Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy adjusted his dress robes, sighed at his reflection in his mirror and left his personal quarters in Malfoy Manor.  He strode down the long halls, making his way to the ballroom, his face impassive, his jaw tight. 

It was New Year’s Eve and his parents’ famed annual ball was about to commence.  Draco was about to join his mother and father, so that the family could open the ball.  This year, his newly announced betrothed, Astoria Greengrass, would be standing with the Malfoys as they received their guests.  With seemingly the entirety of wizarding Britain invited, there were going to be many guests for them to greet.  He plastered an expression of equanimity upon his face, just before his parents and Astoria were in sight.  It wouldn’t do much to keep up appearances if he looked as miserable as he felt.  And these days, he thought regretfully, being Draco Malfoy was only about keeping up appearances.

“My dragon, you look wonderful!” his mother beamed at him.  Astoria smiled demurely and nodded as well. 

“Thank you, Mother.  Both you and Astoria look lovely this evening.” Draco kissed the air on either side of both witches’ cheeks, before exchanging nods with his father.  “Shall we?” he asked with a forced air of politeness.  Draco fucking hated everything about today.  This bloody party was just about the last thing he wanted to endure. 

Especially after he had seen the list of confirmed attendees. 

In the three years that followed after the end of the war, the Malfoys had clawed their way back into high society — thanks in no small part to Harry Potter’s testimony about his mother’s actions during the Battle of Hogwarts.  Of course, their galleons were still good, which helped matters immeasurably.  And while his parents’ private attitudes about the proper order of Wizarding society had not changed in any great magnitude, their public guest list had expanded to include all of the luminaries of this new era.  Which meant all of the Ministry elite were invited.  It meant that the bloody Golden Trio were all invited, although the Weasel had backed out at the last minute, the git.  It meant it was only a matter of hours before Draco would see her again.

Hermione Granger was making a name for herself at the Ministry of Magic — she had accomplished quite a lot in her career, especially for someone who was only two years out of Hogwarts.  Her work was officially restricted to her own department — the Department of International Cooperation — but that hadn’t stopped Granger from making waves across the Ministry as a whole.  She had once confided in him that she had selected International Cooperation only so she could use the areas of overlap with other magical nations to force changes in Britain; across numerous, otherwise unconnected, departments.  It was why she hadn’t just gone to Magical Creatures to help house elves, or to the Wizagenmot so she could re-write outdated laws.  She was using her platform, and her war heroine profile, to drag the Ministry into making reforms in numerous areas that set her swotty heart afire. 

Granger had browbeat several departments into meeting or exceeding the standards of their international counterparts; either by appealing to their sense of national pride or eventually wearing them down with her hurricane of insistence, or some combination of the two.  At one Ministry shindig they had both attended — arriving and leaving separately, only speaking to each other in passing when they were in presence of witnesses — he had observed her pull a different, but related scheme when she convinced one of her international colleagues to raise their own standards back at home.  Draco had marvelled at her genius — she had been trying to make her suggested policy standard here and was experiencing significant pushback from some recalcitrant career bureaucrats.  He smirked when he realized she was going to use Sweden’s seemingly newfound respect for house elf labour negotiations to force through similar measures at home. 

Granger had always been an extraordinarily clever witch.

To his surprise, Draco had begun talking to Hermione Granger following the war, once they had both returned to Hogwarts for their 8^th year.  It took him until October, before he had worked up sufficient nerve to apologize to her for his conduct both before and during the war — which she stiffly accepted.  Soon after, they began sitting at tables in the library that were near to each other, before sitting together — at the same table — by the time Christmas break rolled around.  By February, he had snogged her in every alcove in castle.  By April, he had shagged her in the restricted section of the library. 

As graduation day approached, Draco made the disconcerting discovery that the scent of old books got him hard.  It made studying for his N.E.W.T.s awkward.

Neither of them had any desire for their relationship to be public.  Keeping it a secret was something they both agreed upon, immediately.  Still burned from the way the Prophet had written about her during the Triwizard Tournament, to say nothing with its fascination with her personal life post war, Hermione told him she did not want a scandalous relationship for them to start hounding her about, again.  “It was bad enough the last time, when no one knew who I was and I wasn’t actually in a relationship with anyone.  I cannot imagine what it would be like now,” she had confided to him, shivering at the thought.

Draco had felt guilty at her remembrance, and had used the opportunity to confess his part in feeding gossip to Rita Skeeter during their fourth year.  Granger had just rolled her eyes at him, telling him she had figured out his involvement when it was happening, and she had already forgiven him for all of that.  Draco suspected that part of the reason why she wanted to keep things private, was so she didn't have to explain about their, er, entanglement, to Potter and the Weasel.  Which was fair enough.  He certainly had no intention of letting his parents know that he was spending all of his free time either shagging, or thinking about shagging, the very same Muggle-born, Gryffindor they had all watched be tortured by Bellatrix. 

It was easier for all concerned to just keep whatever this was between themselves.  He didn’t want the real world to intrude on their time together, any more than she did.

After graduation, even though it became harder to find moments where they could be together, they still found them.  Draco had moved back into his family’s Manor, which was not an appropriate place for them to meet for many reasons.  So he would always floo to her flat, whenever she had a few spare hours and he was not otherwise detained.  Because they were no longer sneaking around the castle, or maybe it was just because they were a bit older, they started spending more of their time talking and making dinner together.  

Of course, afterwards he still fucked her into her mattress; feeling as she clenched around him and quivered beneath him, listening to her beg him to go harder.  Granger always asked him to fuck her hard, and Draco always obliged.  Once, as they lay entwined with each other, soaking up the afterglow, she confided in him that she liked it when she could feel the after-effects of their amorous activities in the days that followed.  Granger never bothered to heal any scratches or bruises from their enthusiastic shagging, merely glamouring them so that no one else would know.  Draco healed his — he didn’t live alone and he was not prepared to answer any questions from his parents that a surprise love bite might provoke.  But he liked knowing that Granger bore his marks, even if no one else saw them.

When they were together, alone in Granger’s flat, Draco felt like they lived in their own little world.  She told him about her work at the Ministry and he told her all about his studies for a potions’ mastery, which he was taking via correspondence from a French master.  In her arms, in her bed, Draco let himself forget that anyone else existed.  He found he felt more at ease there with her, than he did anywhere else.  Voldemort’s reign inside of Malfoy Manor had permanently sullied the place for him.  Even with the Dark Lord vanquished and his mother’s top to bottom refurbishment of the interior, the rooms still felt tainted by the horrors that had occurred during the war.  But with Granger — well, with Granger, he felt like he was home.  A secret, probably temporary home.  But a home, nonetheless.

They continued on in the same manner for well over a year after they had graduated, happily segregating their time together, away from all other aspects of their lives.  Draco wasn’t sure how long this arrangement could continue, but he found he did not want to rock the boat by questioning it.  Granger never seemed like she wanted things to change, so Draco just kept things the same.  At least, he did until his parents informed him that they had found a match for him and it was now time for him to do his duty to further the Malfoy line by marrying a pre-selected pure-blood bride.  Unbeknownst to him, they had been making plans with the Greengrass family for some time — only waiting so Astoria could graduate from Beaubaxtons first.

“Perhaps you might have mentioned this to me earlier, as you’ve been working on these plans for so long.”  Draco said, a little coolly, when his father bothered to apprise him of the plan for Draco’s own future.

“Oh don’t be childish, Draco.  This is for the good of the family.  Astoria is beautiful witch, from a fine family and together you will have the pure-blood heirs necessary ensure our family’s future.  You should be grateful that we’ve arranged such an advantageous match for you!  Not behaving petulantly because you weren’t forced to be bored by the details.”

Draco shut down after that, occluding for the first time since his trial.  “As you say, father,” Draco responded, tonelessly, his stomach in knots.

For the next four months, Draco’s double life became much more complicated.  He still saw Granger as often as he could — but only managed it about half as often.  After she lamented about his ‘busy schedule,’ Draco told her his mother was determined that he be involved in her philanthropic endeavours and it was taking up more of his time.  While his explanation was technically true, it was also fundamentally misleading.  His availability was reduced because he was being roped into performing courting customs with Astoria. The Sacred Twenty-Eight had many elaborate practices regarding how couples got to know one another, leading up to their eventual marriage.  Accordingly, Draco was pressed into many obligations to spend time with Astoria, along with all four of their parents, at both Malfoy Manor and Greengrass Manor, respectively.

Draco felt nothing for Astoria.  He hadn’t initially, and she had not improved with familiarity.  She was a beautiful witch and he thought that in a world where he hadn’t known the taste of Hermione Granger, he might have married Astoria and not known how empty his life was.  But he had tasted Granger — in every sense of the word.  Granger was unlike anyone else in the world — she was passionate and fierce and alive.  Her mind was the sexiest thing about her, but Draco still found could write poetry about the curve of her arse, he was so enamoured by her physical form.  Almost any witch would suffer in comparison to someone so incomparable, but Astoria — insubstantial and decorative as she was — had no chance. 

She could not hold a candle to Granger.

But his time with Granger was still a secret.  Neither of them had ever even so much as hinted at revisiting their initial decision to keep their entanglement hidden from the rest of the world.  Draco had begun to suspect, in their first year out of Hogwarts, that Granger wasn’t looking to move their relationship into the light.  As he wasn’t eager to have that discussion either, he convinced himself that Granger wasn’t as emotionally invested in this — however ‘this’ was defined — as he was.  After all, they never discussed their feelings for one another.  They talked about Ministry policies, books and current events.  They shared magical theories and tried to outdo the other when it came to who had the most brilliant insight on any new areas of research that sparked their mutual interest.  Granger mostly won, but Draco was more insufferable about it when he had the better analysis, so it felt more or less equal between them.  But they did not speak of their feelings to each other, did not refer to each other by endearments outside of sex, and they did not speak of the future beyond scheduling their next rendezvous.

His parents – aware of his reluctance, if not its cause — remained insistent that he wed Astoria.  Which meant that Draco had to set Granger aside.  His parents were pushing to make his betrothal arrangement public.  He had known he would have to end things with Granger, but he tried to put off the inevitable for as long as possible.  In late September, when he could delay no longer, Draco floo’d into her flat, feeling as apprehensive as he had before testifying at his own trial.  Granger came towards him with a smile and he had to put his hands up in front of him, to prevent her from pulling him into a kiss.  “Granger, we need to talk.” 

She immediately pulled back; her face puzzled.  “What’s wrong.”  She looked concerned for him and increasingly anxious.

“I need to stop seeing you.”  His words came out strangled.

Her wide eyes blinked, slowly, shocked — before narrowing in anger and hurt.  “I see.  May I ask why?”  Her face had become a rigid mask.

“My parents are making me get betrothed.  I’m to marry Astoria Greengrass in the Spring.”

“Making you get married.”  She pursed her lips, looking at him with disgust.  Her voice was flat and distant.  “Are you being threatened?  Magically compelled?”

“Well, no.  Nothing like that.” Draco did not like the look in her eyes.  She was radiating pain and fury, and her curls — which had softened since they were at school — tightened up and he swore he could see sparks.  “My family has always had arranged marriages with other Sacred Twenty-Eight families.  It’s what they’ve always planned for me to do.”

“Oh!  It’s the plan.  I guess, you mean it was always the plan assuming that you managed to survive that war they were determined to put you in.  Are you sleeping with her too?”  Her voice was acid, her eyes flashing.

