an additional layer of difficulty. Hermione had sent Harry a Patronus in the middle of the night to let him know what was happening, and he immediately arrived.

“Malfoy, you need to be focused on her and the baby,” said Harry firmly. “Not on security threats. I’ll stay here until morning, and then, we’ll assign a team.”

Harry had posted himself outside the door, casting three dozen protection wards on the room and harassing every nurse that tried to come in. Hermione continued apologizing profusely.

“We’re getting this under control,” said a Healer by the next afternoon. “Your contractions have stopped, and your water hasn’t broken. With enough potions, we should be able to keep her on the inside a while longer, but we’d like to keep you here a few days to be sure.”

“And the baby?” asked Draco, a note of protectiveness and worry in his voice.

“Mr. Malfoy, the baby is doing wonderfully,” said the Healer, glancing over the diagnostic spell that hovered over Hermione’s belly. “You can stop worrying.”

Draco did not look like he was planning to stop worrying.

Hermione was exhausted, having had almost no sleep the night before, and Draco had purple shadows under his eyes. Narcissa patted his hand and gave Hermione a small smile.

“I’m going to go to Malfoy Manor and check in on Scorpius,” said Narcissa. “Nanny Kate said he’s awake and worried about Hermione and the baby.”

Draco ran his hand down his face, looking torn between staying with her and going home to reassure Scorpius, but Narcissa squeezed his shoulder.

“Stay with her,” she said. “I’ll look after him, and if he needs you, I’ll send you a Patronus straight away.”

He nodded grimly, leaning over the side of Hermione’s hospital bed and watching her carefully, as though waiting for something to happen, and Narcissa left the room. Hermione scooted over on the bed, her belly much more considerable at seven months pregnant, and patted the space next to her. Draco looked hesitant, but she patted again, and he climbed into bed with her, wrapping one arm behind her and using the other to rub gentle circles on her belly.

“I was thinking Lyra,” said Hermione.

Draco’s hand paused its movement, and she covered it with her own.

“Lyra,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue, and he resumed making circles on her belly, earning a firm nudge from the baby inside.

“She likes it,” said Hermione with a grin.

“Mm,” he said softly, nestling his head against hers.

Hermione waved her wand to dim the lights in the room, and before she could even finish closing the windows, Draco had fallen asleep. She relaxed against him, letting her eyes slide closed and falling asleep with him.

Though the nurses tried to be quiet when they came in to check on her and the baby, Draco still jerked awake at their presence by her side, his hand immediately going to his wand. The nurse huffed exasperatedly.

“Magically entwined pregnancy?” she asked, and when Hermione nodded, she added, “I can always spot them by the overprotective wizard fathers.”

She glared at Draco, and Hermione pressed her lips together so as not to giggle.

It was a long and boring hospital stay, and though they were both relieved that she and the baby were doing well, Hermione and Draco were bored. He conjured the same Exploding Snap set that they had used the last time she was in hospital. Hospital food was brought for lunch and dinner, and a rotating assignment of Aurors was posted outside the door. Each time a Healer approached the room, the Aurors questioned them intensely, forcing Healers to submit their wands for inspection on a semi-regular basis. Hermione could not stop apologizing for the trouble, but the Healers and nurses all took it in their stride.

On her third day in hospital, Harry poked his head into the room.

“Up for a visitor?” he asked with a grin, and Hermione was about to tell him to come on in, but the visitor was not Harry.

Theo, predictably, did not wait to hear her answer. He pushed past Harry with his elbow, Schnell trudging in behind him. Theo paused near the doorway, a very satisfied smile stretching across his face as he surveyed Draco and Hermione on the bed.

“Don’t you two look cozy?” he said with an arched brow.

Hermione adjusted herself so that she was sitting up in bed, Draco shifting beside her, and Theo took the opportunity to hop down into the bed with the pair of them. It was a very tight fit, but Theo, characteristically, did not seem to mind.

“While you’ve been on holiday,” he said, and he continued before she could protest that she was most certainly not on holiday. Theo leaned down toward her in a conspiratorial voice. “I tried out the testing protocols.”

“WHAT?!” said Hermione and Draco at the same time.

“You weren’t supposed to try anything without me!” she snapped.

Theo waved his hand dismissively.

“You can’t try it anyway. Not with all this going on,” said Theo, gesturing toward her belly. “It’s been chaos at the Institute. I’ve had reporters snapping pictures and asking dozens of questions about how the Time Turner works, and since I wasn’t even properly sure myself, I decided to give it a go.”

Draco was glaring at Schnell, who offered a shrug and an expression that seemed to say, have YOU tried controlling him?

Theo continued undeterred.

“And it works,” said Theo with a sly grin.

Hermione froze.

“It does just what we expected it would,” he said. “We’ve got to do a bit of figuring on the passivity field, but by and large, it can send you back to any time and place you’d like to go.”

“You didn’t change anything did you?” asked Hermione.

“Yeah, I went back to Hogwarts and finally shagged Blaise Zabini,” he said offhandedly.

Hermione smacked him on the arm, and he made a very overdramatic show of rubbing it and glaring at her.

“Listen, I’ll get you all the notes from the lab and you can review them to your heart’s content,” said Theo, “But I’m actually here on an errand for Narcissa. She tried to send a Patronus, but this room is warded to hell and back, and it kept spitting her Patronus out.”

Draco sat up anxiously.

“Scorpius?”

“Yes,” said Theo, and Draco immediately began to scramble out of bed, but Theo placed a calming hand on him, his arm resting across her belly as she lay squished between the two men. “He’s fine. Relax. He’s just really, really worried. Narcissa says he’s been crying a lot. I know there’s a lot of complications going on with you two, but if there’s any way you can go home for just a bit and tuck him into bed…”

Hermione bit her lip. She hated to imagine sweet Scorpius, staring forlornly at the empty bed in her boudoir, at his father’s empty room, and wondering if she would suffer the same fate as his mother. She wanted to race home and scoop him into her arms, to shove Draco bodily out of the room so that he could see his son.

But at the same time, being separated from Draco was growing more and more complicated as her pregnancy progressed, and she wasn’t sure if she could physically handle him going back to Malfoy Manor, at least not longer than a few minutes.

“Should we bring him here?” asked Draco.

Hermione glanced around at the hospital room. It might frighten him more than it comforted him. She shook her head.

“It’s okay,” said Hermione. “Go home for a bit. Read him a story. I’ll be alright, and if I’m not, Harry will fetch you straight away.”

Draco looked torn. She could see emotions flitting across his face, warring between concern for her and the baby and Scorpius.

“Call for the Healer,” he said.

Hermione reached over Theo’s body to wave her wand toward the call button. There was a long exchange at the door, Harry accosting the Healer with questions, but she appeared shortly in the room with a smile, co*cking her head to one side as she took in the sight of Hermione squashed in between two fully grown wizards on her hospital bed.

“Everything alright?” asked the Healer.

“If I were to leave for a short time, a few minutes,” said Draco, and the Healer’s face grew somewhat alarmed. “Would that send her into labour? What would happen to the baby?”

The Healer pursed her lips.

“No, she wouldn’t go into labour,” said the Healer. “The baby would be fine, but Mum would be in a significant amount of pain.”

“Can I take pain potions for it?” she asked.

The Healer shrugged slightly.

“I suppose,” she said. “I’m not sure I’d advise it, but-“

Draco looked as though he were about to dismiss the idea altogether, but Hermione thought of Scorpius, frightened without them at Malfoy Manor.

“Draco, go to him. He needs you,” she said, and he looked torn. “Theo and Harry can stay here with me.”

“I’ll have Ginny come up, too,” offered Harry, looking in on them from the door.

“I’ll make it,” said Hermione, smiling at him reassuringly. “You can go for an hour.”

“I don’t want you to be writhing in pain for an hour,” he said.

“I’ve survived it before,” said Hermione in a soft but serious voice.

His grey eyes lifted to meet hers, a sadness in them as they both recalled the same moment: Bellatrix torturing her on the floor of the drawing room at Malfoy Manor. He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as he did, and he scratched at his left forearm as though the Mark was burning him.

“Ten minutes,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I’ll go for ten minutes.”

“Forty-five,” she said.

“Thirty.”

Hermione sighed and nodded. There was a flurry of activity. The Healer summoned a pain potion, and Harry sent a Patronus to Ginny. A couple of Aurors were added to the protection at the doorway so that Harry could sit with her while Draco was away. Ginny appeared in the doorway, a bit flustered after handing the children off to her mother so suddenly, but she dutifully came to the bedside as Theo wrapped an arm around Hermione, pulling her close.

“I’ll keep an eye on her, Malfoy,” he said with a wink.

“Somehow that’s not very reassuring,” said Draco in an exasperated tone, and then, he climbed from the bed and leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

She saw the look Draco exchanged with both Harry and Theo, and a wave of fear and anxiety passed over her such that she almost told him to stop, but she had a feeling that if she expressed any hesitation whatsoever, he would change his mind. She could not bear to think of Scorpius crying at home without his father, so she bit her lip, downed the potion, and watched him go.

It was less than a minute after he’d left the hospital room that she began to feel the twinges in her abdomen, a faint tingling sensation that was familiar to her. She thought she could simply ignore it, trying to chat with Theo, Harry, and Ginny to pass the time, but a couple of minutes later, the pain in her belly was too distracting.

Theo took her hand, and she squeezed it so hard he whimpered slightly, but he didn’t make her let go. Her moans and groans grew in volume, and she was vaguely aware of Harry shouting at the Healer for more pain potion.

“Merlin, this looks worse than labour,” she heard Ginny say darkly as she stroked Hermione’s forehead.

It was not long before she was alternating between crying and throwing up as her body felt like it was tearing itself in half. She could hardly hear what was happening around her, but the panicked voices of Theo and Harry were interspersed with soothing words from Healers and nurses.

“How long has it been?” she croaked out, vomiting into a bucket.

“Ten minutes,” said Theo in her ear. “Shall I send a Patronus to Draco?”

“No,” she snarled, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She was going to make it through this. Twenty more minutes. She could handle this so that he could stay with Scorpius for twenty more minutes.

A sob wracked her body as the cramping continued, the tingling sensation radiating out into her veins as her body reached for magic that was not near. She was trying to count the seconds in her mind, mentally begging him to return, her fists tight on the sheets of the hospital bed as she tried to stay focused.

“Narcissa’s just sent a Patronus. Draco’s asking how you are,” said Theo. “What shall I tell her?”

“That I’m fine,” she said, and she vomited again.

“He’s going to have my head,” muttered Theo, and Harry left the room to send word.

Ginny massaged Hermione’s back, and Theo continually vanished the contents of the bucket with his wand. Her eyes were screwed up tightly. Harry was pacing back and forth in front of her.

“He’s on his way back,” said Harry. “Narcissa sent word. Any second now, Hermione.”

Hermione was shivering and clammy, but she nodded, her vision beginning to go dark at the corners. But then, as quickly as it came on, the pain began to recede as Draco’s footsteps filled the room. She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-streaked, and his expression was horror-struck. He immediately extended his hawthorn wand in her direction, and Hermione took it in her fingers and felt the song of its magic thrumming through her. Lyra swooped victoriously in her belly.

“Why the f*ck didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” Draco hissed at Theo.

Theo raised his hands in innocence as he moved from the bed to make room. Hermione was still shivering, so she cuddled against Draco’s chest, feeling the soothing tendrils of his magic spiraling around her.

“How is he?” she asked in a whisper.

“He’s okay,” said Draco, kissing her forehead. “Misses you.”

“When can I go home?” asked Hermione hopefully.

The room chuckled.

~

It was two more days before the Healers agreed to release her. Draco did not risk going back to Malfoy Manor again, despite Hermione’s urging. He spent all day and night in the room with her. His presence was a comfort, and a helpful deterrent to boredom.

“Your mother said you should sing to her,” said Hermione as she traced runes on her belly with her finger.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not a very good singer,” he said.

“Could you try?” she asked, scooting over to make room for him on the bed. “She can hear you, you know. She needs to know your voice.”

Draco chewed his lip for a moment, but he seemed to resign himself to the reality that he would, in fact, do anything that she asked. She smiled as he settled himself next to her, his face near her belly, his palm cradling it.

It was a lilting song in French that she did not recognize. His low baritone made Lyra kick and flip inside her, and her own heart seemed to be stuttering against her ribs as the softness, the sweetness of this man, this former Death Eater, this six-foot-three trained Auror, sang a lullaby to the baby in her belly.

She fell in love with him all over again.

At the end of the final two days, the Healers ran one last diagnostic spell, sent her home with a box full of potions, and gave her strict orders to take it easy.

“And no sex,” said the Healer as they were packing up their things for discharge.

Draco and Hermione both froze, turning slowly to the Healer.

“No sex for ten more weeks?” asked Hermione, eyes wide.

The Healer laughed.

“If we get ten more weeks of pregnancy out of you, I’ll eat my sock,” she said with a laugh. “But no, not ten weeks. Give it four or five. Just need to make sure the little one has a chance to get fully cooked.”

“No sex for five weeks,” said Draco, his voice sounding a bit like he’d been given a death sentence.

“You’ll survive, Mr. Malfoy,” said the Healer with a wink.

Bags packed and both of their hearts aching to see Scorpius, Draco and Hermione headed to the Floo Network at St. Mungo’s, escorted by four Aurors. Malfoy Manor was warded well enough, so they offered profuse thanks to the Aurors before spinning away one at a time off home. The traveling parlor was dark and empty, so Draco lit the lamps with his wand and took her hand, heading for the dining room where Scorpius was likely to be having dinner with Narcissa.

But when Hermione and Draco entered the dining room, it was neither Scorpius nor Narcissa who was seated there. Lucius Malfoy, cool grey eyes and a dour sneer, was seated at the head of the table. He arched a pale eyebrow in their direction.

“Hello, Draco.”

Chapter 21: thirty-two

Chapter Text

Draco’s hand had gone to his wand immediately, drawing it and leveling it at his father’s face. Lucius’s hands lifted to show that he was unarmed. He had a cool smirk on his face that made Hermione realize exactly where Draco had learned the sneer he’d always sent her way at Hogwarts.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” said Lucius coolly.

“What the f*ck are you doing in my house?” Draco spat angrily.

Lucius arched an eyebrow again.

“Your house?” he said. “I believe it’s-”

“The Wizengamot was extremely clear. The deed has been transferred. If you want it back, take it up with the goblins at Gringotts,” said Draco.

There were quick footsteps in the corridor, not exuberant enough to be Scorpius’s.

Narcissa.

She rushed to him, her hands out in front of her, waving them out in front of her and standing between her husband and her son.

“Put the wand away, Draco,” she scolded. “Scorpius will be down in a moment.”

Draco did not move for a long time, his jaw clenched tightly and his grey eyes staring hard at his father. Narcissa lay a hand on his arm, and he lowered it, shoving his hawthorn wand back into his coat pocket, but the anger in his face did not abate. Hermione laced her fingers with his, seeking his strength. She saw that Lucius spotted the movement, and nervousness washed over her. Draco turned to Narcissa.

“How could you let him stay here with my son?!” hissed Draco to his mother. “Without even asking my permission!”

“Do you really think I would do anything to that boy?” asked Lucius before Narcissa could respond. “The heir to my name and estate?”

“The name and estate that were nearly ripped away thanks to your decisions during the war!” roared Draco.

But then, a different cadence of footfalls thundered through the hallway, and Lucius gave Draco another smirk, daring him to continue the argument in front of his son. Scorpius bolted in the room, took one look at Hermione, and promptly burst into tears.

Hermione ran to him, kneeling and pulling him close against her body as he sobbed onto her shoulder. She felt Draco’s arms wrap around them both, and her heart soared. Scorpius’s small chest was heaving with his cries, a note of relief and release in his tears. Slowly, he came back to himself, and Hermione turned her head, seeing Lucius draped artfully in the dining chair and watching the scene with an aloof stare.

“I missed you so much, Scorp,” said Hermione quietly, kissing the side of his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a small voice.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “Look. Do you think the baby got bigger?”

Scorpius pulled back from their embrace and looked down at her belly, tilting his head to one side as he considered it. He shrugged.

“You know,” she said quietly, leaning in and eyeing Draco as she said it. “She has a name now.”

“The hospital named her?” asked Scorpius, stunned, and Draco chuckled.

“We chose her name,” said Draco, and he let his gaze slide over to his father.

“Tell us, Draco,” said Lucius coldly.

“Stop it,” said Narcissa to her husband, and she placed a hand on Hermione’s back. “How are you feeling, darling?”

Hermione stood up and let Narcissa embrace her, Scorpius in between them and Draco with a soothing hand on her upper back. The four of them turned, facing Lucius Malfoy. A united front.

Lucius stood from the dining table and walked toward them, his eyes sweeping down over Hermione’s belly. Draco stiffened beside her, his hand obviously itching to go back to his wand. Scorpius seemed completely unaffected by his grandfather’s imposing presence. Hermione felt a stab of pride at this: Scorpius had no reason to fear him, because he had never known what it was to have a fearsome father.

“It’s been quite some time, Ms. Granger,” drawled Lucius.

Lucius was shorter than his son, perhaps by an inch or two, but the resemblance was uncanny.

“My next grandchild’s name?” he asked.

Hermione refused to be cowed. With one hand on Scorpius’s shoulder and the other hand laced with Draco’s, she let a smile cross her lips as she met Lucius’s cool grey eyes.

“Lyra,” she announced, and Narcissa gave a delighted cry next to her.

“Oh, another constellation! I knew you would!” she said.

Scorpius spun, wrapping his arms around her middle and resting his head against her belly, whispering something to his sister that Hermione could not hear. Her eyes were still trained on Lucius’s, and the only indication of his feelings on the name was a tiny hint of amusem*nt in his eyes, as though he could not believe that a Mudblood would dare.

“Shall we?” said Lucius, sweeping his arm out to the dining table.

There was a long moment in which no one moved, but then, Draco stepped forward past his father and took the place at the head of the table. Lucius gave a slight sneer but said nothing. Scorpius sat between Draco and Hermione, and Lucius and Narcissa took the chairs across from them. Hermione felt anxiety sitting in her chest as she watched the standoff between father and son, the air in the room thick with tension. No one spoke for a long time, though Hermione could see in Narcissa’s eyes that she was desperate to bridge this silence. Hermione set her fork down on her plate, and she was about to open her mouth when Lucius spoke.

“My son’s first wife was a pureblood witch of high standing in our society,” said Lucius, and Draco fairly growled next to her. “I see he went a… different direction with you.”

Scorpius was looking at his grandfather now, a curious expression on his face, pale brows furrowed in an expression that mirrored Draco and Lucius both.

“What does pureblood mean?” asked Scorpius.

Hermione’s jaw fell open, and she thought her heart might beat right out of her chest. That Scorpius wasn’t even aware of what it meant to be a pureblood wizard! That Draco Malfoy had ensured his son and heir grew up with none of the pureblood supremacy that he was taught from birth! She wanted to scoop Scorpius into her lap and kiss him everywhere she could reach.

She saw Lucius turn his head, agonizingly slowly, in Scorpius’s direction. Hermione saw that Narcissa had a tiny smile on her lips as she stared down into her plate. Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Draco held up a hand. He let his eyes meet Hermione’s, and she tried to tell him without words how exceptionally proud she was of him in this moment, and then, he turned to Scorpius.

“Some witches and wizards have parents and grandparents who are also witches and wizards. Like me and your mother,” said Draco in explanation. “Others have Muggle parents or grandparents, like Hermione.”

“Your parents are Muggles?!” asked Scorpius with a fascination that brought Arthur Weasley to mind.

“And it doesn’t matter or make a difference,” added Draco with a stern look to his father.

Lucius made no further attempts to discuss it. The tension in the room had evaporated, and Narcissa worked up the courage to speak.

“How are things with you and the baby, Hermione?” Narcissa asked. “I imagine it’s getting more difficult to be apart from Draco. By the end, Lucius and I were tied at the hip. It nearly drove me mad.”

Hermione laughed.

“We’re doing well,” said Hermione, and she quirked a smile at Draco. “Trying not to let him annoy me too much.”

“It’s a magically entwined pregnancy?” asked Lucius with a raised eyebrow.

Everyone nodded. There was a concern in his eyes that had not been there before.

“You’ve moved into the Manor?” asked Lucius, and Hermione was surprised at his tone of voice. It was almost… fatherly.

“I have,” said Hermione, glancing at Draco, who seemed just as mystified by the shift in mood as she was.

Lucius turned to Narcissa.

“We should have Healer Davis take a look at her,” he said. “That’s his specialty.”

“Hermione has a Healer at St.-” began Draco, but his father cut him off.

“Your mother almost-” Lucius said, but he looked at Scorpius, remembering who was listening. “Healer Davis saw your mother through her pregnancy. If he’s still practicing, he should be called in.”

“He’s right. I should have thought of it before,” said Narcissa. “Precious few Healers specialize in this sort of thing nowadays, Draco.”

Draco looked between his mother and father’s faces, and then, finding no malice there, turned back to Hermione, giving her a look that said, I’ll back you up either way.

She cleared her throat.

“That would be wonderful,” said Hermione. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius let a smile curve the corners of his lips, and though it was not a warm or friendly smile, it was not a cruel one either.

“Lucius,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

“Lucius,” she repeated, the name foreign and uncomfortable on her tongue.

Lucius maintained his cool façade through the rest of the meal, though Hermione noticed that he glanced between her and Draco several times with a worried expression. She wondered what he was thinking, and feared that he, like Theo and Narcissa, was worried that Hermione would not survive this pregnancy. The effect on Draco would be unimaginable. Theo had worried for him even before she and Draco were together. Now? It was almost certain that Draco would succumb to grief if she died.

Died. Just thinking the word seemed strange. She’d managed to forget some of the danger of the magically entwined pregnancy, particularly given that proximity to Draco seemed to solve all its problems. But as her pregnancy was coming to an end, the reality of it rushed to the forefront of her mind. The books were all clear: the last few weeks were precarious. Placental abruption, hemorrhage, preterm labour, and of course, the reality that there were magical signatures warring in her body. It was not uncommon for witches to die during birth in a magically entwined pregnancy. Theo’s mother had.

She suddenly found herself grateful that Lucius was bringing in a specialized Healer for her.

At the end of the meal, Narcissa hugged Scorpius tightly, and then, she kissed Draco and Hermione both on the cheek. Lucius was watching the proceedings with mild interest.

“We’ll be at the estate in Yorkshire,” said Lucius, and as his eyes swept up and down Hermione, he gave a smile that, for the first time, was not menacing. “Take care of my grandchild, Ms. Granger.”

~

Hermione was desperate to see her friends. There had been too much drama, too much Malfoy in her life. The Manor was beautiful, but it was also huge and formal and formidable. She craved the ease and hominess of the Burrow, the casualness of her friends. Thankfully, for her birthday, Harry and Ginny had planned a huge get together at the Burrow, all Weasleys invited, and Draco had agreed (with some reluctance) to attend.

She and Scorpius hopped into the fireplace together, spinning in place and then reappearing in the kitchen of the Burrow. A chorus of hellos greeted them, and Scorpius was immediately taken by the hand and dragged off to play with the Weasley cousins.

Draco had never been with her to the Burrow, and she could see in his expression that being on the Weasley home turf made him much more uncomfortable than being at Grimmauld Place, which was, after all, his family’s home when it came down to it. But Harry greeted Draco like an old friend, and Bill shook his hand and leaned in, sharing a quiet word before releasing him. Draco was smiling and nodding.

There were simply too many people to make a comfortable party inside the house, so Harry and Bill led them to where the group was gathered outside, a crew of Weasleys scattered along the lawn. Theo was already waiting, and he had an expression of pure relief as Draco approached him while Scorpius and the other children ran circles around the adults.

Even Charlie was there.

When he spotted her, the grin on his face widened, and he ran toward her, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her twice before setting her back on her feet. Charlie was shorter than Ron, but much broader, with sinewy muscles and scars on his forearms from dragon taming. Hermione had not seen him in a couple of years, but after Hogwarts, his work had brought him back to England for a few years, and they’d become rather close. A bright warmth leapt inside her when she saw him.

“You look amazing,” said Charlie, holding her hands and staring down at her rounded belly with a massive smile on his face. “Merlin’s Beard, I’ve never seen pregnancy look so good on anyone!”

Fleur, overhearing this, made a sour face.

“You doing alright? Malfoy treating you well?” Charlie asked slyly.

“Yes, wonderfully,” said Hermione.

“Well, happy birthday, darling,” he said. “I’m so glad I could be here for it.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek before trotting off to catch up to George and Ron. Hermione smiled, watching him go, and then turned to find Draco. He was standing with Harry and Theo, a beer in his hand, and he was watching her with a scowl.

“Yea, they’re always like that,” Harry was saying as she approached.

“Who’s like what?” she asked, threading her arm through the crook of Draco’s elbow.

“You and Charlie,” said Harry with a rogue wink.

Hermione shrieked and batted Harry on the arm. Draco had a very grouchy look on his face, though Theo looked remarkably intrigued.

“That’s the dragon taming one?” Theo asked, craning his neck to get a better look as Charlie and George dragged the brooms out of the broom shed.

“Who’s in?” shouted Charlie.

Draco rolled up his sleeves, his Dark Mark standing out on his forearm, and marched across the field to join the match. Hermione was not the only one who read the sharpness of jealousy in Draco’s body language. Theo gave a great sigh next to her.

“I suppose I should join,” Theo said resignedly. “Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed out there.”

“Or kill Charlie Weasley,” offered Harry helpfully.

The two of them set off across the field after Draco.

It was nearly a full game for once. On one team, Ginny, Charlie, and Hope played Chaser, with Bill taking up the sole Beater bat (many jeers about his part-werewolf physique coming in handy) and Ron playing Keeper. On the other side, Angelina, Theo, and Percy were the Chasers, while George served as Beater and Percy’s wife Audrey played a surprisingly good Keeper.

Harry and Draco played opposing Seekers, though Hermione noticed that their rivalry involved much more laughter than it had when they were at school. With a smaller pitch, the Weasleys only allowed 50 points for the Snitch, but the two Seekers were still hellbent on catching it.

Hermione had sat down on the grass to watch the match, the ever-present Schnell behind her, and after a short while, Scorpius joined her, plopping down next to her and resting a small hand on her knee as he watched his father’s unmistakable blond head whipping through the air. Seeing Harry and Draco jostle each other good-naturedly from their broomsticks felt like a do-over: like they were all getting the chance to try their Hogwarts years over again without the shadow of Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy, where Draco and Harry could be what they should have been all along. Friendly rivalry looked good on them.

And Draco Malfoy looked good on a broom. She saw him balancing in midair, feet hooked over the stirrups of the broom and thighs gripped tightly around it, guiding it without hands as he peered around the pitch for the Golden Snitch. His broad shoulders and lithe, muscular build made her curse the Healer who’d forbidden them from sex. Hermione sighed deeply.

She could feel Lyra wriggling in her belly, and she took Scorpius’s hand, placing it on top of her stomach and watching his face stretch into a grin as he felt his baby sister kicking happily.

“How much longer til she’s out?” he asked.

“A few weeks yet,” said Hermione with a grin.

After a while, a roar went up from the sky, and she and Scorpius looked to see that Draco had caught the Snitch, ending the game with a score of 280 to 170. Harry and Draco dropped to the ground, jostling each other good-naturedly. Hermione noticed that Theo had landed next to Charlie and was putting on his most winning flirtatious smile for the dragon taming Weasley brother.

Bill and Draco sat together for the remainder of the evening, and Draco had a rather serious look on his face as they spoke. Fleur sidled in next to Hermione with two pieces of cake, one for each of them, and Fleur inclined her head toward the pair.

“It’s good for zem to talk,” said Fleur. “Draco needs to be prepared.”

“For what?”

“Childbirth is hard, ‘ermione,” she said. “Particularly for zis type of pregnancy. But it is worth it, I think.”

And at this, Fleur leaned her head in conspiratorially.

“I’m pregnant again,” she said with a brilliant smile.

Hermione froze for a moment, but then offered her congratulations. If magically entwined pregnancy was so dangerous, then surely Bill and Fleur would not risk it twice. She watched Draco from across the garden, and as though he could sense that she was looking, he turned his head and met her gaze, sending a flirtatious wink in her direction that stole her breath away.

Chapter 22: thirty-two & four

Chapter Text

It took Draco nearly 24 hours to bring it up.

Scorpius had just hopped out of Hermione’s bed, trotting across the hall to be put to sleep by Nanny Kate, and Draco was standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame with his arms crossed in front of him.

“You and Charlie Weasley ever hook up?” asked Draco in a voice that was meant to sound very casual.

“No, nothing’s ever happened there,” said Hermione as she pulled her hair down from a bun. “It probably could have, but I was in and out of a relationship with Ron, and I think we both felt weird about that.”

Draco did not answer. He was still standing against the doorframe with a very grouchy look on his face. Hermione turned to him, tilting her head to one side as she fluffed her hair with her fingers. She saw it in an instant, had seen it when they were at the Burrow. She knew that expression on a man.

“You’re jealous,” said Hermione, grinning.

“Of a Weasley?” he spat, but she could hear the defensiveness in his tone.

She gave him a long look, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. He pushed himself up off the doorframe and walked closer to her, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Listen, whenever I want to really know if a man is attractive, do you know what I do?” he asked, and she shook her head, biting her lip not to grin. “I look at Theo.”

Hermione laughed.

“If Theo is mooning over him, he’s definitely an attractive man,” said Draco.

“And Theo was positively drooling over Charlie Weasley,” said Hermione in a dreamy voice.

“Hm,” said Draco grumpily, folding his arms over his chest.

Hermione stood from her bed, taking his hand in hers. His grey eyes were carefully blank, though she had a sneaking suspicion that there was insecurity hidden behind the artfully arranged indifference. The weather had just begun to turn crisp and cool in fall, and she pulled herself close to him, feeling the warmth radiating off his body as she took his arms and draped them around her.

She could hear a soft exhale of a chuckle as he rested his chin on her head, his hands wrapping themselves around her, his fingers finding purchase on her back as her ever-growing belly squished between them. His fingertips ghosted down to the hem of her shirt and slid underneath it, and she pulled her head from his chest to look up into his eyes.

“I don’t need to be jealous of Charlie Weasley?” he asked, vulnerability in his voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Of course not. Let’s go to bed,” she said.

She dragged him by the hand through the closet, through the bathroom, and into his dimly lit bedroom, turning to face him as she backed toward the bed. He had a half-smirk on his face, and it grew rather predatory as they approached his bed. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, she sank down on it, and his hands lifted to her face, both of his palms cradling her jaw as he bent down to kiss her. His lips were, as ever, soft yet insistent, her body singing with the tingling pleasure of his magic finding hers, finding Lyra’s. When his kiss paused, she scooted backward onto his bed, and he began pulling off his shirt and trousers to climb in after her, swinging his wand haphazardly to shut and lock the doors.

Her body yearned for more, but the Healer’s words were on repeat in her mind, and she could tell by Draco’s careful movements that he was thinking of them as well. Still, her heart pounded like a timpani in her chest as he kissed her, slow, lazy kisses as his fingers slipped under her satin shirt to find the skin of her breasts. She let her eyes flutter open when his kisses stopped, and he stared down at her with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed her.

“I wonder,” he said quietly, a tremor of nervousness in his voice, and he cleared his throat. “I wonder if it’s too forward to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Her heart exploded like the cannons in the 1812 Overture.

“Draco,” she whispered.

His eyes fell closed. Her heart was hammering in her chest, every fibre of nerves alight as she fought to contain the swell of emotion rising within her.

“I didn’t really think this would ever happen again for me,” said Draco, and she placed her hand over his heart. His palm covered it. “And it’s… different. It’s…”

He opened his eyes and looked at her face, rolling off her so that he was propped on his elbow, every inch of his body aligned with hers, his hand resting gently on her ballooned stomach, tracing runes on top of it absently as he collected his thoughts.

“I won’t compare you to her if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said with a rueful smile, but Hermione shook her head.

“Go on,” said Hermione, offering him a reassuring glance.

He let a smile drift over his face, pressing her hand closer against his chest.

“I was supposed to be with her, you know?” he began. “She was the right woman for me, even my father thought so. But she also helped me recover from the trauma that was my Seventh year at Hogwarts. I didn’t know how to be anything but a Death Eater, and thanks to her, I learned how to be a…”

“A good man?” she asked.

“If you say so,” said Draco with the same rueful smile.

“I do,” said Hermione, and he let out an exhale of laughter.

“And then, after she died, I was lost. I was drifting, just trying to hold it together for Scorpius, thinking that was the best I’d do for the rest of my life,” continued Draco, and here, he glanced at her from out of the side of his eyes, a wry smile on his lips. “And then you showed up.”

Hermione laughed.

“And then she showed up,” she said, gesturing to her belly.