“Granger, it’s not like that.  I haven’t been sleeping with anyone else.”

“But you are still breaking up with me, so you can marry her?”  Now she had tears in her eyes and she looked so hurt. 

Draco might be more terrified by this, than by her anger.  He felt his defensiveness rise in the face of her tears.  “Can we call it a breakup?  Were we actually together, together — or did we just kept meeting up, in secret?”

“Have you been with other witches while you were sleeping with me?”  Granger was back to being mad, and Draco was no longer sure he had a preference between her rage or her tears.  They were both terrible.

“No!  Of course not!”

“And why not, Draco?  If we weren’t in a relationship?  If we were ‘just meeting up’, with nothing else to it?  Why be monogamous for years, if we were just meeting up?”  She spat out the words, bitter and infuriated.

“Because, Granger.  Because —” Draco sputtered, not knowing where he was going with that.  He didn’t have a good answer.  He didn’t even think about sleeping with anyone else, because the only witch he wanted was Granger.  That didn’t sound like an answer that would help him out here and now, though.

“You know, I had thought, if I was patient and I gave you enough time, you would come around.  That maybe you’d even love me back.  But apparently, you were using that time to arrange a Sacred Twenty-Eight bride for yourself, while I was only ever meant to your little secret.  Just keeping you warm until your parents could find you a proper wife.  Serves me right — for having hope.  I want you to leave.”  She pointed to the floo, her eyes welling with furious tears.

Love me back?  Did she just say she loved him?  Oh, Draco wished he had handled this differently.  “Granger, that’s not how it went!  You never told me you wanted me for anything more than a shag and some company.”

“Shag and some company?  That’s all this has been for you?” she hissed at him.  “As we have exclusively only been seeing each other.  For well over two years.”  She spoke as though she was explaining things to a child.

“I didn’t realize that this meant anything to you.” He whispered, unable to process her reaction.  He had badly misjudged her feelings about him, that much was clear.

“Well, as you are apparently too bigoted to want me for anything other than secret shags, it’s nothing you need to concern yourself with in the future.  Regardless of what I may have felt before, I want nothing to do with you now.  Get out.” 

She whispered the last two words, but as he started to open his mouth, not wanting to leave her — them — like this, she screamed them at him again. 

“Get out!” 

The window pane behind her cracked.  This time, he knew he had not imagined the sparks coming off of her curls.  Draco nodded stiffly and left. 

And that was it.  For the roughly three months that followed, he hadn’t seen or heard from Granger.  They never encountered each other accidentally and they never exchanged owls.  Draco thought about her of course, every day and with deep regret.  But there had been no contact whatsoever — something that hadn’t lessened his feelings about her or his endless disappointment in himself one iota.  And tonight, at the Malfoy’s annual New Year’s ball, he was going to see Granger again — and he was going to have to do it with Astoria by his side.

Draco’s engagement to Astoria had been announced in Witch Weekly the month before.  There was a glossy multi-page spread of photos of the ‘happy’ couple, posing on the grounds of Malfoy Manor — Astoria proudly showing off the betrothal jewels that had been gifted to her once the arrangements were finalized.  Their wedding was being planned for the following May and the article breathlessly detailed all of the extravagant plans cooked up by his mother.  Draco thought he looked dead inside in the photos, but no one else noticed.  His mother merely complimented him about how well his robes looked — which seemed like it was more of a compliment for her, in any event, as she had been the one to pick them out.

The ball had been underway for about an hour before he caught his first glimpse of her.  And Draco had been avidly looking.  He couldn’t help himself — no matter how much he was still tormented by Granger’s absence from his life.  He was off to the side, chatting with his parents and Astoria, who was preening under all of the attention she had received as the newly announced, future Mrs. Draco Malfoy.  Granger was standing across the dancefloor, with her back to him, engaged in conversation with Potter and some higher-up from the Ministry, her wild curls making her instantly recognizable.  She was wearing a golden evening dress — like the Gryffindor queen that she was — a Muggle fashion that showcased her figure.  Even from behind, without seeing her face, she was practically stopping his heart she was so gorgeous.  And then she turned around and he thought his heart might have actually stopped for a moment.

Granger was pregnant.

Granger was noticeably pregnant.  Probably around five months pregnant.  Which meant that she had been pregnant the night that they had ended things, three months ago.  The night that she had confirmed that she was exclusively sleeping with him, and had been exclusive with him for the preceding several years.

Granger was pregnant, with his child.

Draco occluded so hard that, to an outside observer, it probably looked like he briefly went into a coma.  Her dress clung to her ample curves — her breasts, always one of his favourite things in the world, were larger and far more voluptuous than they had been the last time he saw her.  Her bump — wherein lay his child — was not large, but was definitely pronounced, and the dress hugged every part of it.  He had heard nothing — nothing — that breathed a word of her pregnancy, so he assumed she had kept it hidden under her Ministry robes until this evening, when she selected this form fitted Muggle dress. 

It certainly was a statement.

“Oh look.”  He father said dryly, his voice tinged with disgust.  “It appears that Miss Granger is breeding.”

“I wasn’t aware that she had married.” Astoria sniffed, disinterested.

“As far as I am aware, Miss Granger is un-wed.” His mother said, in a slightly scandalized tone, as she and Astoria exchanged meaningful looks, followed by smug smiles.

Draco’s eyes met Granger’s from across the room and he had to increase his efforts at occlusion.  Her eyes narrowed in disgust and she turned her attention elsewhere as soon as she had noticed his gaze, her hand automatically drifting to her distended abdomen.  Draco missed whatever his mother had said to him, unable to hear her over the sound of his racing heartbeat.  Granger was pregnant with his child, his mind screamed at him, threatening to topple his occlumency walls. 

Granger, who had said she had been waiting for him to get over his bigotry.

For the next 20 minutes, Draco walked around mechanically, moving around the party as if he had been imperiused.  He remembered nothing of who he had spoken to, nor even what he himself has said, on the few occasions he couldn’t avoid spitting out a few words about some nonsense.  All of his true focus was on seeing where Hermione Granger was in the ballroom and seeking an opportunity where he could speak with her, alone, without attracting anyone else’s notice.  Astoria was already pouting at him, as he had put no effort into escorting her around the party.  She eventually left him, disgusted, to go whisper to his mother and now both witches were looking at him in disapproval. 

Draco found he did not care.

Finally, Granger left the ballroom — presumably to get some air on the terrace — and Draco seized his moment.  He went around on the opposite side of the room, left through a different door to the same terrace.  He came up to her from behind, reached for her arm and, ignoring her yelp of surprise, apparated them both to his own rooms, before anyone had a chance to notice them even being near to each other.

Granger turned around, took in her surroundings and looked at him with such revulsion that he actually cringed away from her reflexively.  “You have some fucking nerve, Draco Malfoy.”  She balled up her fist in her rage, stamping her foot.

“Is it mine?” he blurted out, his eyes scanning her face, his voice frantic.

“Nothing about me is yours, Malfoy.” She hissed.  “Go back to your intended and stop forcibly apparating pregnant women by surprise.  You scared me!  I could have had a heart attack, you prat!”

“Granger,” he started towards her, aiming to grab her by her shoulders, seeking to make her listen to him, when she pulled out her wand and cast a flipendo, sending him flying backwards by several feet.

“Next time, that will be hard enough to put you through a wall, so plan your actions accordingly.”  Her hair sparked again, fury radiating off of her rounded form, as she kept her wand out at the ready.

He pushed himself back into an upright position and faced her.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was barely above a whisper, but he felt like he was shouting.

She looked at him, and tears welled in her eyes, which she angrily wiped away.  “There is nothing to tell you.  Nothing that is happening with me is any concern of the Malfoy scion, after all.  You see, I’m not pure enough for him, so certainly no child of mine would ever be something for him to concern himself with.  He’s going to marry and have proper heirs with some, hopefully distant, cousin.” 

“Hermione —” she shot him a look of pure poison, and he changed tactics.  “Granger, I — I only want to be with you.  Granger, I — I lo—”

Granger interrupted him mid-sentence, her hair crackling and her voice furious.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  How dare you tell me that — now.  You don’t get to say that to me — now.  You didn’t love me enough to even whisper it when we were together, because apparently, you didn’t even think we were together.  You didn’t love me enough to tell your bigoted parents about me.  Hell, you didn’t even love me enough to refrain from breaking my heart so you could marry someone you don’t love, to keep your parents from having to confront the fact that their entire belief system is an outdated collection of racist lies.  And you didn’t love me enough to bother contacting me over the last three months, so excuse me if I am not swayed by any of this, now.”

“Granger, that child is —”

“Mine.  And no one else’s.”  She wouldn’t even acknowledge his paternity aloud.  Merlin, he was so fucked.

“You can’t seriously expect me to do nothing!” he ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was at wit’s end.  What the fuck was he going to do?

Granger’s words were iron.  “You will do nothing.  You will say, nothing.  You will forget that you ever pretended that I meant something to you.”

“You always meant something to me!  You are everything to me!” as Draco shouted those words at Hermione, he realized the truth of that statement, as he felt it settling into his bones.  Fuck, he was in love with Hermione Granger and she was pregnant with his child.  Hell of a realization to have, after irrevocably bollocksing up the whole thing.

“Oh yeah?  Somehow that didn’t come across with you swanning about the bloody ballroom with your fiancée, as recently as ten minutes ago!”

“Granger, please — there has to be something I can do.”

“Oh like, what, Draco?  Set me up in a house as your Mudblood mistress?”

Draco flinched.  “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t you fucking presume to tell me what to do.  You made your choice, Draco, and it wasn’t me.  I actually don’t see a real practical difference between you being bigoted yourself and you merely pretending that you are bigoted because you don’t want to upset Mum and Dad.  And I will have none of that poison — from any source — around my child.  Your window of opportunity to do the right thing has come and gone.  Stay away from me and mine, Malfoy — or I will fucking finish what Harry started in that bathroom during 6^th year.”

Draco recoiled as if slapped.  She had cried over his sectumsempra scars when she first saw them, tracing them and giving them soft kisses. 

“Do not contact me again.”  With one last furious glance at him, she apparated out of his room, and presumably out of the Manor.

“Fuck!” Draco screamed in fury, using his wand to destroy a lamp on his desk.  And then the antique chaise lounge.  Fuck it.  There were enough antiques tucked away in this Manor he might as well destroy all of the furniture in his room — it’s not like anyone would notice, or care.

Draco had just wrecked a 17^th century armoire, when he heard his door open and saw Narcissa entering the room.  “We need to talk.” His mother said, her face a picture of frosty anger.  Astoria stood just outside of the doorway, tears streaming down her face, her breath heaving under the weight of her sobs.  Well, someone — likely Astoria —– had overheard his conversation with Granger.  She must have seen him bolt for the terrace, and guessed where to follow him to, so she could eavesdrop.

Fuck. 

Draco rolled his eyes at Astoria’s dramatics — the witch didn’t even seem to like him, for Merlin’s sake.  She liked the Malfoy family jewels she had been gifted and she was really looking forward to accessing his vaults, but she’d never given the slightest indication she cared one whit for Draco.

As soon as the guests left for the evening – it the fastest they had ever cleared out the Manor after a New Year’s countdown — Draco found himself in his father’s study under the reproving and angry gazes of his parents and erstwhile affianced.  “Well, Draco.  This is a fine predicament you’ve put us in!”  Lucius’s disgust was palpable.  Astoria was delicately wiping tears from her eyes, as his mother patted her on the back and glared daggers at Draco.

“Astoria said the girl has no intention letting anyone know, so perhaps it will all be fine.  No one need ever find out.”  Narcissa said, her own disgust at her son’s actions evident.  “Perhaps it will all just stay quiet and we can pretend it never happened.  It’s not like her child will be Draco’s heir, regardless.  Once you have your own children, you’ll feel better.” She said the last bit to Astoria, soothingly patting the younger witch on her arm.

“And my currently expected child?  What of that?”  Draco said, his voice like ice.

“Hopefully it won’t have her hair.” Astoria spat out, voice dripping with venomous spite.  This surprised Draco somewhat.  Over the course of their ill-fated courtship, Astoria had seemed like a piece of blank parchment, with almost no personality of her own, except an obvious affinity for wealth.  He had witnessed far more vindictiveness from her this evening than he had believed her to possess; including early on during the ball, as Astoria had rather aggressively flaunted her betrothal jewels in front of a former classmate from Beauxbatons that she did not like.  Although, to be fair, at least now the witch had reason enough to be angry.

“Better that, then to have the child look like a Malfoy!” Lucius slammed his hand on his desk for emphasis.  Draco’s eyes widened and he flinched.  His mother caught Draco’s reaction and immediately rushed to smooth over her husband’s rough edges.

“Lucius, there is no need for such talk.  Although, it would be better for us if she was already married before the birth — to stop some of the inevitable gossip before it leads back to us.  Draco, do you think she could be induced to marry?  I may be able to find a respectable enough husband for her, especially if she could be convinced to accept an older partner.”  Narcissa was all business, as she discussed bribing the witch who was currently pregnant with her own grandchild to marry some unknown, possibly old, stranger.  It was clear that she did not expect Draco to have any objections whatsoever to being forever separated from his own child.

Draco was disgusted by his parents' reactions.  Neither of them had made so much as a passing inquiry as to Draco’s feelings about the matter.  It was just a discussion about how they could possibly cover it up and lots of concern about how Astoria felt about the news.  They just assumed that he’d give up his child, just like he gave up Granger.  Draco laughed and shook his head.  He was such a fool.  He stood up on his feet and faced his parents. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve had anyone or anything in my life that has made me happy since the end of my fourth year at Hogwarts — except for Hermione Granger.  And neither of you — Mother, Father — neither of you care about that, do you?”

Lucius made a disgusted noise.  “Draco, this isn’t about a schoolboy crush that got out of hand — this is about your duty to this family and to the Malfoy line!  And if you’d been able to keep your cock in your robes, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Astoria flinched and broke into fresh sobs at Lucius’s words.  Narcissa looked disgusted with both her husband and son, as she attempted to stop Astoria’s outburst.

Draco could feel a cold fury moving up his spine.  “I have done everything, everything, you have ever asked of me.  It wasn’t enough for me to just go to Hogwarts, I had to spy on the Gryffindors for you.  I was branded by that monster as a consequence of your failures, Father.  Then I was given a year-long probable death sentence disguised as an impossible mission, because of you and your Merlin-blasted fascination with blood purity!  All of that at the behest of a half-blood, no less!  So I have to question the true depth of your ideological commitment, if I’m being honest.”

Draco glared at his father, who stood behind his desk, stone-faced with his jaw clenched.  “I never wanted any of it and I nearly died so many times.  And I still set aside the only woman I have ever loved, for you.  And none of it is enough for you, is it?  And it never will be.  Unless I live my life exactly in accordance with your wishes, I am failing you — and even when I do as I am ordered, it’s not like my efforts are even acknowledged.”

Draco looked at his father – the man he had admired so fervently when he was a child — and the only emotion he felt was disgust, along with an enormous sense of shame about his own conduct.   “Hermione was right.  I let you use me to further your own bigotry, and I didn’t even try to fight for her — for us.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Draco and smiled cruelly, his voice a vicious hiss.  “Better that Miss Granger disappear, than have her be associated with our family.”

Draco had his wand out and at his father’s throat before the words had even finished leaving Lucius’s mouth, non-verbally petrifying the man, keeping his wand at the ready. 

“If you harm one hair on Hermione’s head, I will kill you with a song in my heart, Father.  And if anyone comes near our child, you are the first person I will look to blame and there is nowhere on Earth that you will be safe from me.” 

Behind him, Narcissa made a choking sound, but his mother made no effort to draw her own wand — almost as though she too was paralysed by the scene before her, as surely as her husband had been petrified.

“Astoria, I’m afraid you are going to have to stop measuring the drapes and start looking for a different husband.  Mother, even if Granger rightfully never deigns to speak to me again, I am done living my life for anyone, but myself.  I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to her and Merlin willing, someday it will be enough.  But regardless, I am refusing to be the Malfoy heir for any moment longer.” 

He took a deep breath, keeping his wand at the ready as he drew on his magic.  “I renounce my claims to the Malfoy Manor, the Malfoy estate and the Malfoy inheritance.”  His effort of will made it magically binding.  The family tapestry on the opposite wall flashed once, as the golden line showing Draco extending from Lucius and Narcissa turned black.  His mother let out a sob, while Astoria looked at him with shock and disgust.  Draco took off his signet ring and placed on the desk, in front of his father’s still petrified form.

Draco looked over at his mother, dispassionately.  “Mother, I will no longer be involved with anyone — in any capacity — who is foolish enough to believe that Hermione Granger is somehow less worthy of magic than anyone else in this room.  I am sorry that you are so blinded by your own prejudice, but I am even more sorry that it took me this long to muster up enough courage to do something about it.  If you still subscribe to any of this blood purity nonsense, I expect you to stay away from me, Hermione and our child.  Permanently.”

With one last look at his childhood home, ignoring the wails of his former fiancée and the shocked look on his mother’s face, Draco apparated to Diagon Alley.

Amazing artwork by Art of Crumbs! twitter.com/artofcrumbs

Chapter Text

Draco entered the Leaky Cauldron from the Diagon Alley side, and gestured to the positively ancient barkeep, who was standing behind the counter, looking tired and worn out. 

“Firewhisky.”

The older man, momentarily taken aback by the intensity with which Draco made the request, merely nodded and picked up a glass. 

“Can I send a message from here? Do you have any owls on the premises?”  Draco asked, surveying his surroundings while nervously tapping the bar, seeing what might be available.  The wizard gestured over to the corner, where there appeared to be several cages of owls available for use.  Draco muttered his thanks, immediately headed over to the owls and scribbled out a quick message using the parchment provided on the nearby desk.  He attached his letter to an owl, before releasing it out the back window.  Draco walked back over to the bar, took a seat and began to sip his firewhisky. 

He wanted to drink himself into an absolute oblivion, but he had to see if he got a response first. 

Draco sipped while he waited, contemplating everything that had happened over the past several hours.  He was grateful the bartender didn’t seem inclined to chat.  Not with Draco, in any event.  He looked at his shaking hands, and held his glass tighter.  His finger, where the Malfoy signet ring had sat since his thirteenth birthday, felt naked.

About 15 minutes later, a silver ghost-like stag appeared before him.  Starting off with an audible sigh, Potter’s voice echoed around him.  “I will be there in ten minutes, Malfoy.”  And then the Patronus vanished.  Malfoy finished his glass and ordered another one, intending to sip this one slower, his hands still trembling.

Before long — or maybe it was hours, honestly, Draco had no fucking idea — Harry Potter sat down on the stool next to him.  Potter took one look at Draco’s shaking hands and sighed.  “I’m going to need one of those as well, I think.”  Draco silently gestured to the bartender for another.   The elderly wizard slid the glass over to Potter with a smile — one that, Draco noted idly, had not been extended towards him.    

“On the house, Mr. Potter.” 

“Thanks Tom, cheers.”  Potter collected his glass, with a quick smile at the man who passed it to him. 

The smile dropped from his face as he fixed his gaze on Draco, his green eyes serious.  “Okay, Malfoy, I will give you ten minutes to explain to me why you have brought me here.  After which, depending on how this talk goes, we may have to duel.”

“Ten minutes isn’t a lot of time, Potter.”  Draco scowled down at his glass, his guts twisting in his anxiety.

“Well, you see, I had to leave Ginny to console a sobbing, pregnant Hermione by herself, and I don’t want to leave them alone for too long.  Apparently, she got into a fight with this bloke who knocked her up, and then left her so he could marry another woman.”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant!” Draco exploded, exasperated.

Potter’s stern gaze regarded Draco without pity.  “Still left her, though.”

“It’s not like I wanted to marry Astoria!  I’ve only ever wanted Granger; I just didn’t realize she wanted me too.”

“The years long secret relationship didn’t clue you in at all?”

Draco buried his face in his hands.  He was so fucked.  “We didn’t talk about anything like that — I never wanted to bring it up for fear that she’d stop seeing me altogether.”

“So instead, you said nothing, but continued to see her while you were in the process of arranging to marry someone else, only telling her about it once you were basically already engaged?”

Well, when you put in those terms, Draco sounded like a right piece of shite.  Draco scowled at his drink.  “Potter, I know we aren’t friends.”

Harry snorted, picking up his own glass and bringing it to his lips.  “Oh, you think?” The dark-haired wizard took a sip of his firewhisky, and gave Draco a wry sort of half-smile, feigning disbelief. 

Draco glared at him.  “As I was saying, I know we aren’t friends.  But my parents are kind of intense, especially my father.  None of this was presented as a choice to me.”

“If you want to use your ten minutes with me, to explain how you have been hard done by in these circumstances, we will end in a duel.  Fair warning.” 

“Potter, I broke off my engagement, renounced my family and my family’s fortune, and left the Manor with only my wand.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his stool.  “Oh shit.  Really?”

Draco nodded.  “Yes, really.  What can I do to make this up to Granger?”

Harry shrugged, and held out his hands.  “Never gotten engaged and have done the rest of it sooner?”

Draco scoffed.  “Thanks, Potter.  Have a time turner handy?”

“Malfoy, she is devastated.  You have no idea.  It took us so long to get her to even tell us what was wrong.  Ron is so bloody furious with you about this — Hermione made him back out of attending your parent’s ball, because she was certain he wouldn’t be able to get through the night without physically attacking you.  Ron actually proposed to Hermione, when he found out she was pregnant.”

Draco took a sip of his drink immediately before Potter mentioned ‘Ron’ and ‘proposed’ — that particular combination of words causing him to breathe in sharply, inhaling firewhisky in the process.  Draco began furiously coughing, his hand on his chest, as he panicked.  His mind reeled, refusing to process what he had just heard, as he fought to expel the alcohol from his lungs.  Potter actually got up off of his stool and started clapping Draco on the back, his face showing real concern for the gasping blond wizard.

Eventually, Draco stopped sputtering.  “What did she say?” he choked out; his voice raw.  The idea of Hermione being married to Ron was the second most horrifying thing he’d ever contemplated, followed quickly by the most horrifying thing he’d ever thought of – his child being raised as a Weasley.

“Oh, she told him, no.  Of course.  She wants to raise the baby on her own, anyway.  Seeing how the father had rendered himself unavailable.”

Draco buried his face in his hands.  “Potter, I know I fucked up with Granger, truly.  But I want to make this right.  Please tell me what I can do.”