He laughed, too.

“I thought I was going to pass out when you told me,” said Draco.

“I remember,” said Hermione. “You couldn’t even speak. I thought you wanted nothing to do with us.”

She could tell that this comment stung him, and she hadn’t meant it to. Her hand moved to his bicep, squeezing gently, bringing him back to the conversation, reassuring him that she did not think this anymore. His eyes met hers, a dark charcoal grey in the dimly lit room, his pupils wide.

“I couldn’t imagine that you’d actually want more from me than money,” he confessed, and she let her fingertips trace the long line of his arm until they rested on his Dark Mark.

They paused. He was watching her fingers touch his forearm, watching her tell him without words that she accepted this part of him, too. He lifted his eyes to find her face, his gaze darting from one eye to the other, down to her lips, up to her mass of unruly hair. Then, he found her eyes again, and they simply stared at each other for a long time. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and dipped his head to claim her lips again.

“Draco?” she said, interrupting their kiss. “You don’t think this is just an artifact of all this… entwined magic, do you? Something about this pregnancy that’s sort of… tricking you into thinking you’re in love?”

Draco furrowed his brow, letting his fingers graze the skin of her cheek and jaw.

“Do you really imagine anyone would need to be tricked into falling in love with you?”

Her breath felt stolen away. Hermione laughed.

“I don’t even think I knew how lonely I was. It feels like one day, I was living alone in my flat, working at the Institute,” said Hermione, and her fingers went to the silky blond fringe that had fallen into his eyes. “And then the next, I had you in my life. I truly can’t imagine a better man to have a baby with.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Draco, not meeting her gaze, and she could tell he was begging her for reassurance.

“I absolutely mean that,” she said, kissing his lips softly. “You’re a good father, and I love you.”

His grey eyes snapped to hers, not quite daring to believe her words.

“I do,” said Hermione with a smile, as Lyra kicked joyfully. “I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

His lips crashed down onto hers, pulling her as close as her swollen belly would allow. His tongue danced into her mouth, his hands sliding along her waist and hips, grasping her arse firmly and pulling it toward himself. She could feel the evidence of his arousal in his loose pyjamas, and he growled against her ear.

“No sex,” he said as his lips sought hers again. “I’m going to murder that Healer.”

“She said no sex,” said Hermione with a sly grin. “She didn’t say anything about the rest.”

His eyes rolled back in his head as she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He held her curls out of his face as she kissed him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, his lips hungry. Draco groaned softly when she moved to his neck, kissing and sucking at the pulse point there in a way she thought might leave a mark, and then, she began her journey lower.

There was a momentary tangle as he pulled his shirt off, and her mouth pressed against the hard planes of his chest and abs, and then, she ran her index finger along the inside of the waistband of his pyjamas. He groaned, his shoulders lifting off the bed involuntarily, when her hand stroked his erection through the soft materials of his trousers. She let her mouth touch him through his pyjamas, her warm breath against his co*ck, and he whined desperately, the muscles of his stomach clenching.

Hermione pulled his pyjamas and boxers off his hips, removing them and tossing them to the floor, and then, she settled in between his legs. She stole a glance up at his face, and he was staring at her with reverence. She grasped his length in her hand, stroking up and down with some firmness in her grip, feeling him twitch in her hand, and then, she let her tongue dart out to swirl around the head of his erection.

Draco groaned loudly.

It was intoxicating, having this power over him. Eliciting such a response from this man. Hermione wrapped her lips around his co*ck and swirled her tongue again, earning a desperate moan from him, and then, she slowly lowered onto him. She could not take the entirety into her mouth, but he did not seem disappointed by this in the slightest. On the contrary, he was murmuring curses and desperate pleas as she lifted her lips again before slowly, agonizingly taking his co*ck into her mouth until it hit the back of her throat.

“Oh, f*ck, Granger,” he groaned.

She took her mouth off his co*ck.

“So it’s back to Granger, now?” she hummed.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” said Draco in a strangled voice as she took him into her mouth again.

Her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft as her mouth took the rest, lifting and lowering, her tongue swirling and licking as she went. The muscles of his thighs, those gorgeous thighs that gripped the broom so well, were tensing and releasing, and she could taste the slight saltiness of precum on her tongue. She began to stroke him as she sucked, and he groaned again, fisting his hands in the sheets.

It was a beautiful sight, to see him unraveling before her, and she could feel his erection twitching, more saltiness on her tongue, telling her that he was getting close.

“f*ck, if you don’t want me to come in your mouth, you need to stop now,” he hissed through his teeth.

She did not stop. He let out a deep, guttural moan, and then, he came in her mouth, spurt after spurt coating the back of her throat as she swallowed as best she could, the rest leaking out of her mouth onto her hand. With one long, slow suck, she took her mouth off him and smacked her lips, running her tongue over her teeth and meeting his eyes with a mischievous expression on her face.

“Merlin, Granger,” he said. “If I wasn’t in love with you before that, I sure as hell am now.”

~

The next morning, at a frustratingly familiar 7am, Scorpius bounded into the room, leaping at full tilt into the bed and finding his way between Draco and Hermione. He had got accustomed to seeing them together in the mornings, and though Draco had not really had a talk with his son about what it meant, Scorpius seemed delighted by the arrangement. They had made sure to dress fully before falling asleep next to each other, and Hermione now watched Draco drape an arm over Scorpius’s middle.

“Just a few more minutes of sleep,” said Draco in a groggy voice. “Please, Scorp.”

“Crookshanks was in my bed again,” said Scorpius happily, and he began chattering rapidly about his adventures with her cat while Draco and Hermione tried to open their bleary eyes.

Hermione gave in first, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and allowing Scorpius to lead her by the hand. She pulled a cardigan over her shoulders and glared back at Draco, who was still lying in bed.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he said.

She doubted that.

But when she arrived downstairs, she was surprised to see Narcissa bustling about the dining table, setting a bowl of sugar cereal out for Scorpius. Narcissa smiled when she caught sight of them.

“Sorry to burst in like this, but Healer Davis is available to see you today,” she said. “Of course, Draco will have to adjust the wards to allow him in.”

“Dad’s still sleeping,” said Scorpius as he brushed past her to his bowl of cereal. “He says he likes the extra hour of sleep in the morning because Hermione doesn’t steal his blankets.”

Hermione froze. Curse five-year olds. Narcissa pressed her lips together, a knowing smile threatening to spill over, but she said nothing, and Hermione sat down across from Scorpius to have tea. Lyra was kicking and squirming madly, but Hermione could feel a slight cramp, a tingle at the distance from Draco.

Once Scorpius had eaten his breakfast and taken off at a run to play, Narcissa turned to her.

“So,” said Narcissa.

Hermione did not say anything. She stared into her teacup and bit her lip so as not to grin but failed miserably.

“Do I want to know what that grin is about?” asked Narcissa with a wry smirk.

“Probably not, no,” admitted Hermione, and Narcissa laughed.

“I love seeing him like this,” said Narcissa wistfully. “It’s been too long. And truthfully, Hermione, it’s different this time.”

Hermione knew what Narcissa meant. She was eyeing Hermione carefully, clearly not wanting to overstep, but Hermione nodded for her to go on, sipping her tea and crossing one leg over the other.

“He loved his wife very much. He was so broken after what happened with the Dark… with Vol…” Narcissa said, and she sighed. “With You-Know-Who. Lucius went to Azkaban, and we had to go through so much with the Wizengamot. Astoria helped him recover from all of that. She made him who he is today.”

“’I know,” said Hermione with a smile. “I owe her a lot.”

“I do, too,” she said kindly. “But where Astoria healed him, I think you… you match him. You challenge him. I can’t wait until the baby comes, not just because I want to meet my granddaughter, but because I can’t wait to see you back at work.”

Narcissa paused, tilting her head to one side.

“You want to go back to work, yes?”

Hermione blanched.

“Absolutely,” said Hermione. “I’ve got too much to accomplish. The Time Turner project is complete, and Theo’s been testing it out without me! Without me! We’ve got so much we need to do. I’ve got plans to work with the Department of Magical History-”

Narcissa laughed, interrupting Hermione’s monologue.

“I can’t wait to see what you do, and neither can he,” said Narcissa. “You’re quite formidable, Hermione.”

“That she is,” said a voice from the entry.

Draco was fully dressed, looking as handsome and put-together as ever, his blond hair tousled artfully. He walked into the dining room and leaned down to bestow a kiss on Hermione’s cheek before doing the same to his mother. He slouched into a chair and waved his wand to pour himself a coffee.

“Draco, can you adjust the wards so that Healer Davis can stop by this morning?” asked Narcissa.

Draco’s face darkened slightly as he considered this request, but after a short time, he nodded. He sipped his coffee and began the spellwork. Scorpius chose that moment to appear, asking his grandmother if she wanted to see the cat, and Narcissa dutifully followed. Hermione watched Draco’s impressive wandwork, the movements of his hand and arm graceful in a way that hers were not. Where her spell casting was precise, his was elegant.

Draco pursed his lips.

“It’s done,” he said. “It makes me nervous.”

Hermione took his hand and leaned toward him, waiting for him to turn his head so that she could kiss his soft, pink lips. She placed his palm over her belly, and Lyra kicked and squirmed underneath it. She loved watching the smile stretch across his lips.

“I love you,” he said in a low, husky voice.

“I love you,” she replied with one more kiss. “Now, to summon the Healer.”

“Send him a Patronus,” said Draco dismissively, returning to his coffee.

“No,” said Hermione. “I want you to try.”

Draco’s face darkened again, his jaw ticking and his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. He gave a small roll of his neck and shoulders as though to loosen the tension there.

“I can’t,” said Draco.

“I’ve just watched your wandwork,” said Hermione. “You most certainly can.”

He turned to meet her gaze, something that looked like anger building in his expression.

“The darkest wizard in history lived in my home for a year. My father went to Azkaban. My wife died,” snapped Draco, and then, he held up his left arm. “I was a Death Eater. Not exactly conducive to producing a Patronus, Granger.”

She noted that she, once again, was Granger, but Hermione was undeterred. She folded her arms in front of her chest, her forearms resting on her round belly, and glared at him.

“You’re telling me there’s nothing happy in your life right now?” she said in a challenging tone, raising an eyebrow at him.

That earned a tiny twitch of his lips. Victory.

“Try,” said Hermione, leaning forward and placing a hand on his arm. “Just give it a couple of tries, and if it doesn’t work, I promise to leave it alone.”

He looked at her again, his jaw unclenching slightly, and he gave a great sigh that lifted and lowered his broad shoulders dramatically. Draco rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand, an expression on his face that said, very well. Hermione clasped her hands in front of her.

“Expecto Patronum,” said Draco without much enthusiasm.

Nothing.

“That doesn’t even count,” said Hermione dismissively. “You didn’t even properly try.”

He glowered, but obediently, he sat up in his chair. Draco closed his eyes, taking a moment. Hermione could not help but wonder what he was thinking of. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to try again.

“Expecto Patronum,” he said, and a tiny flash of silver smoke left the tip of his wand.

Hermione shrieked with glee. Draco looked nonplussed.

“Not a Patronus, Hermione,” he said.

“At least I’m Hermione again,” she replied. “One more time, and I’ll leave it, alright?”

She reached out this time, letting her palm rest on his left forearm, watching him close his eyes and wondering again what he was thinking of. Her mind flashed through the memories she would call forth if she needed to produce a Patronus, all memories of him: their first kiss, their first real kiss, his body wrapped around hers. She closed her eyes and thought of the moment he said he had fallen in love with her.

Her magic sang.

It was as though all of her magical energy was pouring into him through the hand she was resting on his arm. She could feel a thrumming in her entire body. Her eyes were closed, but she could see explosions of light behind her eyelids.

“Expecto Patronum,” said his baritone voice.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, and she saw a small, wispy silver disc that floated in the air for a moment before dissipating. She wanted to bounce up and down in her chair, clapping and yelping with joy, but she didn’t. She could still feel the tingling, a pleasant one this time, in their joined magic. He stared down at the hand that was resting on his forearm.

“Will it still be like this after the baby is born?” he asked quietly, looking into her eyes.

She did not know, but Narcissa’s voice cut through the room.

“A bit,” she said, and they both turned to look at her. She had a wonderful, adoring smile on her face. “It’ll always be there a bit.”

Chapter 23: thirty-four

Chapter Text

Healer Davis had pronounced her pregnancy healthy and progressing, and he had told Draco in no uncertain terms that he was to remain within twenty feet of Hermione at all times. When Hermione had brought up her concerns about childbirth (she was delicate not to specifically mention her fear of dying during it, but Draco’s face had registered the same worry), Healer Davis had some empty platitudes.

“Magic is unpredictable in these pregnancies, but most of all, you mustn’t fight it,” Healer Davis had said. “Are you planning to give birth at St. Mungo’s or here at the Manor?”

Hermione hadn’t realized there was an option. She looked at Narcissa.

“What did you do?” she had asked.

“I gave birth here,” Narcissa had said with a shrug.

Hermione could not fathom this, so she decided to postpone this decision.

The good news, however, was that the prohibition on sex had been lifted, and Draco and Hermione had immediately taken the opportunity to reconnect, so to speak. Though her belly was large and very in the way, Draco still spent quite a bit of time with his mouth between her legs, and she spent a good deal of time on her hands and knees, feeling him sink into her, leaning over her back and kissing her shoulder.

But a few days after her appointment with Healer Davis, Montgomery delivered an envelope to Draco over breakfast. An invitation from Lucius and Narcissa to dine with them at their estate in Yorkshire, a party of sorts to welcome Lucius back from Azkaban. Hermione fell quiet and introspective at this, wondering what sorts of wizards would be at such a party. She had gone to parties at the Burrow, homey and cozy, and to a party at the Longbottoms’ home, stuffy and formal. What sort of party would Lucius Malfoy host?

“Do you want to go?” asked Draco.

Hermione took a breath, steeling herself.

“We should,” said Hermione.

“We don’t have to,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Narcissa was delighted when they sent a response in the affirmative.

The Yorkshire estate was not as expansive as Malfoy Manor and its grounds, but it was still far larger than almost any home Hermione had ever visited. Hermione, Draco, and Scorpius arrived by Floo, but they were the only ones who did. The rest of the party was arriving at an Apparition point at the end of a long gravel pathway and walking to the front door, rapping on it with the heavy knocker. Looking out the window, Hermione could see that there were hedges and flowers along the pathway to the front door that looked very recently tended, as though perhaps this house had been neglected for some time until Lucius Malfoy’s return from Azkaban.

“Oh, I’m so glad you three are here,” said Narcissa’s voice from across the room, and Scorpius ran toward his grandmother. “Mind the dress, Scorpius!”

It was an excessively formal event, and Narcissa was wearing a gown that trailed along the floor behind her. It was a shimmering gold with celestial accents, stars and crescent moons. Scorpius and Draco were both wearing matching black dress robes, bow ties tied at their necks. Hermione had struggled mightily to find something that would accommodate both the formality of the event and her ever-expanding belly. In the end, she’d recruited Ginny to help her transfigure her burgundy gown into something suitable.

It was still burgundy, but instead of hugging every inch of her body as though it were painted on, it had a gathered empire waist and folds of skirts that fell over her bump. Draco had eyed the colour warily but grinned his approval all the same.

“Come on,” said Narcissa. “Join the party.”

They followed Narcissa out of the parlor, and the low murmur of chatter and sounds of a string quartet hit her ears. She scanned the crowd, hoping for a few recognizable faces. She saw Lucius at once, his long blond hair gathered at the base of his neck. His hand rested on his cane as he spoke with two wizards Hermione did not recognize.

She felt Draco tug her to the left and followed him, realizing shortly that he was guiding her toward Theo and Blaise, who were at the bar laughing into glasses of whiskey. Draco leaned one elbow on the bar, catching the bartender’s eye.

“Scotch, rocks,” he said, and then, he glanced down at Scorpius, who was practically underfoot. “And two lemonades, please.”

The party was not what Hermione would consider a “good time,” but she found that at least it was easy enough to chat with Theo and Blaise. Schnell had a watchful eye on them from a few feet away.

“You know, I almost decided to invite Charlie Weasley as my date,” said Theo with a wink. “Do you know if he dates men?”

Hermione laughed.

“I think he’s a bit like you, Theo,” she said, with mischief in her voice. “Could be convinced.”

Theo looked scandalized.

“You’re implying that I might date a woman?” he said, his hand over his heart dramatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it,” she said.

Theo leaned in conspiratorially, a grin on his face and his voice lowering to a whisper so that she had to lean in to hear it.