Harry sighed and put down his glass. “Okay, for starters, I won’t duel you about this.  Not tonight anyway.  But if you break her heart any further in the future, I won’t care that you didn’t actually mean to do so — are we clear on that?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Right.  She’s not going to see you tonight – nor anytime soon.  And no matter what you say about leaving your parents and your fiancée behind, she’s not going to believe it.  Not unless it sticks.  You can’t tell her anything, Malfoy.  You have to show her what she means to you, and you have to show her that you are worthy of her giving you a second chance.  Actually, I suppose it would be at least your third chance.  Got your second one after the war, and look what you did with it.”

Draco couldn’t argue the point, but he was annoyed by the reminder.  “I am aware of my many failings, Potter.  Thank you.”

“Go public with your estrangement with your family.  Sort out your life as someone who isn’t just an aristocrat — I don’t know, get a job, find a place to live.  Show her that you are making real changes with your life and see if she’ll speak with you then.  I don’t think she’ll give you a chance on the mere promise that things will be different, and I can’t say I blame her.”  Potter took a long pull from his glass before putting it down on the bar, turning to face Draco and looking him straight in the eyes. 

“You rejected her Malfoy – you rejected her as being unworthy of having a real place in your life because of what she is — not something she’s done, not something she can control.  And she’s already been enormously forgiving of you over things you had at least some control over.  Frankly, I’m not sure she ought to be as forgiving with the choices you have made involving her following the war — the things you’ve done when your life was no longer being threatened.”

Draco sat, looking at the empty glass in his hands, unable to meet Potter’s eyes.  He was right.  And he wasn’t even being the slightest bit smug about it, the prick.  Draco didn’t deserve this level of kindness from Potter, either.

Potter kept speaking, his voice quiet but intent.  “During the war, she was targeted for death by blood supremacists, Malfoy.  Her — and everyone else like her.”  Draco flinched.  Blood supremacists that Draco helped, Potter meant, but tactfully did not say.

The dark haired wizard continued, looking at Draco steadily as he spoke.  “Whenever I would try to apologize to Hermione for dragging her into all of these dangerous situations — just so she could save my sorry arse — she would tell me that I was being ridiculous, because sitting on the sidelines wasn’t an option for her.  Not when the other side’s intentions were to eradicate all Muggle-borns.  And all of that — all of the hatred and violence directed against people like Hermione?  That was fueled by the cultural practices of the ‘Sacred’ Twenty-Eight.  And you left her — for another woman — so you could go perpetuate those practices.   I honestly don't know how you could have hurt her more.”

Draco sat in stunned disbelief, having been rendered mute by Potter’s words.  He really couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes now.  Fuck, Draco just hadn’t wanted to deal with his father’s prejudice, and he didn't want to have Lucius Malfoy’s inevitable disgust and anger directed at him.  Draco could acknowledge — now, at least — that he had also been too afraid to confront Hermione about his feelings; his own anxiety held him back.  But Draco truly had not considered what might have been holding things back from Hermione’s perspective — at least not in the stark terms just presented to him by Harry Potter.

I honestly don’t know how you could have hurt her more.

That one was going to stick with Draco for a long time, he could feel it.  Draco had to find a way to make it up to Hermione.  Although, Merlin knows why the witch ever gave him the time of day, in the first place.

Harry looked at Draco, his own expression glum.  “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe that you intended to hurt her.”

“Fat lot of good that will do either of us now, unfortunately.  But thank you, I guess.”  Draco finished his drink, feeling the burn of it down his throat.  He wondered if he looked as devastated as he felt.  Probably — it would explain the consoling, pitying gaze Potter was sending in his direction, for fuck’s sake. 

“Okay, I am apparently unaware of the full extent of my personal failings, so I will spend some time reflecting on that later.  But for now, I have a concern that I need to share with you, but I’m not certain that there is anything for you to actually be worried about.”  Draco was unsure about what he was about disclose to Potter, but felt he needed to inform Granger’s best friend some of what had transpired at the Manor.

Potter’s glass was almost all the way to his mouth, when put it down instead and straightened up in his seat, shifting into auror mode instantly.  Not that Draco would ever admit it out loud, but it was mildly impressive.  “I’m all ears, Malfoy.”

“Before I left the Manor, my father said it would be better for the family, if Granger disappeared.”

Harry’s eyes flashed, enraged, and he looked murderously at Draco.  Draco held out his hands in supplication.

“I know, Potter.  I know.  It was before I threatened him, and before I burned myself off of the bloody family tree, and it might have just been hot air before any of that, regardless.  But I would like you to look into her security.  If I’m not with her, I can’t protect her.  I can’t protect them.”

“Fuck, Malfoy.  If that was his initial reaction, do you really think he’d let this go?”

“Probably.  More likely than not.  But I’m not absolutely certain — which is why I am telling you.  When I said I burned myself off of the family tree, I'm not speaking metaphorically.  I am no longer the Malfoy heir.  Legally, magically, I am not even a member of House Malfoy any longer.”

“What the fuck does that even mean? How would that even work?”  Potter was agitated now, his concern for Hermione disrupting his aura of professionalism.

“I’m out, entirely.  Essentially, they would have to magically adopt me as their heir in order to restore it — something that cannot happen without my participation.  And I am done with my parents, Potter.  Mother wanted to bribe Granger to marry some stranger, so my involvement would be hidden.  It apparently never occurred to her that I might want to, you know, see my own child.  And my father — fuck — he threatened Granger.  He threatened my child.  I can never go back.”

Draco felt tears sting in his eyes and he willed himself to not let them fall, not in front of the fucking Boy Who Lived.  This day had been trying enough, for Merlin’s sake.

Harry pretended not to notice as Draco wiped his eyes.

A moment later, Draco sighed.  “The point is, Lucius Malfoy will never want me to be his heir again — not after the way I left.  Potter — I pulled my wand on my father, petrified him, told him I’d kill him if he ever harmed Granger, and then I disinherited myself legally and magically.  You have some idea what that man is like — do you think he’d ever forgive me for humiliating him like that?  Because I don’t think he’s emotionally capable of even considering it.  The man spent close to three years as Voldemort’s personal whipping boy and the same day Father was released from Azkaban, he was back to his old self.  He didn’t pick up a single ounce of humility after having to crawl for history’s most dangerous narcissist, in his own bloody home, for years.”

“Merlin, okay.”  Harry seemed genuinely surprised by what Draco had done, as he absorbed Draco’s explanation.

“Potter, this is why I attacked him and disinherited myself — it was the single best avenue I had to protect Granger and the baby.  My parents shouldn’t want anything to do with me, not anymore — which will make her safer.  It will make them both safer.  But I’m not absolutely certain it will be enough, which is why I’m taking my concerns to you.”

Harry nodded, business-like manner returning.  “Alright.  I’m going to have to interview your father.  Her pregnancy is going to be all the Prophet talks about tomorrow, so I will use the new scrutiny as the pretext to have the aurors’ department do some security checks at her flat and office.  I will be discreet about the source of my concern, but it will be difficult to investigate your father, without mentioning — this — to someone else.  At a minimum, I will need to inform my department head.”

“Her safety is paramount, so I don’t care who you have to inform.  I just need her to be safe.”

“I understand.  I will convince Hermione to stay at my place, at least until I can run the security sweeps.  I’d best be off — I’d like to try to grab a couple of hours of sleep, seeing how I am now going to be heading into the office first thing tomorrow, er, well, later today, I guess.”  Potter downed the rest of his own glass, standing up and slapping Draco on his back.  “I will tell her you want to see her, but don’t expect that she’ll be up for that immediately.  And maybe don’t surprise side-along apparate pregnant witches — who are also bloody war survivors — in the future, you git.  You fucking terrified her!”

Draco hung his head, chagrinned.  “I wasn’t thinking — I was in shock.  Please tell her I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

Harry scoffed at Draco, before turning serious.  “I’ll get right on it.  You are going to be a father, Malfoy.  I suggest you think about what kind of father you want to be.”

“Potter, if —” Draco hesitated, thinking over what he wanted to ask.  “If she ever needs me, I will do anything — anything I can.  Even if she never sees me.  Even if she never even knows about it.  Just, if there is anything I can do, please promise me you’ll reach out?”

Potter drew in a deep breath before answering.  When he did, he wasn’t hostile towards Draco, which was appreciated.  “I’m not making any promises to you, but I will keep your offer in mind.  I wouldn’t try to contact her for a few days anyway, Malfoy.  She’s going to need a bit of space, before that would be a productive use of your time, so just give her that space for now.  Try not to fuck this up any further, Malfoy.  For your child’s sake, if nothing else.” 

Draco nodded, his turn to look glum.  Potter held out his hand to Draco, which Draco took after an instant of shocked hesitation.  He was astounded by the gesture — and momentarily felt like he was  standing outside of the Great Hall, the start of their first year at Hogwarts, futility holding his hand out to the boy, that the man now standing before Draco had been.  They shook hands, exchanged nods and Potter headed to the floo, returning home.  Draco still had a few galleons in his pockets, which he used to settle his tab and take one of rooms upstairs.  He was fortunate that there was one left on such short notice, especially considering it was now three o’clock in the morning, on New Year’s Day. 

Draco lay in the too small, very uncomfortable bed, running over his conversations with Granger and Potter in his head, until unconsciousness took him.  He rose after a few fitful hours, feeling like he hadn’t rested at all.  But he had too much to do, so he got into motion.  

His first stop was Gringotts, to move his modest personal inheritance from his Black grandmother into a vault that was separate from the rest of the Malfoy holdings.  It was nothing compared to the fortune he had left behind, practically a pittance when you got right down to it, but Draco should be able to find a place to live and support himself for a while, albeit not in the style to which he had been accustomed.  He would still need to get a job — a first in untold generations of Malfoys — but at least he wasn’t completely destitute.

Draco set up the account with the instruction that if anything happened to him, the funds were to be left to Hermione Granger and her child.  The goblin making the arrangements raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.  The Gringotts’ employees were discreet, so Draco wasn’t too concerned.  Although, he probably should have been more worried about his insufficiently private conversation with Harry Potter, the night before at the Leaky.  Draco didn’t think anyone was around when they spoke — at least, not anyone who would be in a position to remember anything this morning.  It had been very late, and the other patrons had been very intoxicated. 

After Gringotts, Draco went to the offices of the Daily Prophet and paid for a full-page announcement to run the following day; proclaiming to the world that he broken his betrothal to Astoria, disowned his parents and permanently renounced his claims on any Malfoy family holdings.  The witch who took both his galleons and the wording of his proposed announcement, was wide-eyed and shocked as she wrote down the message Draco was paying to send out to all of Wizarding Britain.  He saw the clerk look meaningfully across the offices, getting the attention of a reporter, who nodded with his own knowing expression.  Draco smirked.  He had a feeling he knew what the front page would look like tomorrow.

Draco picked up a copy of that morning’s paper when he was there, not at all surprised to see the current front page devoted to Granger and her pregnancy, just as Potter predicted.  Golden Girl Tarnished?  Who is the Father of Hermione Granger’s Love Child?, the headline screamed above a picture of a clearly pregnant Hermione in her slinky, golden dress.  Her expression was one of extreme irritation — probably directed at him, come to think of it — but she was still the most beautiful witch he had ever seen, Merlin save him.  The Prophet’s third page had pictures of six different wizards, with speculative theories underneath each as to how likely it was that any of the wizards’ pictured were the unknown father.  Draco was not featured, which actually stung for a moment — although he supposed it was ultimately for the best.  Both Harry and the Weasel were, though.  Along with two other Weasley brothers – George and Percy; Neville Longbottom and Viktor Krum. 