“I have thought about it,” said Theo against her ear. “But Draco got to it first.”

Hermione let out a shriek of laughter and batted him away, and Draco suddenly took a keen interest in Theo’s flirtatious body language, wrapping an arm around her waist possessively and glowering. Hermione let her hand rest on top of his reassuringly.

But her relaxing evening with Theo was not to last, as soon, Lucius Malfoy had made his way through the crowd to Draco. The two Malfoys eyed each other with suspicion and not a little contempt, but Lucius schooled his features, softening them.

“Thank you for coming,” said Lucius politely, and he swept his gaze toward Scorpius and Hermione. “I’d love to introduce you to some of my guests. You and your… family.”

It was like he was choking on the word, but still, it took Hermione by surprise to hear it from his lips. Draco seemed surprised as well, his brows furrowing slightly. It appeared he had prepared to tell his father that no, they would not be mingling, but he was suddenly wrong-footed, and he only mustered a small nod, placing one hand on Scorpius’s shoulder and the other at the small of Hermione’s back.

Lucius led them through the party, stopping at small clusters of society witches and wizards to introduce them.

“My son, Draco,” Lucius would say, watching as Draco extended his hand. “And my grandson, Scorpius.”

Hermione smiled to see Scorpius shake the hand of wealthy pureblood wizards as his father had. And then, Lucius would sweep an arm toward her.

“And I’m sure you all know Hermione Granger,” Lucius said, and at each cluster, there would be raised eyebrows, murmurs of surprise, and interested glances at her belly.

“There’s to be a granddaughter soon enough,” Lucius would add.

There would inevitably be a witch who would glance at Hermione and Draco’s ringless left hands, though none dared to make any obvious signs of disapproval. Draco noted the glances, though, and he began idly fiddling with his finger as though remembering the ghost of the wedding band he once wore.

The final cluster of witches and wizards proved the most overwhelming. As the crowd parted, Hermione caught sight of Flora Henley looking disgustingly pretty in a soft blue gown, her strawberry blonde hair tied back in an elegant chignon that Hermione’s curls could never mimic. She was chatting with an older couple, perhaps Lucius and Narcissa’s age, and when they turned, catching sight of Draco and Scorpius, the woman’s hand went to her mouth.

“Nathaniel,” said Draco, and he held out his hand. The wizard took it, pumping it twice before releasing him, and then Draco held it out to the woman, palm up. “Calliope.”

The woman placed her hand on top of his, and he squeezed it gently, and then, he nudged Scorpius forward.

“He’s so big,” said Calliope, a slight choke in her voice, and then, Hermione realised.

These were Astoria’s parents.

Scorpius looked nervous to be inspected so thoroughly, and he reached out for Hermione’s hand in support. The gesture caught Calliope’s eye, and her gaze traveled up and down Hermione’s body, taking in her face with recognition and seeing her rounded belly. Calliope pressed her lips together, taking a slow breath.

“I’m Calliope Greengrass,” said the woman, holding out her hand for Hermione to shake.

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione, and Calliope nodded.

“I know,” she said.

Calliope knelt in front of Scorpius, quite a feat in the elegant gown she was wearing, and Scorpius did not release Hermione’s hand. As Astoria’s mother looked into her grandson’s face, Hermione saw Draco greeting Flora with a tight hug, sharing a quiet word with her, and Hermione fought the surge of jealousy that washed over her. She felt out of place in a way that she hadn’t until that moment. These were people from Draco’s previous life, and Hermione did not know exactly how she fit in.

“Your mother was my daughter,” said Calliope, and Scorpius squeezed Hermione’s hand harder. “So I suppose that makes me your grandmother.”

Scorpius looked up at Hermione as though asking her to confirm this. She did not know how to respond, but she gave him a reassuring smile, and Calliope stood straight, glancing at Hermione again.

“It’s been too long,” said Calliope, and Hermione fought the urge to fidget. “Thank you for bringing him.”

“Oh,” began Hermione, about to say that it had been Draco’s idea, but she thought better of getting into it all. “You’re welcome.”

Hermione was feeling a bit awkward as the conversation between the Greengrasses and Malfoys continued, so she backed away from the small group and meandered across the room to where Theo was standing, a reassuring smile on his face.

“So,” said Theo into her ear. “You met the in-laws.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, fingering the rim of her glass of lemonade and glancing over at Draco, who was still chatting with Nathaniel and Calliope. She eyed Theo’s whiskey hopefully. “Wish I could have a drink about now.”

He held up the glass to her, and she dipped her nose into it, taking a deep inhale and feeling the burn of alcohol inside her nose.

“A sip won’t hurt,” said Theo with a wink.

“I’ve made it this long,” she said with a shrug.

“I bet it’s been at least three years since he’s seen them,” Theo said, gesturing toward Draco with his scotch before taking a slow sip. “They were Lucius’s friends more than Narcissa’s.”

“And who’s that?” asked Hermione, nodding at a tall, handsome gentleman who’d just joined Draco.

“Mm,” said Theo mischievously. “That’s Roland Henley. Flora’s father.”

She glowered, and Theo laughed.

“Somehow I was picturing a man who owns a Potions shop in Knockturn Alley to look a lot less…”

“Hot?” offered Theo helpfully.

“Exactly,” she snapped.

About that time, Scorpius left his father’s side and skipped across the room to where Hermione was standing, and Theo took the opportunity to lift him up and whisper something into his ear that sounded suspiciously like, “I know where they keep the chocolates.” Hermione waved them off and rejoined Draco, who was now in pleasant conversation with the group: his father, Astoria’s parents, and Flora and her father. He must have felt, rather than seen, her coming, because even as his back was turned to her, he angled his body to make room for her in the small circle and rested an arm behind her back.

“So,” said Nathaniel Greengrass. “Another Malfoy heir?”

Hermione noted that Nathaniel and Calliope both looked somewhat uncomfortable, and she wondered what to attribute this to. The fact that Draco had moved on? That someone on the opposite side of the war was standing amongst them? The fact that there would be another child to compete with their grandson for the Malfoy fortune?

“No, no,” said Lucius in a reassuring tone. “It’s a girl.”

The Greengrasses visibly relaxed. Mystery solved. Hermione fought the sour look that wanted to make its way onto her face, and Draco’s hand stiffened against her back. He looked down at her and then, he seemed to realise that Scorpius was not with her. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“With Theo,” she said.

“I see,” said Draco, and then, he turned back to the small group around him. “I should go and find my son. It was… it was lovely to see you again.”

“Please,” said Calliope. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Draco nodded at her, and he and Hermione turned to find Theo in the crowd, but she noticed that they were being followed. Turning her head, she saw Flora pop up on Draco’s opposite side, threading her arm in his. He did not scowl at her, but Hermione could read some tension in the set of his jaw.

“Thanks, Draco,” she said sweetly. “Nathaniel and Calliope have wanted to see Scorpius for years now, but they didn’t know how to reach out.”

He did not answer her. Theo and Scorpius were sitting together on a sofa in one of the many sitting rooms of the estate, Schnell a few feet away, and Theo narrowed his eyes when he saw Flora’s hand through Draco’s arm. He stood, dropping the last of the chocolates into Scorpius’s lap, and refastened the button on his suit coat. Draco still had one hand at Hermione’s lower back.

“Scorpius is bored,” said Theo. “You should take your family home, Draco.”

Hermione watched as one pale eyebrow on Draco’s face lifted, and his lips twitched slightly in Theo’s direction. Draco pulled his arm away from Flora and turned to Hermione.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“We should say goodbye to your mother,” said Hermione.

They took one last turn through the mansion, finding Narcissa and Lucius with Blaise Zabini’s mother and her new husband. Narcissa swept Hermione into her arms, holding her close.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered into Hermione’s ear.

“Thanks for inviting me,” said Hermione.

“We wouldn’t think of not inviting you,” said Narcissa with a smile as she pulled back from the hug. “You’re family.”

The word had been thrown around an awful lot that evening, and Hermione was torn. It warmed her heart to think of herself and Draco, Scorpius, and Lyra as a family, but at the same time, they were not married. They were not even engaged. She did not even know if she was going to stay with him at Malfoy Manor after Lyra was born. Still, Narcissa had a very knowing, kind smile on her face as she hugged Scorpius and Draco. Lucius offered Hermione a rather stiff nod, but it was better than nothing.

After Scorpius was tucked into bed, stories read and kisses bestowed, Hermione and Draco went into his room, their room she supposed, at this point. She began to peel her dress off her body, noticing that Draco was watching her intensely.

“Merlin, you’re sexy,” he said in a low voice.

“How can you say that? I’m as big as a house,” she said, gesturing at her belly.

“You know,” said Draco in a sly voice. “Half the appeal is knowing that I did that to you.”

There was a feral, possessive look in his eye as he sized her up, and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. He was undressing, the cuff links on his shirt clinking in his hand as he pulled them off. It was surprisingly intimate, watching him pull off his clothes from across the room. She heard the snap of his belt, watched his thighs come into view as he let his trousers fall to the floor and kicked them away. Her eyes made their way slowly back up to his face, taking in his chiseled body. He was smirking at her.

“See something you like?” he asked teasingly.

She almost blushed.

He sank down into the bed, pushing the blankets down to the foot as he did, and gave her a look. Taking his meaning, Hermione pulled her knickers down her legs, noticing his appreciative glance as she did. It was hard to feel sexy when she was so pregnant, but the heat in his stare certainly did the trick.

As soon as she was lying on the bed, Draco crawled on top of her, claiming her lips in a delicious kiss. She could feel hot breath on her face as he kissed her, one of his hands tangling in her hair as her fingers scraped the skin of his back. He groaned into her mouth before letting his hand dip down between her legs, sliding against her wetness before seeking her sensitive cl*t. Her legs shuddered as he found it, a whimper escaping her throat.

Draco kissed her jaw, her neck, her breasts, even the swell of her belly before he let his mouth settle between her thighs, his tongue licking one slow swipe from her entrance to her cl*t before letting his lips wrap around it. Her back arched up off the bed, and her fingers threaded in his silky blond hair.

“f*ck, Draco,” she whispered urgently. “More.”

His efforts on her cl*t were invigorated, his tongue flicking and his lips providing a gentle suction that brought stars to her vision. She could feel the org*sm building in the base of her spine, a roaring in her ears, and then, she exploded. Her entire body convulsed, shivering under his slowing ministrations before his lips released her and he sat up on his knees.

Draco slipped one finger inside her, staring at her c*nt in a way that almost made her push her knees together. She was eight months pregnant, after all, and things were not the same as they usually were, but Draco clearly did not mind.

“Merlin, you’re beautiful,” he said reverently.

She didn’t know when he had divested himself of his briefs, but he had his co*ck in his hand, stroking it slowly as he stared between her legs, and then, he hiked her legs up so that one rested on each shoulder, and he slid his co*ck inside her.

His groan thundered in the room.

“f*ck, you feel so good,” he said as he began to thrust slowly inside her. She could feel the stretch and drag of him. “I’m not going to last long.”

Each thrust pressed against the sensitive place inside her body, the head of his erection creating such a delicious pressure that she nearly begged him to stop, that it felt too good, too sensitive, but she stared at his face. His expression was one of abject ecstasy. It overwhelmed her to see him like this, to know that she alone was granted this intimacy with him.

His fingers tightened on her thighs, and her whimpers and moans grew in volume and pitch. It was a song, a symphony, a plucked string that vibrated through them both as he pistoned in and out of her. Her hands fisted in the sheets, and she felt his co*ck growing impossibly hard inside her.

Though it took longer than she’d expected, given his warning, his groans reached their crescendo and his co*ck slammed into her, reaching a deep place inside of her that only he had ever managed to find. She could feel him spasming inside her, emptying himself and cursing as he came. Draco thrust languidly into her body a few times more before letting himself slip out, casting a Scourgify before the sheets could be ruined.

He was panting heavily, and she could feel his heartbeat in his skin as he pulled her close to him, smoothing her hair away from his face and kissing her forehead. They lay in silence for a long moment, satisfied, but then, he broke the silence.

“You’ll stay here at the Manor after Lyra is born, won’t you?” asked Draco quietly, his arms wrapped around her as her head rested on his chest.

“Do you want me to?” Hermione asked.

There was a pause, and she held her breath, listening to his heart thump under his ribs.

“Yes,” he said with conviction.

She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, and she nuzzled in closer to him.

“Then I’ll stay,” she said.

Hermione thought of their ringless left hands and the judgmental stares of the witches at the Malfoy Yorkshire estate, and she realized that she did not care what they thought. She loved this man. She loved Draco Malfoy. She almost giggled aloud to think it. As the minutes wore on, she heard Draco’s breathing grow slower and more even, and before she knew it, they were both asleep.

~

When Hermione and Draco Flooed one after another to the Research Institute the following Friday morning, they walked past the Herbology division and waved at Neville, who called out, “I won’t ask how much longer til the baby comes!” The entrance to the T.T.R. Division had two hired security wizards who grilled them intensely with security questions and a rotating cycle of passwords, and then, they slipped through the wards and into the office she shared with Theo. He was waiting for them, the Time Turner on a chain around his neck.

He was fiddling with the device absently when they walked in.

“What are you doing with that?” asked Hermione with narrowed eyes.

“I’m going to test it again,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”

Hermione chewed her lip, watching Theo, Schnell an ever-present fixture behind him. Theo looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Want to try to with me?” he asked.

An excitement flitted through her at the possibility. She ached to return to productivity at work, having been sidelined for so many weeks thanks to her pregnancy. Draco, however, was not having it.

“Absolutely not,” said Draco. “She can’t try a Time Turner while pregnant.”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy, I’ve tried it myself,” said Theo, pushing up from his chair and dangling the Time Turner out in temptation. “I’ve followed all the testing protocols, and everything works as it should. Surely, she can-”

“No,” he said with a tone of finality.

“Draco!” she scolded.

“You’ve got at most six weeks left in this pregnancy, probably fewer,” said Draco. “We’re not risking this. Besides, you can’t be more than twenty feet from me.”

“You could come, too,” offered Theo, extending the chain in their direction.

“Perfect!” Hermione said, at the same time that Draco repeated, “NO.”

Theo sighed dramatically.

“It was worth a shot,” he said with a sympathetic grin at Hermione. “The Department of Magical History has asked us to start providing some data and records. They want to know more about the Battle of Hogwarts. Document what happened.”

Hermione nodded. This was part of the reason they’d started work on a new Time Turner. With only one in existence, it could not be used for children who wanted to take extra classes. Its use would be highly controlled, and the Department of Magical History had the first commissioned assignment for them.

“You cast the Disillusionment. You’re better at them than I am,” said Theo, and Hermione knew that this was not true, but was thankful for Theo saying it all the same.

Theo draped the chain over Schnell’s neck, standing closer to him than was strictly necessary, a devious smirk on his face as Hermione approached. Draco had his arms folded in front of his chest, watching her with a scowl as though he were half expecting her to try to jump into the chain with Theo at the last minute. The idea had crossed her mind, but she did know better. She cast the Disillusionment charm, and Theo and Schnell disappeared. She heard a light scrape of metal as he spun the hourglass.

“I’m sorry,” said Draco, and she turned to him. “You’ve had this massive project going for years, and I got you pregnant just as it was coming to fruition. Now, you’re hardly part of it. I know it’s difficult for you.”

Hermione smiled, placing a palm on his arm.

“Thanks,” she said. “It is hard, but you’re right. I can’t go traveling to the Battle of Hogwarts when I’m this close to giving birth.”

He jerked his head in a nod, his arms still folded in front of his chest. They were both a bit anxious, waiting for Theo and Schnell to return. This Time Turner was unusual in its ability to send the user forward in time as well as backward: though it could not be used to travel into the future, Theo and Schnell would be able to return back to their time and place in the office. It should have taken just a few seconds. Hermione began tapping her foot worriedly.

Theo and Schnell reappeared, and Hermione exhaled a sigh of relief. But Theo’s face had an expression of confusion and worry.

“Hermione,” he said. “There was someone else there.”

Chapter 24: thirty-five

Chapter Text

Harry Potter had not set foot in Malfoy Manor since their fateful kidnapping years earlier during their year on the lam, but Hermione supposed there was no time like the present. It did not seem that she would be leaving Malfoy Manor any time soon. Her old flat was lying empty and dusty, and she was very near to removing all of her things and ending the lease, but as she had not yet discussed moving into Malfoy Manor permanently, she had yet to do so.