Oh, Granger was going to be so pissed.

Draco pocketed the paper and left for Nott Manor.  He needed to talk to someone who might listen to him without too much judgment, and he was hopeful that Theo could offer him some advice.  Draco wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice as to who he could seek assistance from at present, which probably explained why his first attempt had been to ask the bloody Chosen One for help.

Theo greeted him a bit coolly — probably because Draco had showed up unannounced at 10 a.m. on New Year’s Day and Theo was still a bit drunk from the night before.  He glared, bleary-eyed, at Draco, before taking a Sober-Up and a hangover remedy mixed together.  Apparently, after they were rushed out of Malfoy Manor more or less immediately after midnight, a large group of younger Slytherins had staged an after-party at Nott Manor.  Theo had just cleared them out at six o’clock in the morning, and he only had a few hours of being passed out, before Draco dragged him from his bed.

Theo listened to the story without comment, allowing Draco to get the entire saga out, uninterrupted.  He wordlessly poured a glass of firewhisky and offered it to Draco, but Draco declined, sighing.  “Theo, I had so little sleep last night.  One drink and I’ll be done for the day.  And I have too much to sort out, at present.”

Theo raised his eyes at that, and kept the drink for himself, sipping it thoughtfully.  “I can’t believe you knocked up Hermione Granger.”

Draco glared at him. 

“I mean, I knew there was something going on between you two — it was particularly obvious when we were still in school, by the way — but I had no idea you kept it going this long.  Daphne’s going to be so pissed at you.”

Daphne had been pleased that Draco was marrying her younger sister, when Draco had bumped into her at her family’s manor, a couple of months ago.  She would likely be defensive on Astoria’s behalf, but honestly, who fucking cared? 

“Greengrass’s emotional reaction to my life falling apart is not high on my list of priorities right now, Nott.”  Draco forced out, resisting the urge to throttle Theo.  “What should I do?”

“I think Potter was right.  You should get a job.”  Theo said, thoughtfully.  “Too bad your father didn’t have the decency to die in the war, like mine.  Then all of this would have been a lot simpler.”

Draco knew that he needed a job, he just needed to think about how he was going to go about getting one.  The Ministry was out, as that was Granger’s home turf and Draco thought she would think he was doing it just to antagonize her.  Theo told him to put his potions’ mastery to good use, and suggested he check out the Apothecary in Diagon Alley.  Draco thought that was a good idea, as he mentally berated himself for not thinking of it earlier.  If nothing else, even if they weren’t hiring, they might know of a position elsewhere that Draco could look at.  Draco was quite adept at potions and he had even successfully improved some standard recipes by tinkering with them in his own lab back at the Manor.  If the Apothecary owner could overlook his past — which was a pretty big ‘if’ — Draco knew he would be a good choice for someone to hire. 

“How about this?  Stay here for a bit, until you sort out the job.  Then you can find your own place.  I don’t think crashing in a different Sacred Twenty-Eight Manor is going to help things with Hermione in the long term, but you can use this as your base of operation for the next week or so, while you get things sorted.”

Draco sighed, and felt a bit relieved that he wasn’t going to have to stay at the Leaky again.  “Thank you, Theo.”  His friend clapped him on the back, and then immediately began gossiping about what happened at his own party last night.  Draco sighed wearily.  Maybe Theo wouldn’t notice if he fell asleep in this chair.  Draco settled in and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Draco woke up at Nott Manor to a Daily Prophet headline that exclaimed Malfoy Heir No Longer?, with a picture of Draco underneath, taken by the press at his parents’ party.  Astoria was standing next to him, looking very annoyed at Draco, her eyes rolling on a continual loop.  Draco was looking off in the distance, thunderstruck and unmoving for the several seconds the photograph had captured.  He couldn't have been more still if this were a Muggle photograph.  It wasn’t possible to tell from the photo, but Draco knew that this picture was taken when he was looking at Granger.  No wonder Astoria had thought to follow him — Draco’s occlusion skills were clearly in need of some shoring up, given how much of his utter shock and distress showed in his expression.

The accompanying article was mostly just his announcement regurgitated with more sensational adjectives and speculation.  The version that he had paid for took up the whole of page three.  The version that was breathless, and full of uninformed conjecture, was splayed across five other pages.  It did not contain any comment from his parents, nor from anyone associated with the Greengrass family.  There was also no mention of Granger either, which relieved him immensely.  He didn’t want to bring her any unwarranted attention, especially since her pregnancy had been reported only the day before.  He assumed that she would have a lot of correspondence arising from that, and he was grateful that ever since the war, her mail was screened by the aurors.  He was also grateful to have given Potter the jump on any potential security concerns coming from his father — just in case.   

On January 3^rd, Draco received an owl from Potter, telling him that while Hermione still wasn’t prepared to speak with him, but she seemed less frosty about the prospect in general after seeing his announcement in the Prophet.  Harry advised that he had already been to the Manor and was apparently satisfied that Granger — and their child — were not in any danger from Lucius Malfoy.  Potter wrote that his father ‘declined to acknowledge the existence of his blood-traitor son, and as regarding Hermione Granger, he had no desire to involve himself with the spawn of someone so unconnected to himself.’  Draco’s mother was apparently refusing to leave her rooms.  Potter seemed unimpressed by Draco’s parents in general, but he had been convinced that they were not intending to seek retribution by harming either Granger or their child. 

The prat also had the nerve to say that he was proud of Draco for finally sticking up to his parents.  What kind of person would write something that disgustingly sincere to the bloke who smashed his nose in, not even five years before?  Tosser should have been in Hufflepuff. 

Draco spent much of the morning re-reading the letter, especially the part about Granger warming up to communicating with him again.  It was a start.

On the morning of January 4^th, Draco and Theo were just sitting down for breakfast, when the Prophet arrived, featuring a tearful photograph of Astoria, with the headline, Former Malfoy Heir Impregnates Lover, Abandons Fiancée, with the subheading, Granger’s Lovechild a Malfoy?, underneath. 

“Oh, fuck!” Draco swore, as Theo leaned over his shoulder, the two wizards frantically reading the article.

“I told you the Greengrasses would be out for blood.”  Theo said, wearily, sitting back in his own seat.

“It’s not a smart move for her either!  Other Houses will be less likely to entertain a new arrangement for her, if she’s out publicizing Sacred Twenty-Eight scandals.”  Draco didn’t want to marry Astoria, but until now, he hadn’t wished ill on the witch.  Now that she had attacked Granger, all bets were off.

“She seems quite broken up about you.  It seems you broke her heart.”

“She doesn’t have one.”

Theo looked skeptical.  Draco made a noise of exasperation.  “Seriously, Theo.  We never even kissed.  Well, the photographer had me kiss her for a photo – closed mouth, while all four of our parents watched – but that was it.  She’s not lamenting her loss of me; she’s lamenting her failure to secure the Malfoy vaults.  That’s all.”

“You should write to Granger.  This article is taking pains to leave everyone with the impression that Hermione interrupted your great love affair with Astoria.  There’s even the suggestion that she got pregnant on purpose, to trap you and destroy Astoria’s happiness.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.  Right.  Fuck.

He penned a letter to Granger, but sent it to Potter with a cover letter — rather than have her incinerate it on sight.  In his letter to Hermione, he apologized for everything, told her she was right about everything, apologized for his assumption that he was not as important to her as she was to him, and begged for her forgiveness.  He told her that Astoria had overheard their conversation, and that her tale of a great love interrupted, was fiction — designed to hurt him and motivated by revenge, for breaking off their betrothal.  “The only witch I have ever loved is you, Granger.  And even if you never forgive me, you will be the only witch I ever love, until the day I die.” 

Merlin, he hoped Granger didn’t murder him over this article, and make that day soon.  Draco was baffled as to why Astoria thought it was a good idea for her to do this, particularly in this way?  What prospective groom would touch her now, when she was openly crossing Lucius Malfoy in the most indiscreet manner possible?

In his letter to Potter, he asked the other wizard to see if Hermione would be prepared to accept Draco’s communication — giving him and his wife permission to read it themselves, if they thought it would help.  That had rankled.  His letter was deeply personal and he felt exposed enough by sending it to Hermione, never mind giving the Boy Who Bloody Lived and the She-Potter carte blanche to scrutinize the contours of his bleeding heart.  But Draco had fucked up so huge; his discomfort was part the price of attempting to make things right.

The next day, he received a letter back — from Potter.  He wrote:

She’ll see you tomorrow at noon, at my house, Grimmauld Place.  She’s giving you one hour.  I will open the floo network to you for the day.  Do not be late.  Good luck, Malfoy.

- Potter

Draco was distressed to find out how much Potter wishing him luck meant to him.  Oh, how far he had fallen.  His emotions had Draco behaving more and more like a bloody Hufflepuff these days, for Merlin’s sake.  It was humiliating enough to made teary-eyed every time he received a letter from his former Gryffindor rival, but worst yet, Draco was doing it in front of Theo.  Theo tactfully did not comment on Draco’s mood swings, and merely clapped his friend on the back.

“Good luck, mate.  You are going to need it.”

Draco swallowed and nodded. 

No shit.

Amazing artwork by Art of Crumbs! twitter.com/artofcrumbs

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy stood inside the floo grate at Nott Manor, alone, staring at his watch. 

His watch was one of the few possessions he had from his old life — and then, only because he had been wearing it on New Year’s Eve, and he carried it with him as he left Malfoy Manor in a blaze of glory — or perhaps, ignominy?  The answer would depend on who you asked.  The large platinum timepiece had once belonged to his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, and Draco had been given it on the occasion of his tenth birthday. 

Once a source of pride, Draco was now profoundly conflicted about his sole remaining family heirloom.  While Draco had been raised to idolize his grandfather, that wizard was both a staunch blood purist and the reason his family was so tied up with Tom Riddle in the first place.  After he left his family behind, Draco contemplated destroying it or perhaps more prudently, selling it.  But the watch had felt like a part of him since before he went to Hogwarts, and the habit of wearing it was deeply ingrained.  Draco decided he would keep it, until he had enough spare funds to purchase a suitable replacement. 

According to his moral conundrum, which was also a timepiece, it was 11:58 a.m. 

Draco's other hand grasped floo power — holding it at the ready — as he waited for it to be time to leave.  Time to speak with Granger.  He was breathing steadily, in and out, attempting to stave off a panic attack.  He was grateful that Theo had said his goodbye in the drawing room.  Theo had offered Draco some advice; which he would not be taking.  Theo meant well — for the most part — but he hadn’t seen Granger, with sparks coming out of her curls, hexing Draco on New Year’s Eve.  She did not want to be kissed — definitely not by him and hopefully not by anyone else.  Theo had also wished him luck, which Draco deeply appreciated.  He was going to need all of the luck he could get; Merlin save him. 

Now, Draco was glad to be alone.  He didn’t want an audience for his incipient breakdown.

The time hit 11:59, and Draco’s breathing became more rapid.  It took a real effort to prevent himself from hyperventilating.  As the second hand rounded the ‘9’, Draco threw the powder at his feet and barked out “Grimmauld Place,” hoping he didn’t look as anxious as he felt.  He had barely slept the night before.  He rose at an extremely early hour, reluctantly giving up on the prospect of more sleep, and found he was unable to stomach anything other than tea.  Draco had only just resisted the temptation of accepting Theo’s offer of firewhisky on the way out to the floo — for courage, the dark-haired wizard had said, with a mischievous grin.  After Granger had mercifully relented on her furious declaration at the Ball and agreed to see him again, Draco could only imagine what the witch would think if he showed up smelling like liquor.

He arrived at Potter’s home, coughing slightly from the journey through the floo network.  The only other time in his life that Draco could remember feeling this apprehensive, was the day he was forced to take the bloody Dark Mark.  He stepped out of the floo, entering the Chosen One’s home for the first time, and cautiously looked around.  He was momentarily startled when he heard Granger’s seemingly disembodied voice call out “I’m in the kitchen.”  His body was tight with nervous anticipation, as he followed the sound — and found the pregnant witch sitting alone at a kitchen table, her wand laying in front of her, in a display he assumed was intended as a threat. 

“Harry and Ginny are here; they are just in another part of the house.  They aren’t listening in, or anything, but they are available if I need them.”  Granger spoke in a clipped tone.  Draco could see the tension in her own body language, as she looked up at him from her seat, her expression strained and nervous.

He nodded, afraid to move any closer or really, say anything.  He felt rooted to the spot.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Sit down.”  She indicated the seat farthest away from herself.   Draco sat down, slowly, hesitantly.  Granger made a disgusted noise, as she narrowed her eyes, obviously irritated with Draco’s prevarication.  “Stop looking like I’m about to bloody attack you!  You asked to see me, so you’re seeing me.  Please get on with it.”

“I love you, and I want to be with you and our baby.”  He blurted out, immediately cursing himself for his blunt declaration.  Well, Granger had told him to get on with it.  It was, at a minimum, a concise statement of his position.

Hermione scoffed at him, folding her arms across her chest.  “Not.  Good.  Enough.”  She said, through gritted teeth.

“Why?” Draco asked.  “What more can I do, Granger?”  Draco looked at her, his chest felt tight and was consumed with both longing and deep regret. 

She swallowed, before looking at him mournfully, and sighing.  “For starters, being parents of the same child is not the same as being in love with each other.  As an example, you left me three months ago and I hadn’t heard a peep from you since — not directly, at least.  I was subjected to lots of press about your wedding plans, but I'm not counting that.  If this was simply a matter of your feelings for me, I could have heard from you before now.  But I didn’t.”

Draco absorbed that.  She had a point.  “I — Granger, I’m not as brave as you.  I’m not.  I thought you didn’t love me, truly.  I thought you just enjoyed shagging me.”

“We also talked!” she exploded defensively, glaring at him.  “You make it sound like I was just using you for sex, for the love of Merlin!  I helped you with your potions’ mastery, while you helped edit my policy proposals for work.  I taught you how to cook.  We read books together! It’s not like all we did was shag!”

“I know!  I know.  You are right, okay.  But I didn’t realize that it meant anything to you — you told me you didn’t want to tell anyone in your life about me — about us — when we started!”  Draco felt defensive as well.  He hadn’t known she had cared for him — not like that anyway.

“You mean, when we started dating back at Hogwarts, in the near immediate aftermath of being on the opposite sides of the war?  When the Daily Prophet had a column dedicated to whom I might be dating in the future, for six straight months?  Is that the time you are referring to?  Because I don’t think you can draw any specific conclusions from that, other than I don’t like unwarranted press scrutiny.  So thank you very much for your ex-fiancée’s hit piece.”  Hermione’s hair sparked again, as she mentioned Astoria’s article in the Daily Prophet.

Draco felt a rush of guilt and he cringed beneath Hermione’s well-earned rage.  “I’m furious with her for doing that, but I had no control over her.  Granger — look, Astoria and I were never close.  The only times we were ever alone together was when we went to dinner twice, and nothing happened, except I learned that she’s a boring conversationalist even if her parents aren’t listening.  She never meant anything to me — it was — I just —”  Draco ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, struggling to find the right words.

“Granger, I felt trapped by my family.  You would think, that after the war and everything it cost that they would have been better, but they weren’t.  They still expected me to be the perfect pure-blood heir and at no point was my input solicited, or welcomed.  I know I should have put my foot down with them earlier, but from my perspective, I thought you were just having fun and I wasn’t prepared to blow up my whole life and my entire relationship with my parents, when I didn’t think you were that invested.  I shouldn’t have assumed.  I should have talked with you; Merlin, I know that now.  But, I was afraid if I pushed you, that you would end it.  And I felt like I couldn’t take the risk.”

Draco’s voice had gotten very small by the time he had finished speaking.  Hermione had stopped looking actively furious a few moments ago, as she listened to Draco; and by the time he had finished talking, she was biting her lower lip, lost in thought.

Granger shifted in her seat, having come to a conclusion.  “It’s possible,” she said slowly, in a cautious, reluctant tone, “that I ought to have been more upfront about my feelings towards you, as well.  But, you see, I had this lingering fear that if I sought clarity from you, I would be told that I wasn’t the kind of girl for you, not really.  Because for anything real — you would need a perfect pure-blood witch.  So I was afraid that if I sought certainty, that you would end it.”

Draco was stunned into silence at that.  Fuck, he wished he had been more careful with both of their feelings. 

“I was actually planning on telling you I was pregnant, the night you came over.  Instead, you told me we were finished, and confirmed my worst fears.”  The last word was spoken in a whisper, as tears started falling down her face.

Draco felt ill, and he wanted desperately to comfort Hermione, to make her understand that she was everything to him.  “Granger, I want to hug you, but I’m afraid you’ll hex me if I try.”   It physically hurt Draco to remain in his chair in the face of her distress, but he wouldn’t move to without her permission.

“I’m not planning on hexing you, but please stay where you are — or I may change my mind.”  She wiped at her eyes, sniffling.  “At least some of this is the pregnancy hormones, causing my emotions to run amok.  Not that you are helping, mind you.”  She shot him a dirty look.

Draco swallowed, and looked down at his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. 

When Granger spoke again, her voice was very strained. “Okay.  I am not prepared to be in, um, a romantic relationship with you — just because I’m pregnant.  I don’t want that.”

Draco inhaled sharply; she had clearly misunderstood his motivations.  “Granger, that’s not why I want to be with you.  I love you!”

Hermione flinched and looked so wounded; Draco felt as though his heart had stopped.  “Please, please don’t say that to me, Malfoy.  I’m not kidding — just don’t.”  She looked at him, desolate, her eyes brimming with tears.  “It hurts too much to hear that now.  Because we both know that if I wasn’t pregnant, you would still be set to marry Astoria Greengrass in the Spring.”  She looked so heartbroken.  Draco wondered if he would ever forgive himself for hurting her like this.

There was a long pause, while Hermione visibly struggled to regain her composure.  “When you didn’t know that I was pregnant, you were engaged to another woman.  And you didn’t make any changes, until you found out I was pregnant.  Whatever you say now, your actions have been pretty loud, when it comes to me.  And I would rather be single for the rest of my life, than be with anyone who was with me only because they felt obliged to be so.”  The last sentence was spoken with an edge.  Granger was deeply hurt and still very angry, it seemed.

Draco felt like he was being swallowed by his own heartache and regret.  While he could not find fault with the Brightest Witch of her Age’s reasoning, per se, Draco knew she was still wrong about him.  Admittedly, it took a great deal longer than it ought to have, for him to get to this point — but he was confident that now he knew his own heart.  Draco had been betrothed to Astoria because he was a fucking coward — not because Granger had been in some way deficient.

It was a lot, to realize how much his own lack of courage had sabotaged his personal happiness and inflicted so much suffering on Granger.  Merlin willing, she’d eventually believe him — and know that he truly loved her for her.  Their baby — the prospect of which was still blowing his fucking mind — was an added and unexpected bonus.  Granger was an end unto herself, not an obligation and Draco would do everything he could to make her see that, eventually.  But he knew that now was not the right moment to push back.  So Draco nodded, swallowing, as he was unable to meet her gaze.

“However, that is different from how we approach this baby.” She put her hands on her abdomen as she spoke. “I am in charge of this child — just me — until such time as I am sufficiently convinced that you will be as protective of her, as I already am.”

“Her?” He snapped his head up in Granger’s direction.  “It’s a girl?”  His voice broke as he said it.  Malfoys only ever had first born sons, and almost never had more than one child.  It had been a very long time since anyone in his family had a daughter, certainly many decades and perhaps even centuries.

Hermione smiled, a bit sadly.  “Yes, Draco.  You are having a daughter.” 

Draco drew in a shaky breath.  “Hermione, I would never, ever let harm befall you or our daughter.  I would die first.”

Hermione looked at him intently and her tone became gentle.  “I know that you feel that way and I know that you would die for her — truly, Draco, I do.  What I need to see is that you will live for her, because that’s where I have significant doubts.  I need to see that the changes you are making in your life are ones that you will stick with.  And that you won’t decide it’s too hard for you and then go back to Sacred bloody Twenty-Eight practices, in exchange for getting your old life back.”

Draco nodded, thinking over Granger’s words.  Potter had evidently given him good advice.  Draco knew he’d never go back to his parents, but she needed to believe it too.  He indeed needed to show Granger he had changed, not merely tell her. 

Hermione drew a shaky breath.  “So, we will start this off slowly.  You will have plenty of chances to demonstrate your bona fides to me — and as ‘Malfoy’ literally means ‘bad faith’, I feel that I'm already being fairly generous here.”

Draco gave a sort of strangled chuckle, wiping away the tears that had started to well in his eyes.  He was having a daughter.

“I will have more to say on this as we go along, but for starters, she is never, ever going to have to endure being in the presence of people who think she is lesser than they are because of her ‘blood status’.   That includes any of your friends, any of your extended family, any of the bloody portraits at any of their bloody manors, your parents and even yourself.  Do I make myself clear?” 

Hermione’s hair was crackling again.  Had it always done that?  Or was it because she was pregnant?  Draco nodded, emphatically.  He had already said something similar to Narcissa on his way out of the Manor — Granger would get no disagreements from him.

“Secondly, and I would hope this goes without saying, but I expect that you will never use your access to me — because of our daughter — to pressure me into rekindling our, um, romantic relationship.  Assuming you can now acknowledge that it was a relationship.”  She had started off hesitantly, but the last sentence was said fairly bitterly.

Draco looked offended.  “Granger, I heard your refusal loud and clear.  And I wouldn’t use our daughter —” Draco stopped as he swallowed back a sob.  He was going to have a daughter.  He was going to have a daughter with Granger.

She sighed, before speaking in a quiet, tremulous voice of her own.  “Draco, I am not refusing you.  You’re framing this like I rejected you — but you left me.  For someone else.  You — you broke my heart and I have no intention of handing it out to anyone ever again, unless I am certain it will be cared for.  I am not currently capable of trusting you, because of how you treated me.  That’s not quite the same thing as a refusal.”  Her voice was full of sorrow, and it was now her turn to only look at her hands.

“You are right, it’s not.  My apologies again.”  Draco swallowed roughly, before finding the courage to make eye contact with the witch across the table, as she met his eyes.  There was a moment of silence that stretched out as the distance between them seemed to grow.  The two of them looked at each other, an expression of anguish and regret mirrored on each of their faces.