Harry and Ginny Potter arrived by Floo to the traveling parlor, each of them with one child in tow, and Scorpius yelped with glee when James ran into the room. They took hands and ran out, heading to the garden where Scorpius was planning to show James the kite.

Theo was already there, lounging in a chair with one long leg extended in front of him, and he stood when the Potters entered.

“Schnell’s night off?” asked Harry, and Theo nodded. “You shouldn’t be at Malfoy Manor, then.”

Unsurprisingly, Theo smirked and winked.

But their evening was not just a chance for the children to play and the Potters to see Hermione’s new abode. They had the serious matter of what Theo had seen in the Time Turner to discuss. With Albus on her hip, Ginny excused herself to the garden to watch James and Scorpius, and Theo, Hermione, and Harry sat around the long dining table with Draco.

“Tell me again what you saw,” said Harry, his hands clasped in front of him on the dark wood table.

Theo rolled his neck a bit.

“I went through to the Battle of Hogwarts, to the northern battlements just as the Department of Magical History requested, and I swear to you, Potter, I saw someone else who was… like me,” said Theo.

“Like you? In what way?” asked Harry.

“Out of place. The others I saw were focused on the battle, frightened or determined in the face of the giants or the Death Eaters,” said Theo, and at this, Draco scratched at his left forearm. “He wasn’t. He was looking for something, ignoring the battle completely.”

“He?”

“I think so, but there was a badly done Glamour charm on him, so it’s hard to be sure,” said Theo.

Draco and Harry shared a dark look.

“Same as the report from Henley’s Apothecary,” said Draco. “Someone’s been after the Time Turner for months now, and there seems to be reason to think they end up getting hold of it.”

“Hm,” said Harry, mulling this over worriedly. “Where was he going? Did you see?”

“No,” said Theo. “I couldn’t really see what was happening. There was a bunch of movement, some explosions. I had to duck out of the way, and when I turned back to try to spot him again, I saw him fumble with something and disappear.”

“The Time Turner, surely,” said Draco, staring hard at Harry.

Harry put his face in his hands, rubbing upward through his messy black hair. He made a frustrated groan.

“So, we’ve spent months trying to keep the Time Turner protected,” said Harry, and then he gestured between her and Theo. “Trying to keep these two safe. And now, we know we’ve failed. We know that at some point, the attacker gets the Time Turner and goes back to the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“Changing the outcome of the Battle still seems the most likely reason to do it,” said Draco darkly, rubbing at his forearm again.

“Would that even be possible?” asked Harry, looking to Hermione. “Could they really just change history like that? Would we even know they’d done it?”

“It shouldn’t be possible, no,” said Hermione. “The theory says that you can’t change anything. That history is written, and whatever you do with the Time Turner has already been done. But again, it’s all theory. We don’t really know for sure.”

Ginny and the boys ran in at that moment, interrupting the conversation.

“The kids are hungry,” she said.

Harry and Draco were staring hard at one another, having some nonverbal conversation between Aurors that Hermione could not read, so she simply began waving her wand to send plates and glasses to each seat. While Scorpius had a porcelain plate and crystal goblet, Hermione transfigured the plate in front of James to be a more flexible, bendy paper material.

Montgomery served the party that night, and somewhat to her surprise, the conversation flowed easily. Draco, Theo, Harry, and Ginny got along better than she could have hoped.

“So, Ginny, that dragon taming brother of yours,” said Theo, fingering the rim of his whiskey glass. “Hermione thinks he could be convinced to try men. What do you think?”

With Albus in her lap, Ginny let her eyes linger up and down Theo’s face and torso, then craned her neck a bit to try to catch a glimpse at what the table was concealing. Harry looked rather unnerved by this, and Ginny bit her lip.

“For you?” she said. “I think he could be.”

Theo laughed in triumph, and Harry gave a huff. Stories began to unfold as they shared their Hogwarts tales with each other. Hermione learned a very inappropriate story about the Bloody Baron’s habit of spying on the 6^th and 7^th years when they got up to no good (“Pervy bastard interrupted my first blow j*b,” said Draco in a grumpy voice). But her favourite moment was listening to Harry tell the story of their Second year.

“And then, Hermione brewed Polyjuice, and we turned into Crabbe and Goyle,” said Harry through laughter.

“What I would have paid to see that,” said Theo. “And Malfoy had no idea?”

“No! I was even wearing my glasses. My signature Harry Potter round frames,” said Harry, holding up his fingers in circles in front of his eyes to demonstrate. “And when he asked why, I said it was because I was reading.”

Theo cackled.

“And then Malfoy goes, ‘I didn’t know you could read’,” Harry said, and everyone burst into fits of laughter.

Draco, predictably, scowled.

“Some Auror,” said Theo, wiping tears of laughter. “And all just to find out who opened the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Mm-hmm,” said Harry, and his laughter had ended suddenly, anticipating the next question.

“Who did?” asked Theo.

Of course, there was no reason Theo would have known who opened the Chamber of Secrets. That she was sitting at this very table with a baby in her lap. But it was not something Ginny liked to talk about, and Hermione was about to open her mouth to change the subject when something happened that did it for her.

She felt a strange twinge in her abdomen, and suddenly, a gush of water exited her body and drenched the chair and floor beneath her.

“Oh!” yelped Hermione. “Oh! Erm…”

Everyone was looking at her.

“My water broke,” she said.

The room leapt to life. Draco jumped to his feet, jostling the table with his knee and making the porcelain clink. Ginny came to her side and waved her wand to vanish the puddle that had formed beneath her, and Harry wrangled the three children. Scorpius was in a panic.

“What broke? What broke?” he was asking repeatedly.

“It’s normal, Scorp,” said Theo reassuringly. “It just means the baby is coming.”

She could see in Scorpius’s face that this was worrisome for him, knowing as he did that his own mother had died in childbirth. She tried to give him a calming smile, but at that moment, the first labour contraction built in her abdomen, and she screwed up her face against the pain of it.

“Let’s get you off to St. Mungo’s,” said Ginny.

“I’ve got to get my mother here to keep Scorpius,” said Draco.

Hermione looked up into his face and saw a panicked terror building in it. She knew that he, too, was thinking of Astoria’s death. His grip on her hand was so tight that his knuckles had gone white, but truthfully, it took her mind off the contraction, which was beginning to taper off.

“Send her a Patronus,” said Hermione.

Draco’s gaze snapped to her face.

“There’s no f*cking chance I’ll be able to make a Patronus right now,” he said, his grey eyes dark and full of dread.

Hermione sighed.

“Theo, can you summon Narcissa?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Theo lazily. “Accio Narcissa.”

The entire room groaned as Theo smirked, but he dutifully waved his wand and called out Expecto Patronum, sending a Patronus off to Draco’s mother. Narcissa arrived just a few moments later, bustling in the room just as Hermione was experiencing another contraction.

“Don’t talk to her,” she heard Ginny’s voice say, and she appreciated it in that moment as she willed herself to calm through the pain.

Once the contraction faded, she looked at Draco’s face. He was anxious, holding her hands in his, staring into her eyes. It was like the chaos in the room did not exist and for a moment it was only the two of them and their baby.

“I’m going to see you through this,” he said quietly, determinedly. “You’re going to make it through this.”

She wondered if Draco was reassuring her or himself.

With Scorpius tended to, Theo gave Hermione a hug and a kiss on the forehead before Apparating off home, and Harry, Ginny, and the children followed them to the traveling parlor, stopping once along the way for Hermione to have a contraction. Narcissa sent a Patronus to Healer Davis, telling him to meet Hermione and Draco at St. Mungo’s. Hermione gave Scorpius a hug, pulling him in close. His eyes were shining with nervous tears, but she kissed them away.

“I’m so excited for you to meet your sister,” she said, cupping his face in her palms.

When she glanced up at Draco, she saw that he, too, was very close to tears. The reality of her situation sank in. The books, the Healers, and Narcissa had all been clear: magically entwined pregnancy was dangerous, and childbirth was the most precarious time of all. But she could not let her mind drift to this reality. She had a baby to birth.

“I’ll meet you at St. Mungo’s,” said Harry. “You’ll have full Auror protection while you’re there.”

“You don’t have to do…” but she trailed off as another contraction gripped her. They were not, in truth, as bad as the pain of being away from Draco for a length of time, but each seemed to get a little worse than the last.

Draco insisted on going through the Floo together, and though they hardly fit in the grate, they spun away to the labour ward at St. Mungo’s. Harry whooshed into the entrance just behind them, wand in hand. Hermione was whisked away to a delivery room, and diagnostic spells were cast.

“You’re pretty far along already,” said a Healer. “I don’t expect it’ll take too long, dear.”

But she was beginning to feel a new and uncomfortable sensation as labour progressed. It was like her magic itself was being split apart. Every fibre of her body seemed stretched like it might shred to bits.

“Yes, that’s normal,” said Healer Davis darkly. “Your magic has been entwined with the baby’s magic, with Mr. Malfoy’s magical signature. Once the baby is out, it’s like a sudden whiplash. A rubber band pulled tight that is about to snap. It can be a perilous time.”

“What can I do?” asked Draco, his voice shaking.

“Your wand might help,” said Healer Davis.

Draco immediately pulled out the hawthorn wand and placed it in Hermione’s outstretched hand. Its magical signature was soothing, and she found herself squeezing it tightly through each contraction.

Through hours of labour, Draco sat by her side, pushing on her lower back during contractions, applying counterpressure at her hipbones, swaying with her as she leaned into his chest. She found herself thinking of Astoria, of how he must have done these same things for her, and Hermione was grateful. He was an amazing support.

“How will we know if she’s going to have an amniotic fluid embolism?” he asked the Healer as the contractions grew closer together and more intense.

“I’m so sorry, but we can’t know that, Mr. Malfoy,” said a Healer. “But please be reassured that they are exceedingly rare.”

Draco did not seem reassured.

And as labour progressed, the pain of contractions intensified, as did the feeling of her magic ripping asunder. Hermione tried to hold in the anguished moans, but she could not. Harry poked his head in the room, looking worried, and Healer Davis and the team at St. Mungo’s hovered nervously, monitoring spells lighting up all around her. Patronuses arrived every hour or two, from Narcissa and from Ginny, but even if Draco had wanted to attempt to send a message in reply, he could not, as Hermione refused to relinquish his wand. Any moment she was not holding it, the pain magnified tenfold. Harry sent a reply for them: all is as well as it can be.

Six hours after they arrived at St. Mungo’s, her body was ready.

“It’s time to push, Hermione,” said a Healer, glancing over a diagnostic spell.

The pressure in her pelvis was unbelievable, and her body was desperate to expel the baby, but at the same time, she could feel the entwined magic struggling to let loose. Her fingers tightened around Draco’s hawthorn wand, craving contact, but it was not enough to dispel the pain. It felt quite literally like she was being ripped in half. Her vision was full of black spots and stars, and her screams of agony were scraping out of her throat without her permission.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” she roared, her body convulsing as the magic in her veins vibrated its protest.

“Can’t you do anything for her?” asked Draco, obviously terrified, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“She just needs to push again,” said Healer Davis. “Once the baby’s born, this should all stop. We just have to get her through this.”

“How do we get her through this?” growled Draco, his hand tight around hers.

“Another contraction coming on,” said Healer Davis, positioning himself to catch the baby. “Time to push.”

Hermione did not think she had the strength to do it, but she tucked her chin to her chest. Draco held her hand, counting with her, his soothing baritone voice in her ear. She felt a fiery stretch as her baby made her way out of her body, and then, with one more push, the baby was born. Hermione heard one perfect cry, and then, her vision faded to black.

Chapter 25: one day

Chapter Text

She could hear panicked wails beside her ear through the fog of unconsciousness, and she vaguely recognized them as Draco’s. As she began to climb up toward awareness, she could hear a string of almost unintelligible words.

“Please, don’t do this. Not again, please Merlin, no,” he was chanting repeatedly.

She could hear the scuffle of Healers around her casting spells, and then, she heard Lyra’s cry. Hermione struggled mightily to open her eyes, but when she did, she saw Draco kneeling at her bedside, his forehead resting on her knuckles. Harry had raced into the room, probably upon hearing Draco’s anguished sobs, and when she opened her eyes, she locked her gaze with Harry’s green ones.

“Malfoy,” said Harry, nudging Draco’s shoulder.

Draco looked up, and when his grey eyes found hers, he burst into tears, falling over her and kissing her repeatedly everywhere his lips could reach. Harry was smiling and patting Draco’s back as the Healers continued bustling around her with their wands. She was given three potions to swallow, which she could not manage to do as Draco continued touching her face, brushing her curly hair away from her sweaty cheeks.

“Mr. Malfoy, can you please move?” said Healer Davis in a scolding voice, and Draco pulled away from her so that she could swallow the potions.

“Lyra is beautiful,” said Harry, looking at Hermione with love and fondness. “Good job cooking that one.”

Harry reached over Draco’s shoulder to take Hermione’s hand, squeezing it once. Then, Hermione heard a tiny cry from the other side of the room.

“I want to see her,” said Hermione quietly, her voice still raspy from her screams of pain.

A nurse brought her baby to her, wrapped in a blanket, only her tiny face visible. She had perfect, tiny pink lips, and her dark grey eyes were open, searching the room. The nurse placed the bundle in Hermione’s arms, and when she looked up at Draco, she saw channels of tears falling down his cheeks. Though he had been through a pregnancy before, though he knew much about labour, this was a scene he had never had the chance to witness.

Draco climbed onto the hospital bed and wrapped one arm behind Hermione’s back, his other hand placed protectively on the bundle that was Lyra.

“I’ll send a Patronus to the interested parties,” said Harry. “Let them know that all is well.”

“No,” said Draco confidently. “I will.”

Hermione tore her eyes away from her baby’s tiny, sweet face and watched as Draco held out his hawthorn wand, waved it in the air, and said, Expecto Patronum.

There was a moment of silence as they all stared at his Patronus.

“Well, we’ll have to unpack that later,” said Harry.

“Is that a…” Hermione began, trying not to giggle. “Is it a beaver?”

“Little on the nose, eh, Malfoy?” said Harry, clapping him on the shoulder.

The silvery beaver was hovering in front of him, awaiting orders. Draco was staring at it with an open mouth, as though in disbelief that he’d managed to make one, but he shook himself slightly and took a slow inhale.

“Lyra is here, Hermione is well. We’ll send word when we’re ready for visitors,” said Draco, and the beaver scampered off.

“Better a beaver than a ferret,” offered Harry.

Draco snorted in a knowing way, as though there was more to the idea of a ferret as a Patronus than they knew. Hermione and Harry both look at him expectantly, waiting for the story that he was clearly trying not to tell them. Draco sighed heavily.

“Astoria’s Patronus was a ferret,” he said, his lips twitching as he found a grin.

Harry laughed loudly.

“And Hermione’s is an otter,” said Harry. “Family full of rodents.”

“Otters and ferrets are mustelids,” said Hermione, not able to help herself, and Harry rolled his eyes.

When a nurse came in to help Hermione feed the baby, Harry made himself scarce, planting a kiss on top of her head and posting himself at the door. Draco was watching with rapt attention, his face spellbound by the sight of Hermione bringing their baby to her breast. Again, this was a moment he had never been able to witness. His eyes were wet with tears.

Nursing her baby was not the easy, natural thing that it seemed it should be, and she required help to hold Lyra in position, but Draco was at her side at each feeding. He positioned pillows strategically, kept her topped up with a cup of water, and pulled her curly hair out of the way as she learned. The nurses were helpful, but their first guest was the most helpful of all.

“She’s beautiful!” said Ginny delightedly. “Oh, I’m so happy for you both!”

Ginny had pulled Draco into a hug, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and he had a dazed look on his face, seemingly bemused by being embraced by Ginny Potter, and his hands were very tentative as they tried to return her hug. But then, Ginny elbowed him out of the way and came to her side.

“Look, you need two pillows stacked here and two more on the other side,” said Ginny, all business. “Malfoy, go get more pillows.”

Draco jumped into action, grabbing the pillows from the small bench that was serving as his bed and handing them to Ginny. With her help, Hermione was able to find a much easier and more comfortable position. Ginny listed a litany of spells on her fingers for everything from cracked nipples to bladder leakage to post-partum bleeding.

“Being a new mum isn’t very sexy, is it?” asked Hermione.

But Draco had a smile from ear-to-ear as he looked at her, shaking his head.

“It’s the sexiest f*cking thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, and when she inspected his face to see if he was having her on, she found nothing but genuine sincerity there.

Narcissa was her next visitor, and she had brought a very special someone with her.