Hermione blinked first, letting out a long breath, before interrupting the silence.  “I accept your apology.  Now stop making them.  I’m not listening to you say ‘sorry’ constantly while we’re figuring out co-parenting.  Honestly, it’s already annoying and I am easily irritated these days.  What about you?  Do you have any questions for me?”  Her tone and manner had become more business-like.  Granger was always more in her element when she was planning.

“Um, when are you due? What is ‘co-parenting’?”  Draco asked, nervously.  Maybe it was a Muggle thing? 

“Oh, sorry!  I’m due on May 8^th.” Hermione flushed, as though she was embarrassed she hadn’t already told him.  “And co-parenting is the term used to describe people who aren’t married or living together, but who are the parents of the same child.  It might be more common with Muggles, I don’t know.  The ‘co’ aspect refers to co-operative.  Which is what I would like us to be.”

Draco nodded at her — that’s what they were, or rather what they would be, when their daughter was born.  Although Draco was still holding out for more — he aspired to eventually convince Granger of his bona fides in all areas of his affections for her, as well as their daughter.  Hopefully sometime before the future Mini-Granger graduated from Hogwarts, presumably at the top of her class.

“Okay, I’m sure I will have more questions as we go along, if that’s okay.”  She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.  Draco inhaled and pressed forward. “Regarding Astoria, I want to issue a statement to the Prophet in response to her sob story.  Make it clear that you and I had a long-standing, pre-existing relationship, and that my now-broken betrothal was an effectively business arrangement between my parents and the Greengrasses, not an actual romantic relationship.”

“You never slept with her?”  Hermione blurted out, before looking ill and waving her hand as if to dismiss her words from the air.  “Sorry, that wasn’t appropriate.  If it was after we broke up, it’s none of my business.”

Draco shook his head and gave her a wry smile.  “I’ve never slept with anyone but you, Granger.”

“Oh.”  There was a pause, her wide eyes blinking slowly.  “I didn’t know that.”

“I was exactly bragging about being a virgin, especially not when we were still in school.”

“Right.  Okay.  Um, I will need to see any statement, before I can confirm that I’m okay with it.  But as a concept, I agree it might be for the best.  I understand that Astoria’s out for revenge and she’s looking to deliberately hurt you — us — whatever, but some day our daughter might see all of this.  We should at least attempt to correct the record — even if it’s ultimately futile.  I think just a statement though — not an interview.”  Hermione seemed a bit flustered, whether it was from Draco’s revelation that she was the sum total of his sexual experience, or lingering animosity towards Astoria, he wasn’t exactly sure.

“Agreed.  But, speaking of interviews, I have a job interview next week with the Apothecary in Diagon Alley — making potions.  Do you think we can get our statement out in advance of that?  I’m already an ex-Death Eater, so if I can clear up any additional aspersions on my very tarnished character before that, I think it would improve my chances at employability.”  Draco said dryly, as he shrugged.

“Draco, how many times do we have to go over this?  You were never really a Death Eater.  It was something that was done to you — not a choice you made.”  Hermione’s tone was exasperated, as she fell into an old argument, seemingly without thought.

Granger sounded so much like she had when they had first started talking to each other in 8^th year, that Draco wanted to cry again.  Her righteous, completely unearned and undeserved, defence of him had always made Draco fall at least a little bit in love with her.  It heartened him to no end to know that she still had that in her, after all that happened. 

It gave him hope. 

“While I appreciate your view of the matter — truly, Granger, I do — not everyone feels the same way.  I have the proper credentials, I can absolutely handle the work, but they have to be willing to hire Draco Malfoy and let me work there.  I just think I will do better if I can be slightly less mired in scandal, you know.”

“Fine.  If you owl me a statement tonight, I will get it back to you with my notes by tomorrow morning.  Will that suffice?”

“Yes.”  He felt like was being shuffled towards the exit.  “What are our next steps, after that.”

“I have an appointment next week, at St. Mungo’s, if you’d like to come with me.  There’s no point in trying to keep your participation a secret, thanks to Astoria.”  Hermione’s mouth puckered when she said Astoria’s name, as if the word itself left a sour taste in her mouth.

“I’d like that.”  Draco felt a tiny bit guilty about the rush of exhilaration he felt at the prospect.  He was going to get to be involved — and, he wasn’t going to have to keep it a secret.  He was very pleased by that, if he was being honest with himself.  Thanks to Astoria, indeed, he thought, ruefully.

“Where are you staying now?  In case I need to get a hold of you?”

“I’m staying with Theo Nott while I look for work.  I want to know where my job will be, before I try to find a flat.  Unless I can move somewhere close to you — er, your flat — if you would be alright with that?”  He held his breath.

She looked at him, teeth worrying her lower lip as she considered his words.  “Well, as you know, my flat is in Muggle London, but it is close enough to the Leaky Cauldron.  So if you wanted to look at my neighbourhood, that would be okay with me.  If you get the job at the Apothecary, it be convenient enough for travel.  Either way, I’m not planning on moving, so you will be close to us, once she’s born.”

Draco nodded, relieved.  This was probably a decent outcome, all things considered — unless she was willing to elope with him immediately.  That had been his first choice. 

She cleared her throat nervously, and then looked him in the eye, expression hesitant.  “Draco?  I should tell you that her last name is going to be Granger.  But I would like it — very much — if we could agree on her first and middle names.”

Draco swallowed and nodded.  Fair enough.  He pushed down his own slight disappointment and offered Granger a smile he didn’t quite feel, keeping his tone light and pleasant.  “Granger, is this part of a ploy, so I have to call you Hermione? If so, I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Hermione was so surprised by that, she actually laughed.  “Yeah, you got me.  This is obviously a flawlessly executed plan to get you to call me ‘Hermione.’  I’ve been working on it for years.”

He chuckled in reply and stood up.  He really didn’t want to overstay his welcome — especially given how emotional they had both been.  Better to give her some space now, and hope for a better outcome later.  “Get some rest, Granger.  And owl me with the details for your appointment and anything else you’d like me to know.  If you think of anything else I can do – anything at all, please let me know.” 

Draco started heading back towards the floo.  Hermione got up, walking him out.  He did a double take once she stood up — her newly rounded form was much less obvious when seated behind a table.  The reality of their prospective parenthood was more tangible to Draco when Granger was standing before him, their impending future visibly present in the curve of her stomach.

“I will Draco.  And thank you for offering to help me.  I truly appreciate it.”

Draco snapped out of his reverie about their future daughter, and rolled his eyes at Hermione, burying any lingering anxiety and sorrow deep beneath a passably cheerful façade.  “Granger, my life is now yours to command.  Whether you chose to exercise that right or not, is up to you.”  He flashed his trademark smirk in her direction, winked and floo’d back to Nott Manor, without another word.

A little over a week later, Draco was running to meet Hermione at St. Mungo’s, cursing himself for his tardiness.  He hurried to the treatment room Granger had been assigned – the slightly harried medi-witch out front had told him where to go — praying he had not missed the Healer.

“My appointment was 5 minutes ago, Draco.”  Granger said through gritted teeth, glaring at him as he entered the room.  “If the Healer hadn’t been also running late, you could have missed this entirely.”

“I know, Merlin, I know.  I’m so sorry Granger, but — I got the job.”  Draco was out of breath, apologetic, but also pleased with himself.  He had a job.

“Oh, congratulations, I guess.  Good for you.”  Some of her irritation had dissipated, but he could tell she was still ruffled by him being late.  Granger was never late.  The witch habitually arrived early to all events.  The habit was so ingrained in the Golden Girl, that on the very rare occasions she  was merely ‘on-time’, she became extremely anxious about it.  To Granger, ‘on time’ was more or less tantamount to being ‘late.’ 

Also, given their fraught recent history — as distinct from their fraught longer-term history — Granger had probably spent the last half an hour being worried that Draco had abandoned her.  Again.

“Perkins had just offered it to me and I accepted, but then he wanted to talk to me about how he founded the Apothecary in the first place, all about his business philosophy and he’s a touch long-winded.  I didn’t feel like I could just leave.  It took me some time to stage a graceful exit.”

Hermione looked mollified by his explanation.  “Well, alright then.  I’m glad you got the position.  I told you they’d be mad not to hire you.”

Draco smiled fondly at the pregnant witch, causing her to blush and look away.  Granger truly believed because she thought he was a victim of circumstance during the war, that everyone else would think the same.  There was a knock and the door opened, revealing the Healer — an older woman with a pleasant, professional manner.  After introducing herself to Draco, she made small talk with the two of them for a bit, before withdrawing her wand and performing investigatory charms over Granger’s stomach. 

“Baby looks good!  Everything is proceeding as it should.  Ms. Granger, other than getting some more rest and trying to avoid stress, there is nothing you need to do before our next appointment.”  Draco resisted the urge to snort audibly when the Healer told Granger to rest — he’d been telling her that for years, even before she got pregnant, and it was like trying to talk to the bloody wall.  Hermione shot a glance in his direction when the Healer brought it up, and Draco was proud — and relieved — that he’d managed to keep his face looking neutral.  Granger rolled her eyes at him anyway, as if she knew what he was thinking, despite his placid exterior.

The appointment did not take long.  When they were still with the Healer, Granger had asked if Draco had any questions, which warmed his heart.  He didn’t though — Granger had sent him owls, thoroughly updating him as to everything she knew about the baby, as well as the expected medical care, and the Healer hadn’t really offered anything new.  Granger had given him a set of books about pregnancy and early childhood that she expected him to read.  Some of the books she had owled to him were clearly Muggle in origin, which he had accepted without comment and was in the process of reading.  He felt like she had expected him to object, or at least question their inclusion.  It felt like bait and Draco wasn’t falling for it — when he told her he’d do anything she asked of him, he’d meant it.

Draco did take the pamphlet on labour and delivery the Healer offered to him.  Not that he’d tell this to Granger, but the looming prospect was fairly terrifying to him and he was happy to have a few more months to mentally prepare.  It was a good thing he wasn’t the one who got pregnant.  He wasn’t nearly as strong as Granger, and Draco didn’t think he’d be coping as well as she appeared to be, if their situations were somehow reversed.

“That’s it for baby-related things for now, I think.  Until my next appointment, anyway.  Eventually, I will have to start setting up my apartment, but I’m not quite ready to do that yet.  However, Ginny is talking about throwing me a baby shower, and I wanted to ask if that was something you’d like to attend.”

Draco stopped walking.  They were headed into Diagon Alley — Hermione had taken a half day off of work and she had some additional errands to run before going home.  Hermione stopped when she noticed he had.  Draco was surprised, and pleased, by Hermione’s offer to allow him to join her at the shower.

“I’d like that.  Thank you for including me, Granger.”

“Don’t thank me yet.  It’s all of my friends – all of them, including Ron.  The whole thing will probably be held at the Burrow, if Molly has her way.  No one is particularly disposed to be kind to you — at least not yet.  Well, except for Harry.  He came around on you pretty quickly, actually.  I’m still a bit surprised.”

“Sorry, are you saying that I have Potter’s approval?”  Draco was surprised by that, himself.  How did that happen?

“More like, he doesn’t actively wish you were dead.  Approval might be overstating it.  Still, it’s a contrast to how he felt before New Year’s — so I assume you did something right.”

“I’d still like to go.”  Draco said, more than a little apprehensive, but resolved.  He had already determined that he would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with Hermione, if she offered.  He couldn’t bloody well show her he had changed unless she was seeing him, after all.  “Do you think you could at least assure my physical safety?  I’d rather not have to pull my wand and I do not enjoy getting punched by Weasley — which I swear is that wizard’s go-to move with very little provocation.”