Scorpius was timid as he entered the hospital room, probably unnerved by the intense scrutiny that her Auror guards had for anyone trying to go inside, and he was hiding behind Narcissa’s skirts nervously, but he broke into a run when he saw Draco, flying into his father’s arms.

“Ugh, you’re getting too big,” said Draco in a groaning voice as he picked Scorpius up. “Can hardly lift you. Too many biscuits with Grandmother, I think?”

“Just the right number of biscuits,” said Narcissa with a smile, and though Hermione could tell she was longing to see her granddaughter up close, she stayed back, waiting for Scorpius to have his turn first.

“Want to see her?” asked Draco, and Scorpius nodded.

Draco took two steps toward the bed where Hermione was resting, baby Lyra lying in the open space between her legs, and he let Scorpius lean in to get a better look. She watched as Scorpius’s pale blond brow furrowed, a mirror image of his father as he inspected his sister.

“Want to sit here next to me?” asked Hermione, patting a space.

Scorpius hesitated, but he nodded, and Draco plopped him down next to Hermione, where he snuggled against her, staring at the baby.

“She’s so small,” he said.

“Very,” agreed Hermione. “Can you believe she was in my belly just yesterday?”

He shook his head.

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked, and she felt him stiffen slightly. “I can help, if you like.”

Hermione tucked one hand under Lyra’s body, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and the other under her head, her soft pink hat coming slightly askew, and Scorpius reached his small fingers down to adjust it.

“Hold your arms like this,” said Draco, demonstrating as though he were cradling a baby, and Scorpius mimicked his father with a slight awkwardness.

But the smile that spread across his face when Hermione placed Lyra in his arms lit up the room. She glanced up to see Narcissa at Draco’s side, her head resting against his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her, both of them watching the scene with tenderness.

“Oh!” said Narcissa suddenly. “I’ve got a camera. Draco, get in there with them.”

Draco showed some reluctance, but he stepped in close to Hermione and his two children, perching on the edge of the hospital bed and wrapping an arm around the three of them. Scorpius beamed, and Hermione smiled as the flashbulb of the camera went off before Narcissa waved her want to shrink it and return it to her bag.

“Let’s let Grandmother hold her now, hm?” said Hermione.

“No, darling, not yet,” said Narcissa insistently, and then, she came to Hermione’s side, looking her squarely in the eyes. “First, tell me, how are you doing?”

At this, tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes unbidden. She had never missed her mother so much as now, when she was a new mother herself, and the experience of childbirth and recovery were overwhelming, but everyone was now focused on the baby. Hermione let a watery smile cross her face and nodded.

“I’m okay,” she said. “It was rough, but I’m okay.”

“She very nearly didn’t make it,” said Draco gravely. “I thought I’d…”

His voice choked, and he looked at Scorpius, who was still staring at Lyra in his arms. Draco shook his head.

“I thought I was reliving it all over again,” he said. “But she pulled through. She was amazing.”

He was giving her a heartfelt smile, another smile that she wanted to capture and put in her pocket, but she refocused her attention to Narcissa.

“It felt like my magic was being wrung from my body,” said Hermione, shivering slightly.

“Yes, I remember,” she replied, nodding. “How does it feel now?”

Hermione paused. She had not considered this yet, the difference in the magic inside her. Experimentally, she reached for her wand on the low table next to her bed, feeling it in her hand. She set it down and extended her hand for Draco’s wand, and he pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her.

It did not sing as it had, but she could still feel a connection with it. She knew this wand would work for her as well as her own.

“It’s still there,” said Hermione. “Just not as much.”

Narcissa beamed.

“That’s how it’ll always be,” she said, and then, she leaned in and placed a kiss on the side of Hermione’s face. “I’m so proud of you, darling. You’ve done wonderfully. Now, give me that baby.”

Scorpius nodded, but he did not take his eyes off his sister as Narcissa reached down to take the baby in her arms.

“Oh, she looks like Draco,” said Narcissa, pulling the blanket away from Lyra’s face.

No surprises there.

It was true. Despite the fact that Lyra mostly looked like a squished potato, Hermione could already see the ghost of Draco’s features: wisps of pale blond hair and a strong, pointed chin. The Malfoy genes were strong.

Narcissa and Scorpius left soon after. Hermione was ready to go back home to Malfoy Manor (“home to Malfoy Manor” was a phrase that she had not ever expected to feel so wonderful), but the Healers insisted that she stay one more night. The day and night were full of the same things over and over: Draco changing the baby’s diaper, Hermione feeding her at every whimper, and the Healers checking her over as she recovered. She was exhausted and craving her own bed.

Thankfully for Draco and Hermione, Nanny Kate was back on a full-time schedule, staying at the Manor every day except Sundays, so when they finally returned home, spinning through the Floo network, Hermione was at last able to get some rest.

“Oh, she’s absolutely gorgeous,” Kate cooed. “Go and get some sleep. You need it after all you’ve been through. I’ll wake you if she needs feeding.”

Hermione could not bring herself to protest, and she and Draco climbed the stairs, tiredly clomping up each step one at a time. When he pushed the door to his bedroom open, Hermione stared at it. The last time she’d slept in this bed, she had not been a mother. What a strange feeling it was! She and Draco both kicked off their shoes and the more uncomfortable layers of their clothes, slipping into the silky sheets.

Draco pulled her close, his face buried in her hair, kissing her gently.

“I love you so much, and I’m absolutely in awe of you,” he said quietly.

“You’ve been amazing,” she said as her eyes drooped shut. “Truly, I couldn’t have picked a better partner.”

She could feel his lips smile against her skin, but in a moment, she was sound asleep.

When Nanny Kate woke them, Hermione had no idea if it had been ten minutes or ten hours. Lyra was crying softly, her small arms jerking within her bundle of blankets.

“I wanted to get her to you before she got too worked up,” said Nanny Kate apologetically, and then, she looked at Draco. “And Scorpius is home from school.”

Hermione nodded her head toward the door, telling Draco without words that she would be alright, and he could go to Scorpius. Nanny Kate turned out to be an excellent assistant, helping her arrange the pillows as Ginny had showed her so that she could feed Lyra.

“I’ll bring you some water,” said Kate. “Can Scorpius come up, or shall I keep him away?

“He can come up,” said Hermione, watching as Lyra nursed sleepily.

Scorpius bounded into her bed shortly afterward, fascinated by the entire concept of breastfeeding, and trying to make himself useful by handing Hermione her water.

“Will you read to her?” she asked.

He raced into his room and found one of his favourite books, jumping back into bed and reading it out loud to his baby sister. Hermione glanced up to see Draco in the doorway, his shoulder resting on the doorframe as it always had when she read to Scorpius. He had an expression on his face that was very near to disbelief.

After Scorpius left, she asked Draco about it.

“I just…” he said, but he trailed off.

“Go on.”

“I can’t believe I get to have this,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I deserved it. I’ve done so many horrid things in my life. How did I earn this?”

“Draco,” she said, and she patted the space beside her on the bed.

Lyra had finished nursing, so she pulled her shirt down and handed her to Draco, who dutifully held her over his shoulder and patted her back. Hermione placed a hand on his leg.

“You’re a good man,” said Hermione. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. There’s no ledger that you have to account for. You don’t have to earn us. We’re here because we love you.”

His left arm dropped down to lace his fingers with hers, and she saw that he was staring at his Dark Mark.

“Scorpius asks what it means,” he said.

“And what do you tell him?” she asked.

“I tell him that when I was young, I listened to my father instead of my heart,” said Draco.

“And what did he say to that?”

Draco’s lips quirked into a smile as he began patting the baby’s back.

“That his heart was telling him he needed two biscuits after dinner instead of one,” he said, and Hermione laughed.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go downstairs and figure out how to have dinner as a family of four.”

His head snapped up, and for a moment, she wondered if she had overstepped. His jaw was clenched rather tightly, the muscle in it ticking, and his hand had stopped its movement on Lyra’s back. She was holding her breath as she watched him, and then, achingly slow, he turned his head in her direction.

“A family of four,” he said.

She bit her lip, unsure of what he needed her to say. He shifted then, angling his body so that he was looking at her.

Draco leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. As he pulled back, she stared into his grey eyes. Years ago, Hermione had given her heart to someone she was supposed to trust, someone the world expected her to love, and he had betrayed her. Now, she was giving her heart to someone the world would tell her was dangerous, was irredeemable, and she trusted him implicitly.

Lyra gave a tiny whimper on his shoulder, so he pulled her down, holding her in his arms as he stood from the bed and extended a hand for Hermione. They pulled on some clothes and descended the staircase together, finding Scorpius and Narcissa already seated at the dining table. It was a quiet dinner, rather subdued as they all fought sleepiness and the overwhelming feeling of having a new baby in the house. There were few sounds but those of silverware clinked against porcelain plates.

But Hermione could not help but grin, looking from one face to the next. Narcissa, Draco, Scorpius, Lyra.

Strangely enough, her family.

Chapter 26: thirteen days

Chapter Text

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Hermione realised that nothing could have possibly prepared her for the experience of having a brand-new baby. Lyra slept all day, needing to be woken to be fed, and then, she was awake and alert (and often crying) all night. There was a parade of helpers that came by to assist them: Nanny Kate was there every day but Sunday, Narcissa took charge of Scorpius, and Ginny was around, James and Albus in tow, to help with feeding.

Draco, too, was an amazing father and doting partner, but he was exhausted and frazzled.

“I don’t remember it being like this with Scorpius,” he said, purple shadows standing out underneath his eyes.

“Well, you weren’t exactly… participatory,” said Narcissa, and though it seemed like a scold, her tone was very gentle.

Still, he set his jaw uncomfortably and seemed resolved to be doubly present for his second child.

When Lyra was thirteen days old, Narcissa and Kate had insisted that Draco and Hermione get out of the house.

“Just go have a glass of wine in Diagon Alley,” said Narcissa. “Get out of the house for one hour. If anything happens and you’re needed at home, we’ll let you know straight away, but you need a break.”

Draco and Hermione had looked at each other, seeing the precariousness of each other’s sanity, and agreed.

They did not have it in them to dress in finery, so Hermione slipped on a pair of jeans and a cozy jumper, and Draco pulled on charcoal slacks and a white Oxford shirt. Hermione nursed Lyra once more, and then, they kissed the top of Scorpius’s head and Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco disappeared into the flames first, and with one last glimpse at Narcissa, who was holding Lyra in her arms, Hermione followed.

Truthfully, it was like a sigh of relief to be away from Malfoy Manor. Though she was more than happy to provide for Lyra’s needs, they were still rather suffocating, and Hermione longed to feel more like a human and less like a mammal. Her heart leapt when Draco held his hand out to her, and she laced her fingers with his and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked.

“Have you ever tried that wine bar?” he asked, pointing to a small establishment on the corner.

“No,” she said. “Let’s give it a go.”

It felt strange, being with Draco in public without Lyra. For the entirety of their relationship, she had been present, and Hermione found herself rather nervous trying to understand what their relationship would be without her. The server at the wine bar recognized them both immediately, and they sat at a table near the window with a lovely view of Diagon Alley.

They were quiet at first, both too tired to say much as they sipped their wine. It was heavenly. She hadn’t had wine in eight months, and the first sip of a spicy, tobacco-forward red was exactly what she needed on a cool November evening. Hermione’s attention was focused on a couple walking a dog along the path outside when the sound of Draco clearing his throat jolted her from her thoughts.

And she saw that he had a small, velvet box in his hand.

“I want you to marry me,” said Draco.

Though the moment was quite serious and should have stolen her breath away, she found herself letting out a peal of laughter. For a moment, Draco looked confused and hurt.

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, smiling warmly at him. “I really don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t help but wonder, how did we end up here? Draco Malfoy is sitting across from me at this table, looking rather like he was hit by a truck thirteen days ago, and he’s asking me to marry him.”

Draco chuckled as well, but he opened the box and looked up at her hopefully.

“I’m so in love with you. You’re beautiful and smart and absolutely infuriating, and I think if I didn’t marry you, Theo would try to do it.”

Hermione snorted a laugh. She paused for a moment, thinking to herself, how will I tell this story to Lyra? What beautiful tale would she have to tell Ginny about her proposal? There was nothing grand or fanciful about the way he held out the ring to her. It was a quiet moment, a soft moment, both of their eyes blurry and unfocused in the haze of exhaustion. He hadn’t even gotten to one knee.

But it was this that she had fallen in love with. The soft Draco, the quiet, thoughtful one that she never would have expected. As she looked into his face, seeing the crinkles next to his eyes and the hopeful expression in them, she thought of the photo album in her boudoir, of the radiant photograph of Astoria on the front page. She remembered how she felt when she had looked through it the first time.

I’ll take care of them for you. I’ll take care of them both.

She had taken too long to respond, and she saw Draco’s hopeful expression falter slightly.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” said Draco. “You’re probably still high on endorphins from giving birth, so you can take some time to-”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

He quirked a brow.

“I don’t need to think about it,” she said. “The answer is yes.”

The ring was not what she would have imagined Draco Malfoy choosing for his wife. It was not ostentatious, nor was it Slytherin green. As he slipped it on her finger, watching it catch for just a moment on her knuckle before sliding past it, she watched the small row of diamonds glitter under the amber lights in the wine bar.

When she lifted her lashes to look at him, she saw his small smile. He was holding her hand, gazing at the ring that now rested on her finger.

“It came from the Black family vault,” said Draco. “Belonged to my great-great aunt. She married a Potter, you know.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he smirked.

“I thought it would be fitting,” he said, and then, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Come on. Let’s get home to the kids.”

She felt a swell of such love that her heart positively ached with it. Draco dropped a handful of galleons on the table and waved goodbye to the server as they left. Hermione felt as though her feet were not even touching the cobblestones below them. She could not stop admiring the ring on her finger, feeling the warmth and tenderness of Draco’s arm wrapped behind her shoulders.

The Leaky Cauldron was slow, only a few patrons in the building. She saw Draco’s eyes flit from table to table as they always did when they entered a new place, an Auror instinct to check for threats. One table was full of rowdy men in Quidditch kits, another table with a couple holding hands over their pints of beer, and one wizard with a poorly done Glamour charm at the bar. Draco clocked the man immediately, shunting her toward the fireplace.

“Let’s get you home,” he said insistently.

Hermione tossed a handful of green powder onto the crackling fire and stepped into it, shouting “Malfoy Manor!” and feeling herself spin rapidly away. But when she arrived at her destination, she realised at once that something had gone very wrong.

“Incarcerus!” shouted a voice, and Hermione was wrapped into thick ropes, toppling her off balance. “Oh! Sorry about that!”

Mystified, she felt herself righted and placed in a chair, her arms tied securely to the chair’s armrests. She glanced up at the man who was tying her bindings, and her jaw dropped in confusion.

“DENNIS?!” she said.

“Yes, I’m sorry, it’s me,” said Dennis as he finished tying her up, stepping back and assessing his handiwork and nodding his satisfaction. “I’m really sorry about this.”

Her jaw was practically on the floor. Dennis Creevey had somehow tampered with the Floo network and kidnapped her. Dennis f*cking Creevey. She looked around the room, sure that somehow she was mistaken about what was happening to her, and then, she saw that Theo had suffered the same fate. He was tied to a chair across the room from her, and he was livid.

“You absolutely dickhe*d, she has a brand-new baby at home,” said Theo.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but better now than when she was pregnant!” said Dennis.

Hermione’s jaw was still hanging open. For all that she had essentially been kidnapped, she felt no real fear.

“I just need someone to get me the Time Turner, and he,” said Dennis, jerking his thumb at Theo, “refused to do it.”

“What makes you think I’m not going to refuse?” she said indignantly.

“I… I…” said Dennis, as though mustering the courage. “I’ll hurt you. Or him.”

“Which one is it? Me or him?” said Hermione.

Dennis furrowed his brow.

“I just need to know which so I can decide whether I care,” she said, and Theo scoffed royally.

“I could…” said Dennis, and he puffed up his chest in an attempt to look menacing, pointing his finger in her face. “I could hurt your baby.”

Theo let out a laugh.

“I’d like to see you get to that baby past Draco f*cking Malfoy,” he said. “You know he’s still got the… the…”

Theo was gesturing toward his forearm.

“The Dark Mark,” Hermione added, and Dennis looked nervous.

Dennis began wringing his hands nervously, and Hermione wondered for a moment if he was considering letting them go, but the fireplace blazed to life and another familiar face walked into the room.

“Caitlin!” screeched Hermione.

“You f*cking bitch!” roared Theo.

Caitlin walked into the room slowly, letting one finger drag along the back of the chair in which Theo was tied. She leaned down close to his ear.

“You know, I am aware that you call me that behind my back,” she said. “That you tell everyone who’ll listen about the Bitch in Finance.”

Theo shook against the bindings holding him to the chair, and its legs rattled against the wood floor.

“I take it back,” snapped Theo. “You’re not just a bitch, you’re a f*cking c*nt.”

“Is this how you’ve been getting information?” Hermione asked Dennis. “From Caitlin?

Dennis nodded excitedly.

“But wait, I get how Caitlin was able to adjust the wards, but which one of you attacked Theo with the Sectumsempra?” asked Hermione.

“Neither,” said Dennis, and Hermione realized for a moment that perhaps if she could keep him talking, they could buy enough time to figure out how to get away, or at least give Draco and Harry time to track them down. “I hired someone to do it.”

“With what money?” Theo asked.

“The money I got from the Families of the Victims fund,” he said. “Gave half to Caitlin and spent the rest trying to break into your lab. Which I believe you’ll be able to lead me to now, thank you very much.”

“The T.T.R. Division is going to be swarming with Aurors,” said Theo. “How the f*ck will you even get in?”

Caitlin was smiling rather evilly.

“I’ve made sure it was shut down as a precaution. No one allowed in,” she said. “And special wards put up, supervised by yours truly.”

Theo was practically growling at her.

“What about attacking Theo in Knockturn Alley? Who did that?” asked Hermione.

Dennis flushed slightly.

“Well, that was me, but it was sort of a spur of the moment thing,” said Dennis sheepishly.

Hermione was astounded. Somehow, an amateur and a paper-pusher had managed to kidnap two of the most well-protected individuals at the Research Institute.

“But why, Dennis? Why do you want a Time Turner so badly?” she asked.

At this, Dennis perked up, regaining some of the confidence he’d had when he had first brought Hermione here.

“I can go back and save them,” said Dennis. “I can save Colin. I can save Lottie.”

“It doesn’t work like that, you dolt,” spat Theo. “You can’t change anything. Everything’s already happened.”

Dennis and Caitlin did not understand.

“If you went back and changed the Battle of Hogwarts so that your brother never died, then you’d never have needed to steal a Time Turner to begin with, so you’d never have gone back in time at all,” said Theo, as though it were obvious, but Hermione could see Dennis’s brain trying to work through the logic.

Dennis gave up, flustered.

“It doesn’t matter!” he said. “We’re going to the Institute! Right now!”

The feeling of Side-Along Apparition was uncomfortable after not being able to Apparate for months, and she was disoriented as she was jerked roughly from behind her navel and deposited on the hard floors of the T.T.R. Division. The jolt in her body had jostled her breasts, and they were now leaking milk profusely. Theo noticed this immediately, her shirt now bearing two wet circles around her nipples.

“You didn’t have to drag her into this!” he said. “Look at her! Her baby needs her!”

Dennis seemed to hesitate for a moment, but Caitlin barreled on, dragging Hermione by the elbow toward the laboratory where the Time Turner was kept. It was eerie and silent in the division, and any hopes she had of a team of Aurors being ready to apprehend Dennis and Caitlin were dashed. They went to the laboratory and were forced inside at wandpoint, and Theo reluctantly opened the vault in which the Time Turner was stored, handing it to Dennis, before they were Apparated back.

Hermione stared Theo hard in the face. She could see that he, the same as she, was trying desperately to send off a wandless Patronus, a wandless Stupefy, anything that might help. But as intelligent as they both were, wandless spells were difficult for wizards who’d been trained with wands. She remembered reading of cultures in sub-Saharan Africa that practiced magic exclusively without wands, and she wracked her brains trying to remember anything that might help her.

As Dennis and Caitlin busied themselves with the Time Turner, Hermione delved deep inside of herself, feeling for the magical reservoir in her body. She could feel Draco’s magic there, too. It tingled against hers. She could recall Narcissa’s words: it’ll always be there a bit.

Without a wand to channel her power, it was like trying to pick up water with her fingers. It kept slipping away from her. She looked at Theo, and he was staring at her. His expression told her that he knew she was trying something, and that he must keep Dennis and Caitlin occupied.

“Not like that, you f*cking tossers,” he said loudly. “You’ll get yourself cut in half!”

Dennis nearly dropped the Time Turner.

As Theo stood tall, his broad shoulders blocking her from their view, she delved inward again, feeling for the pool of magic within her, and instead of trying to grasp it, she imagined herself brushing her fingertips along its surface. She tried to pick out the bits that were Draco’s, trying to pluck the string of magic that belonged to him.

Ze magic ties together, Fleur had said.

Every ounce of her focus was on her task, the rest of the room going dark in her vision, and then, she felt something. Something she could hold onto, something that she could extend out beyond herself. Hermione filled herself with the happiest memory she could summon, the sight of her beautiful daughter in Draco’s arms, and with the thrum of Draco’s magic in her fingertips, she said, Expecto Patronum.

Her silvery otter burst out, and she shouted, “Theo and I have been kidnapped by Dennis Creevey and Caitlin from Finance!”

Caitlin cursed loudly, trying with her hands to dispel the silver otter, but it danced out of her reach and disappeared.

“What the f*ck, Granger?” snarled Caitlin, and she dug her hand in the pocket of her robes, pulling out Hermione’s wand as though to make sure she hadn’t stolen it somehow.

In a worried panic, Dennis spun the hourglass of the Time Turner and disappeared.

“What the f*ck?!” Caitlin hissed. “f*cking idiot.”

Caitlin was scrambling to pack up, gathering parchments that must have been incriminating in some way.

“Caitlin,” said Hermione.

She looked over.

“What was in this for you? Just the money?” asked Hermione.

Caitlin smiled.

“Ohhh, no, you’ll not catch me monologuing,” said Caitlin. “I’ve got my money. I’m out. See you in the next life, Granger.”

And with that, Caitlin Disapparated.

Theo and Hermione stood for a moment, staring at one another in shock. Then, Theo glanced around the room, and his face contorted into fury.

“That f*cking bitch took our wands!” he roared.

Hermione let out a hysterical laugh. Theo went to the door, trying it and finding it locked tight. He even threw his shoulder into it a couple of times, but it held fast. Sealed by magic, it appeared. Theo threaded his hands in his wavy brown hair, tugging at it in frustration. His eyes raked down Hermione’s body, noticing the milk stains on her shirt, and then, his gaze snapped to her left hand. His lips quirked into a smile.

“You’re engaged,” said Theo, and despite everything, Hermione felt a smile creep across her face.

At that moment, Dennis reappeared, and Hermione startled. His face was ashen, tears streaking his cheeks.

“It didn’t work,” he said, wiping his face with his arm and letting the poorly done Glamour charm drop. “I couldn’t change anything.”

“Yea? Who warned you about that?” said Theo crossly, and Hermione could see that he was eyeing Dennis, deciding if he could go for his wand before Dennis hexed him.

Dennis seemed to realize that Theo was standing and Caitlin was gone. He glanced from one face to another.

“What happened?” asked Dennis.

Hermione nearly laughed again, marveling at how this chaotic man had managed to kidnap them and steal a Time Turner. Insanity.

“Caitlin left you to fend for yourself,” answered Theo, and then, he leaned forward, a glint of academic curiosity in his eyes. “What happened in the Time Turner? You know, I saw you when I went back to review the Battle of Hogwarts. Did you try to change things?”

Dennis was glancing between their faces, overwhelmed, but he turned to Theo.

“I tried, yes,” said Dennis, and he ran a hand down his face miserably. “I was going to bring Colin back, test it out on him, and then, go back two years ago to save Lottie.”

“Go on,” said Theo, sitting down in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees as though this was all a planned experiment and not a kidnapping.

“I just tried to grab him before Dolohov could curse him, but I ended up pushing him right in the way of the curse,” said Dennis, and his face grew horror-struck. “I killed him. It’s my fault he died.”

“Oh, Dennis, don’t say that,” said Hermione, before jolting herself, realizing that she was, in fact, comforting her abductor.

“Fascinating,” said Theo, tapping his chin with a finger, and then, he clapped his hands together. “Alright, so let’s have you let us out of here. Hermione needs to get back to her baby.”

He had jutted his thumb in her direction at these words. Dennis blanched.

“No!” he said. “You two have to stay here and help me fix it! We’ve got to make it so the Time Turner can change things! I can’t live without her!”

Hermione felt her shirt, cold and damp on her chest as her breasts continued to leak. Theo was chewing at his lip, the cogs in his brain working overtime to figure out a way to get them both away safely. Hermione was, truly, not fearful for her life, but her body was screaming at her to find Lyra, feed Lyra.

“Hey, mate,” said Theo sympathetically. “I feel for you. I really do. If I could go back in time and save my mother, I’d do it. I want to help you, so let’s do it the right way. It’ll take hours and hours of research to make it do what you want to do, so why don’t you let Hermione go, and I’ll stay here with you. We’ll figure it out together.”

Theo’s sparkling blue eyes had caught hers, and she felt a surge of gratitude and love for him. Dennis was hesitating, watching Hermione with a confused expression. Just as she thought Dennis might agree to let her go, she heard an enormous booming explosion from outside the door.

Draco.

Chapter 27: fourteen days

Chapter Text

The room shuddered at the volley of bombarding spells hitting the door, and Hermione could feel her chair rattling underneath her. Dennis’s eyes grew wide with panic, and he grasped both her arm and Theo’s clearly planning to Apparate out with both of them, but Hermione felt the air thicken around them.

The Aurors had placed an Anti-Apparition ward around the building.

“Oh, dear,” said Dennis.

“’Oh, dear,’ he says,” muttered Theo. “Draco Malfoy is about to break down that door and rip you limb from limb, you bloody idiot.”

Dennis looked rather terrified, and at that moment, another boom rang through the air, the floor shuddering again under their feet as more spells hit the entrance.

“Should I… should I go?” Dennis said quietly.

Theo let out a peal of laughter. The situation was absolutely absurd. But before Dennis could decide whether to stay or go, the door to the room shattered. Hermione lifted her arms to shield her face, and Theo placed himself in between her and the explosion, an arm around her back as they ducked. There was a single moment of silence, and then, Draco’s unmistakable voice rang out.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted in a voice that was very near to a growl. “Incarcerus!”

When Hermione and Theo looked up, they saw Draco standing over Dennis’s prone, immobilized body, and his face looked very much as though he would like to revisit his experience with Unforgivable Curses.

The room filled with Aurors, and Draco’s attention snapped to Hermione, the fury on his face dropping into relief when he saw that she was alive and well. In three long strides, he crossed the room to her and enfolded her in his arms, burying his face in her hair.

“It’s alright, Draco, really, I’m fine,” she murmured soothingly.

But then, her mind whirred frantically trying to count the number of hours it had been since she’d fed her baby, imagining Lyra at home, hungry and needing her mother, and as the reality of her situation crashed over her, Hermione burst into tears on Draco’s chest.

She tried to get the words out, tried to ask Draco if her baby was alright, but she could not get them out through sobs.

“I’m getting her home,” said Draco in a commanding voice, and no one disagreed.

He muttered a spell that lifted the Anti-Apparition ward, and in an instant, they were in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor. Hermione still had tears tracking down her cheeks, but her eyes landed on Narcissa, who had a squalling Lyra in her arms.

“Hermione! Dear Merlin!” she said desperately, her voice choked.

Hermione held her arms out, and Narcissa immediately placed the baby in them, and as Hermione sank into a chair, lifting her shirt, Lyra rooted hungrily and calmed as she found her mother’s breast. Hermione took a moment to stare at her baby, ignoring everything around her, but once she had reassured herself that Lyra was safe, that things were as they should be, she glanced up. Narcissa and Draco were both staring hard at her, as though they felt if they looked away, she would disappear.

“What happened?!” asked Draco, kneeling at her feet and placing a steadying hand on her arm.

She told them everything. They made horrified gasps at all the right places, and even laughed with her at some of the sheer oddities of her experience. Draco had a serene, thankful smile on his face when she told of the many moments that Theo had acted as her protector, and most of all, they sighed in relief at the knowledge that she was home, safe and sound, and that she was not, perhaps, ever in any real danger.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” said Draco, and then, he produced his silvery beaver, sending it off to Harry.

The rest of the night was more chaotic than she would have liked. She wanted to simply hole herself up in her bedroom with Lyra and pretend nothing had happened, but alas, it was not to be. Though Draco offered to provide his memory in a Pensieve so that Harry could hear Hermione’s tale, he insisted on being told directly, so she was forced to explain the entire event once more. She told Harry the full story as Lyra continued to nurse and doze happily at her breast.

She was more relieved than ever to know that Scorpius had not been told the full extent of what had happened. He could sense from the emotions of the adults around him that something had gone wrong, but Narcissa and Draco had given him only the most essential bits of information. Nevertheless, he was particularly cuddly that night as well.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked.

She gave Draco a questioning look, and when he nodded his head reluctantly, she scooted over to make room. The three of them got cosy together, Lyra in a cradle by the bedside, reading a book (Draco made a valiant but awful attempt at a Scottish accent). Nanny Kate knocked gently, offering to keep the baby for a few hours so they could sleep, but Hermione and Draco waved her off. They needed the time together.

When she woke in the middle of the night to feed the baby, Hermione smiled to see Scorpius, his silky blond hair trailing over the pillow, his pink lips pursed slightly in sleep, wedged in between his father and his stepmother-to-be.

Hermione blanched.

They hadn’t even told Scorpius about the engagement.

She almost laughed aloud. She could just see the glint of the row of diamonds in the soft light of the lamp. As she held her hand out in front of her, turning her hand to watch the ring sparkle, Draco’s voice startled her.

“You like it?” he asked.

She turned to him, his face partially concealed by Scorpius’s blond head, and she smiled.

“I love it,” she said, adjusting her position so that she could switch Lyra to the other breast.

“What kind of wedding shall we have?” he asked quietly, his voice low so as not to wake Scorpius.

“Tell me about your first wedding,” said Hermione with an encouraging smile.

Draco recounted the event as best he could remember, though he readily admitted that Astoria and her mother did most of the planning. It was a grand society affair, and Flora Henley was (annoyingly, and unsurprisingly) Astoria’s maid of honour. Theo was (annoyingly, and unsurprisingly) Draco’s best man.

“Think he’ll take the job for round two?” she asked with a grin.

But Draco glanced down at his sleeping son with a soft smile, and Hermione’s heart leapt.

“I actually thought I’d offer it to Scorpius,” he said.

He looked up at her, and even in the dark, she could make out his expression. Curiosity for what she thought of the idea, hesitance that she might not approve, and some small amount of craving for validation. As Hermione pulled Lyra off her breast and handed her to Draco, she clasped his left forearm.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” said Hermione, and then, she let her lips tug into a sly grin. “But I’ll let you tell Theo he’s been demoted.”

“We’ll find him a job,” said Draco, patting Lyra’s back firmly. “I mean, who’s to say he can’t be your maid of honour?”

Hermione had to try not to laugh, covering her mouth and letting out a snort instead.

“Ginny,” she said with a grin. “I think Ginny might have something to say about that.”

It took them a bit to settle Lyra back into sleep, but once she was snug in her cradle, Hermione rolled onto her side, facing Draco and Scorpius. Draco’s arm was draped around both of them protectively, and she watched as his grey eyes drooped, his fingers falling slack on her waist. Exhausted, Hermione drifted off as well.

~

Hermione had no idea how she would function as a parent without the network of support that had built itself around her. Nanny Kate was still at the Manor nearly every day to help with Lyra, and Ginny was always on call and available. Narcissa had made a habit of coming by every afternoon, bringing Scorpius home from school and popping in to see Lyra.

“I think she’s grown!” she said, taking the baby in her hands and cradling her close. “Oh, I still can’t get over how much she looks like Draco.”

“Grow them for nine months and they come out looking nothing like you,” said Hermione in a grumpy voice.

Narcissa chuckled.

“Yes, I remember that very well,” she said in a soft voice, still gazing into Lyra’s face. “Is Draco home from work yet?”

“He’ll be home any moment,” Hermione replied as Scorpius climbed into her lap.

Draco had taken some time off for parental leave, and then, he’d been given a few extra days given the trauma that Hermione had been through, but his time was up, and in truth, he had missed working.

“I could quit,” Draco had said. “I started this job because I needed a purpose. I have one now.”

He had been looking deep into her eyes, his fingers playing with the tendrils of hair hanging down by her face, and his expression had been full of earnestness, but she had read the truth there. He liked working. He wanted to feel like a contributing member of Wizarding society, more than just a wealthy Pureblood.

“Go back to work,” she had replied. “Try it for a month. If we all hate it, you can quit then.”

On his very first day back, Harry had given him a promotion. His badge now read, “Auror Inspector,” and from the prideful smile that Draco had tried to conceal, she knew he would never quit his job.

She loved him for it.

Narcissa rocked Lyra, running her hand over the downy blonde hairs on her soft head. Scorpius was regaling them with tales from his day at the Agrippa School when they heard the crack of Apparition. Draco strode into the room, and Scorpius leapt up to embrace him. Draco spun his son once in the air before setting him back down and ruffling his blond hair.

“You need a haircut,” said Draco fondly before Scorpius bolted upstairs to his room.

He leaned down to bestow a kiss on Hermione’s cheek, and then, he crossed the room to his mother, pulling Lyra into his arms and kissing her forehead before cradling her and sitting on the sofa next to Hermione.

“Draco, darling,” said Narcissa, and he looked up at her. “Your father would like to meet the baby.”

His face darkened, his jaw clenching, and Hermione reached out a hand, placing her palm on his arm. He glanced down to where she was touching him and took a deep breath.

“Alright,” he said.

“May I send for him?” asked Narcissa, and Draco gave a reluctant nod.

Narcissa cast her elegant peaco*ck Patronus and sent it off to the Yorkshire estate. Hermione searched her heart for trepidation at the thought of Lucius Malfoy coming to her home (her home) to meet her baby, but she found none. Though he had nearly choked on the word, she knew that Lucius considered her part of the family, and even more, she recognized that there was nothing in the world that Lucius cared about more than his family.

Draco looked anxious, though, and he handed Lyra to Hermione when the Floo blazed to life, standing in front of them rather protectively, his hands clasped behind his back, though she saw in his body language that he would rather have his hand on his wand.

Lucius looked as aristocratic as ever, and for the first time, Hermione noticed that he was rather handsome. The vestiges of Azkaban were gone, his cheeks full instead of hollow, and truly, he was the mirror image of his son. He paused in the room, and Narcissa greeted him with kiss. Then, they both turned to Draco.

“Hello, father,” he said rather stiffly.

“Draco,” said Lucius, nodding, and then, he peered beyond his son to look at Hermione. “I heard about the kidnapping, Miss Granger. I am truly and sincerely thankful that you’re alright.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“My son has already lost one woman he loved,” added Lucius, his eyes sweeping over Draco again. “I would not like him to lose another.”

At this, Hermione felt a smile cross her lips unbidden, and she nodded at Lucius, recognizing an ally when she saw one. She stood and stepped in front of Draco, baby Lyra in her arms, and walked across the room to her future father-in-law.

“A Malfoy girl,” said Lucius, awestruck as he stared at the baby wrapped in soft pink blankets. “It’s been generations.”

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked.

She heard Draco’s feet shuffle slightly behind her, but she did not turn around to look at him. She merely held the small bundle out to Lucius. He had a fearful sort of expression that seemed, she thought with a grin, very grandfatherly.

“Let me sit down,” said Lucius, all of his wealthy pureblood aristocracy gone and replaced with a nervous tenderness as he looked around for a chair.

As Lucius settled into a seat, Hermione stole a glance at Draco, and she saw that he was smiling, too. A cautious smile, but a smile that said he was glad, after everything, that he could watch his father be, perhaps, the grandfather that his children deserved.

Lucius held his arms out, and Hermione laid Lyra in them.

“I’d forgotten how small they are when they’re new,” he said. “Merlin, was Draco ever this tiny?”

Narcissa laughed. Lucius had a wondrous smile on his face, and he looked up at Draco and Hermione, his mouth open as though he were about to say something, but his eyes snagged on her ring finger. He quirked a pale eyebrow.

“That is not a Malfoy family ring,” said Lucius, a slight smirk on his face.

Hermione watched as Narcissa’s eyes found the ring on her finger. Her jaw dropped, and she let out a very uncharacteristic squeal.

“Oh, Draco,” she said, her hands on her face. “You should have told me!”

He laughed.

“Things have been a little chaotic around here,” he said, and he took Hermione’s left hand and brought it to his lips. “But yes, I’ve asked Hermione to marry me.”

Narcissa flew to them, wrapping her arms around them both, and taking Hermione’s hand in hers so she could inspect the ring.

“This ring has a beautiful story,” she said, wiping at her tear-filled eyes. “Just like the two of you.”

Lucius was watching the commotion with a wry smile, the baby still in his arms, quiet and calm. She shared a long look with him, an appraising one in which they took each other’s measure, and both of them seemed to decide that the other measured up satisfactorily. Draco was watching her curiously, but she just shook her head, grasping his hand again and resting her head against his shoulder.

“What’s her full name?” asked Lucius, now staring at Lyra once more.

“Lyra Jean Malfoy,” said Draco from behind her, a slight note of challenge in his voice. Jean was not a particularly aristocratic name, nor was it a common wizarding one. “After Hermione’s mother.”

“Very fitting,” said Lucius, gazing down at the baby with such fondness in his face that Hermione could hardly recognize him. She and Draco shared a bemused look as Lucius continued to chat with his granddaughter, oblivious to everyone around him.

“It is lovely to meet you, Lyra Jean,” cooed Lucius, taking hold of Lyra’s small fist. “Welcome to my family.”

Chapter 28: twenty-six days

Chapter Text

“You know who was particularly interested in hearing the tale of my daring heroics?” asked Theo, waggling his eyebrows as the three of them walked down a narrow lane in the countryside.

“Do I want to know?” asked Hermione.

“Charlie Weasley,” said Theo triumphantly. “He’s been in England for the last few days. Bought him a drink in Diagon Alley last night.”

Hermione could not help but smile.

“You two should join us for dinner tonight,” continued Theo. “Make it a proper double date.”

She turned to look at Draco, searching his face for hesitance or jealousy, but his lips were quirked into a smile, his hands shoved into his pockets as he strolled.

“We’d love to,” said Hermione.

Mr. Ollivander no longer had a shop in Diagon Alley. In fact, most of his inventory had been destroyed during the war, but there had been a crusade to recover as many of the stolen wands as possible, and Ollivander now lived in a well-appointed cottage in Surrey. He took appointments, but only rarely, in exceptional circ*mstances.

Hermione Granger losing her wand in a kidnapping certainly counted as “exceptional circ*mstances.” And, as Caitlin from Finance had never been tracked down, their wands had never been found.

Theo, Draco, and Hermione (with Lyra in a sling around her chest) pulled on the brass knocker to his cottage, but almost before it had touched the door, Ollivander swung it open, smiling broadly at them.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said excitedly.

He ushered them inside, and Lyra stirred slightly in her carrier, so Hermione swayed at the hips to calm her. Draco was watching this with a tiny smile on his face, a hint of amazement in it, and she once again wanted to take this smile and put it in her pocket for later.

“So, you’ve had a baby,” said Ollivander, jolting her to attention. He was glancing between Hermione and Draco with a glint in his eye.

Draco had felt some discomfort at going to Ollivander, after all his family had put the man through, but there was no trace of resentment on his face, no shadow of mistrust. Ollivander had his hands clasped together eagerly.

“Tell me more about the pregnancy,” he said.

“Oh,” said Hermione, wondering what this had to do with her need for a new wand. “Well, erm, it was magically entwined.”

“I knew it!” said Ollivander, his hands flying into the air. “I could spot it a mile away. Let’s see, Draco Malfoy. Hawthorn, ten inches, unicorn hair. Springy. I know just the one for you, Miss Granger…”

At this, he paused and looked at her askance.

“Is it still Miss Granger?” he asked.

“For now,” said Draco with a sly grin, and Ollivander beamed before jolting back to his mission.

“Oh, I just hope it’s been recovered,” he said.

Ollivander had disappeared into the back of the cottage, leaving the three of them (plus Lyra) standing awkwardly in the foyer, unsure of whether they should follow. A moment later, Ollivander’s face reappeared, gesturing at them wildly.

“Come on, come on!” he said hurriedly.

It was a back bedroom of sorts, but crammed floor to ceiling with wand boxes. Some seemed in excellent condition, practically new, but other boxes were nearly destroyed. Ollivander was flying through the boxes, tossing them one at a time into the air so that Draco, Hermione, and Theo had to dodge them.

“I believe…” said Ollivander. “Yes! Here it is!”

He had pulled a long, thin box from the pile and was displaying it to Hermione reverently.

“A matching core,” he said. “And in vine.”

A flutter went through Hermione’s heart at the thought. With nervous fingers, she reached into the box and grasped the wand, pulling it out and holding it in front of her. She could feel her magic singing in her veins, the reservoir deep within her that was Draco’s magic coming alive as she held this matching wand. Ollivander was laughing in triumph.

“Right in one!” he said, overjoyed.

Hermione gave the wand a wave, murmuring “Avius” and watching a trio of yellow birds form in the air, lolling about as though flying on a gust of wind. With a wave of her wand, the birds were dismissed. She smiled.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

Hermione stowed the wand in the pocket of her robes and patted Lyra’s back, swaying again. Ollivander then turned to Theo, who was standing behind her. Hermione stepped out of the way, resting her shoulder against Draco’s chest in the crowded room.

“And Mr. Nott,” said Ollivander, looking Theo up and down. “Cedar. Nine and three-quarter inches. Dragon heartstring.”

He stared at Theo for a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You know, cedar is not one of my most common,” he said. “It’s a rare wizard who carries a cedar wand. It shows real strength of character.”

Hermione was surprised to see Theo’s cheeks flush. She threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow and gave him a little squeeze as Ollivander busied himself in the massive stack of wands. Boxes were pulled from the pile and thrust into Theo’s hands, but almost before he could touch each wand, Ollivander yanked it away from him.

“No, no, not that one,” he said over and over again.

Theo looked rather bewildered as he continued to hold wand after wand, Ollivander bustling about tossing boxes over his shoulder. But as more and more wands failed to impress him, Ollivander paused, putting his hands on his hips and gazing around thoughtfully.

“Your father carried a walnut wand, though I will note that he did not purchase it from me. He was a highly intelligent man, as I hear you are as well,” said Ollivander, and Theo shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “But your mother carried a rowan wand. Eleven inches. Whippy. Best suited for protective magic.”

At this, he pulled a box from the bottom of the stack, making the wands on top teeter ominously so that Draco had to cast a quick spell to right the pile. Ollivander held out the box to Theo.

“Rowan. Ten inches. Dragon heartstring,” said Ollivander. “Give it a go.”

Hermione saw Theo’s face stretch into a grin the moment he held the wand, and she glanced at Ollivander. Sure enough, he was grinning and clasping his hands together delightedly.

“There we have it!” he said. “Should have known!”

Draco and Theo fished a handful of galleons from their pockets, handing them over to Ollivander to pay for the wands as Hermione swayed with Lyra. Ollivander tried to refuse payment (“for Hermione Granger? I couldn’t!”) but they insisted so forcefully that he had to take the money. With effusive thanks, they left his home, ambling down the lane toward the high street where Charlie Weasley was awaiting them outside a trendy new restaurant. Charlie was eyeing the place with some suspicion, but he relaxed when he saw them approach.

“Hermione!” said Charlie, embracing her as closely as he could considering there was a baby between them and then peering at Lyra. “A baby! Merlin’s Beard, look at her. She’s beautiful!”

Charlie turned to Draco and pumped his hand vigorously in congratulations. Draco looked a bit overwhelmed by Charlie’s exuberant presence, but Hermione just smiled knowingly. This energy would match Theo’s perfectly.

And at that moment, Charlie turned to Theo. There was a moment of hesitation between them in which they were both clearly deciding if this was a proper date or just dinner amongst friends, but she saw Theo’s face break into a grin that seemed to say, “f*ck it.” He clasped Charlie’s hand, and he leaned in to kiss his cheek. Charlie was stunned for a split second, but his face broke into a grin, holding Theo’s hand in his for a beat longer than a handshake between friends.

“You know who I miss?” said Theo as he opened the door, holding it for the rest of them. “McCartney. I feel like I’ve forgotten how to exist without him looming behind me.”

“McCartney? Like Paul McCartney?” asked Charlie.

“You know the Beatles?”

“Of course, I know the Beatles. Have you met my father?” laughed Charlie.

Though Draco, Hermione, and Theo were happy with the sommelier’s suggestion of a very expensive red wine, Charlie asked for a beer. Hermione glanced at Theo for his reaction and saw that he was smiling appreciatively. A man confident enough to order a beer at an expensive restaurant seemed a good match for him.

While Charlie and Theo were chatting (flirting), Hermione took the opportunity to glance at Draco on her right only to see that he was already looking at her. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

They must be drunk. What other explanation could she think of that would explain the lovesick stare that Draco Malfoy was leveling in her direction? What other reason could there be for the soaring feeling in her heart? It was almost unbelievable that she, Hermione Granger, had found herself in love with Draco Malfoy, of all people. That a chance encounter between two lonely souls at a charity gala would lead her to this perfect family.

~

Scorpius took his responsibility as Best Man very seriously.

Though Draco had tried to convince Hermione that she should have a grand wedding, she repeatedly declined. She wanted to get married at home with a small group of her closest friends and family. Of course, “home” was one of the grandest mansions in England, so it wasn’t as though she was lacking for splendor. White chairs were arranged in the gardens, and though James and several other Weasley cousins were running around with the kite, Scorpius was standing stock still at his father’s side.

Hermione had also dismissed the idea that Draco mustn’t see her before the ceremony. But of course, that didn’t mean she wanted to miss out on the moment he saw her in her wedding dress for the first time. Hermione watched as Harry elbowed him slightly, inclining his head toward her. She watched his breath catch, saw the awestruck smile slide across his face, and watched him lift his knuckles to brush at the corner of his eye.

“Hermione!” called Scorpius, and he ran for her.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the top of his blond head.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked.

“With grandmother,” said Scorpius.

Lyra was nearly six months old, and her fierce personality had emerged. She had all the tenacity of both her parents combined, but all the great heart, as well. Hermione spied her sitting up in Narcissa’s lap, patting at a toy happily.

When the crowd saw Hermione, they all began to take their seats. Harry took hold of his wriggling children as Ginny stood at the front of the crowd. Hermione watched as Theo sent a bold wink in Charlie’s direction from his position under the archway. Draco and Scorpius took their positions next, Scorpius looking very serious and straight-backed, and Draco looking more relaxed and content than she had ever seen him.

“Are you ready?” asked a quiet baritone voice next to her ear.

She smiled, not taking her eyes off Draco, and nodded, threading her hand through Lucius Malfoy’s proffered arm.

Hermione missed her father keenly in that moment, and though Draco, Harry, and Arthur Weasley had all offered to walk her down the aisle, it had been Lucius’s offer that won her over in the end. He would be, for all intents and purposes, the only father she had, and it had meant a great deal to her that he was willing to escort her, a Mudblood, down the aisle to marry his son at Malfoy Manor.

Draco’s face was transcendent as he watched her approach, a brilliant smile stretched across it, though she could see the threat of tears. Theo placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Scorpius grinned in amazement as she approached.

The ceremony was a blur. Hermione wished she could remember everything he’d said in his vows, everything Theo had said as their officiant, but in the end, it mattered only that they were married. After sharing their first kiss as husband and wife, she pulled Scorpius in for a tight hug, letting Draco wrap his arms around them both. Their audience clapped joyfully. She was nearly awestruck as she watched Arthur Weasley, seated behind Lucius and Narcissa, lean forward and say something next to their ears. At this, Lucius turned around and shook Arthur’s hand.

The world truly had turned upside down.

“Is it strange to do all this again? Does it feel the same or different?” asked Hermione as they ate dinner, well-wishers occasionally stopping by their table.

Draco paused thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side.

“Both,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers.

She found herself, once again, searching her heart for jealousy at the knowledge that Draco had done this all before with someone else, but she found none.

It was a perfect wedding. She danced with Draco, with Lucius, with Harry and Arthur and even with Charlie, though Theo and Draco both scowled as she did. Draco danced with his mother and with Ginny, but he turned Flora Henley down. The party thinned as the hour grew late, and Scorpius was half-dozing in his seat, so Lucius and Narcissa took him and Lyra inside for bed. At just past one in the morning, Theo was the last guest remaining.

“I feel responsible for all this,” said Theo. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, hugging him tight. “I mean that.”

She kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, smiling brightly at him. Draco shook his hand next, and Theo clasped it firmly.

“I suppose I’ll leave you two alone,” said Theo, and he gave Draco a great wink. “Try to be good company.”