Granger snorted.  “I’m well aware of Ron’s tendency to fly off the handle and hit you, in particular.  Although, at least some of the time you’ve deserved it, Malfoy.  I might have to cry at him to ensure it, but I’m positive I can at least keep you safe from physical violence.  But I do expect him to yell at you.  Even a pregnant woman’s tears have their limits.”

Draco grinned at her.  “Why Granger, I had no idea you could be so manipulative?  I’m shocked, shocked that you would use your wiles to manage Ron Weasley thusly.”

Granger rolled her eyes.  “You aren’t shocked, you’re — oof.”  Hermione stopped walking abruptly and put her hands on her abdomen, wincing.

Draco immediately rushed closer to her, terror spiking as he put his hands on her arms and scanned her face.  “Granger, are you alright?” He was unable to keep the fear from his voice, as he looked at the woman he loved.

Hermione exhaled, smiling as she nodded at him.  “Yes.  Sorry to alarm you.  Um, the baby just kicked very hard.  More so than I’ve felt before.”  She smiled, seemingly to herself, her eyes lit up in wonder.

Draco hesitated, biting his own lip for a change.  He looked at her pensively, not saying anything.  Hermione looked back at him oddly, as if she was trying to come to a decision.  “Would you like to see if you can feel her kick?”

“Merlin, yes, Granger — I thought you’d never ask.”  Draco gingerly put his hand forward, on the spot Hermione had indicated.  Her bump was more solid underneath his hand than he would have expected and for a moment, nothing happened.  Then he felt a small thump from underneath his hand.  Draco withdrew his hand in surprise, before smiling and putting it right back in the same spot — hoping he’d feel another kick.  His eyes lit up, as he moved his gaze up to Hermione, who was looking down at him with a small smile.  “I felt it!  That’s her!  That's our daughter.”  He whispered the last bit, reverently.  “Can I talk to her?”

“If you must,” Hermione said, looking both amused and bemused by his conduct.

Draco got down on his knees and started addressing Granger’s bump directly, heedless of any onlookers from the sidewalk.  “Hello, little one.  I’m your dad.  And I am so excited to meet you.  I don’t know much about being a good dad — I don’t have much experience on that front myself, but you have the smartest mum on the planet, so we are very lucky that she’ll be available to tell me what to do.”

Hermione scoffed, audibly.  “Draco, you —”

“Shush, Granger.  Don’t interrupt.  I’m talking to our daughter,” Draco told her with feigned severity.  Hermione rolled her eyes at him, trying and failing to keep the traces of amusement off of her face.

“Don’t mind her, love.  Look, your dad has made a lot of mistakes in his life, but you are not one of them.  I love you and I can’t wait to meet you.”  He kissed the bump, and then cringed, immediately looking at Granger.  “I am so sorry, Granger.  I should have asked for permission.”

“It’s fine.  Maybe check with me first.  She can’t feel that, you know.  Just me.”  Hermione looked sad and also like she was trying to hold back a smile at the same time.  All of this was still so bittersweet.  Draco stood up, recognizing that he’d do well not to push, especially not with Hermione already appearing so flustered.

“Shall I escort you back to your flat?  Do you need any groceries, or the like?” he said, with a nonchalance he did not feel.

Granger gave him a pained smile.  “We can say goodbye here.”  She broke his heart a little with that — Draco very much wanted to keep spending time with her, especially after feeling his daughter kick.  But, his heart did heal a bit when Draco realized that Granger had sounded hesitant.  As though she too was reluctant to say goodbye to him.  That moment would fuel his day dreams over the next few days, in all likelihood. 

They exchanged farewells and Granger headed off on her own, her pace a bit slower than it had been in their school days.  Draco just smiled and waved goodbye, keeping his sadness to himself, watching as his whole world walked away and turned around the corner, once again leaving him on his own.

Chapter Text

Much to Draco’s disappointment, Granger did not have any baby-related reasons to see him on the horizon.  She was keeping herself very busy at work — running herself even more ragged than usual, as she tried to get her office in order so she could take an extended maternity leave, ignoring entirely the Healer’s instructions that she rest.  So, no surprise there.  Since he couldn’t spend time with Hermione, Draco focused on finding himself a flat close to hers, which meant he had to venture more and more into Muggle London. 

Theo bravely came with him, as Draco attempted to navigate the non-magical property market.  This would be so much easier if he still had access to the Malfoy vaults — seemingly endless gold could have been used to hire someone who was more suited to make these arrangements, for starters.  Truly ridiculous amounts of gold was also useful in the procurement of a much posher address.  But it was not to be.  Draco was just going to have to learn to live within his severely reduced means — he had limited funds, and his job wasn’t going to fill his coffers, so much as pay his bills.  Which was something he was going to start having.  So that left Draco to marshal whatever latent tendencies he might have towards fiscal responsibility — in sharp contrast to his previous life, when money was no object to getting whatever he wanted. 

Well, on second thought, Draco supposed that his former means were not, in fact, capable of delivering everything he wanted.  The Malfoy vaults were never going to be an inducement for Granger.

The experience of locating a new home in a Muggle neighbourhood was exhausting and unpleasant.  Everything about Muggles was so confusing.  Thank Merlin Theo was there to help, even if the ‘help’ largely consisted of coming along with Draco for moral support.  Well, seeing how it was Theo, maybe immoral support would be more accurate.  But at least it was still support.  Theo was company, and Draco was so grateful he had someone else with him who was similarly bewildered by Muggle London.  Draco wondered if Hermione had experienced something similar, when she first came to Hogwarts and started to live in a world with magic.  He had never considered the culture shock that Muggle-borns must experience — not until he had to maneuver around a world without magic.

There was a very clear cultural gap between the Muggle rental agent and the two wizards, who had both been raised in staunch pure-blood homes.  The harried woman was mystified as to why Draco could only correspond via letter, but Draco did not have a — fone? phon? — whatever sort of number she had requested he give her, so she’d have to make do with his owl.  For his part, Draco had no idea how to run any of the appliances the woman was determined to show him in every prospective flat and he had no one he could ask about all of this, Muggle-ness. 

Hermione was out, obviously.  Very few Slytherins had any inclination towards interacting with Muggles in theory, never mind any actual experience with Muggles in practice.  The only person he had known who had ever taken Muggle Studies with any sort of seriousness was Daphne Greengrass, and she wasn’t speaking to him.  Or, so Draco had been advised by Theo.  Not that Draco would ask for her help in any event.  He was well-shot of the Greengrasses by now and he wasn’t about to voluntarily kick over that hornet’s nest.  Shame about Daphne, though.  They had been friends once, back at Hogwarts.

After several bewildering and trying days, Draco found a nice three-bedroom flat with a large open plan kitchen that was within walking distance to Granger’s flat.  Their two apartments were more or less on either side of a large park, although only Draco’s had a view of it, with Granger’s being a few streets back on her side.   He thought the park might be a nice place to take their daughter, after she was walking and you know, born.  He had even scoped out the playground equipment — some sort of weird Muggle tradition of fixed and unmoving colourful structures, that children apparently climbed over — and resolved to ask Granger at what age did Muggle children start using such things.  That slide went up far too high for Draco’s liking, and he had witnessed a Muggle boy climbing on the outside of the structure in a way that looked profoundly unsafe. 

Since Granger did not have any thing for him to do at present, Draco occupied himself with settling into his flat.  Draco had left Malfoy Manor with nothing, so Theo graciously furnished the place with some surplus items from his own manor.  “Honestly, I won’t even notice.  I found an entire storeroom filled with shrunken down antiques, after Father died.  In fact, if you know of anyone else who needs furniture, let me know.  I’d like to clear the place out a bit more.  I mean, who needs that many armoires?”  Theo had said cheerfully, loading Draco down with an entire flat’s worth of furniture, which they both enlarged back to full size and moved about Draco’s new home. 

Coming from Nott Manor, the furniture was overwhelmingly green and silver, but beggars can’t be choosers and Hermione wasn’t likely coming over anytime soon.  If she did, maybe Draco could charm the place to be red and gold instead — like what he assumed the Gryffindor Common room looked like.  Would that make her feel more comfortable?  Maybe he should start thinking about an appropriate neutral colour scheme instead.  He did permanently remove any snake insignia.  Theo raised an eyebrow at that upon noticing the alteration, his expression a silent question.  Draco shrugged.  “Slytherin — the man, not the House?  His whole raison d’être was eradicating Muggle-borns.  You may recall, she got petrified by his fucking snake in our second year.”

“Oh yeah.”  Theo said thoughtfully.  “I had forgotten that.  Merlin, why did she ever take up with you?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Draco answered Theo distractedly, from over his shoulder.  He exhaled in frustration, staring at the source of his own consternation in the kitchen.  This ‘dishwasher’ made no bloody sense to him.  However, he was determined that he would not let it win.  Draco was very serious about showing Granger he was ‘Making An Effort.’  He had thought that as part of living in a Muggle neighbourhood, he should learn how to do things like his Muggle neighbours.  He had changed some galleons into Muggle currency and had already practiced using it, by going to the grocery store.  Draco had a lingering fantasy of eventually surprising Granger with just how well he had assimilated into his new, non-Manor lifestyle.  He hoped that adding in Muggle adaptations would move his score from Excellent, into Outstanding territory — surprising exactly no one, Hermione Jean Granger had very high standards.  She never accepted any less than an “O” for herself, after all.  Draco put the soap in, closed it and started pressing buttons.  Eventually, there was a light that stayed lit up, and some noises that sounded like water rushing behind the closed door.  Maybe this was right?  He turned his attention back to Theo, who was still looking at him expectantly.

“Do you think she’ll come over here, ever?”  Theo asked, voice skeptical.

“Hopefully at least once, before our daughter gets married.  Mostly, I don’t want to have something that is effectively guaranteed to make her uncomfortable lying in wait, if I ever have the opportunity for her to come over here.”

“Ha!  How much do you want to bet that your daughter eventually marries the spawn of Potter, or one of the many Weasleys?”

“Why would you say that to me?”  Draco looked at Theo, feeling hurt by his friend’s betrayal.  Draco shivered. 

Just, no.

“Ah.  It will be fine.  Long time before you have to worry about that absolutely probable, very likely to occur future.  Is it supposed to do that?”  Theo pointed behind Draco, in the direction of the kitchen, his expression curious, but not alarmed.

Draco turned around and saw an enormous amount of smallish soap bubbles, which were still pouring out of the cracks around the door to the dishwasher.  What the fuck was happening now?  Draco yelped, ran over to the machine and opened the door.  A larger cloud of bubbles spilled out, along with quite a bit of water.  Draco sighed and took out his wand, vanishing the bubbles and the water with an evanesco. 

“Maybe I should just wash them by hand.”  Draco was disgusted with himself.  This was something Muggles did all the time, for Merlin’s sake!  He had read the instruction manual, even though he only understood about half of the blasted words used in it.  Why couldn’t he figure this out?

Theo nodded; expression solemn in the face of Draco’s frustration.  “Want one or two of my house elves?  It’s just me at the Manor and I know they don’t have a tonne to do.  A few of them might even honestly prefer it — I’ve had some requests for additional tasks.”

“Exactly how well do you think that would go over with Granger, the founder — and sole persisting member — of S.P.E.W.?”  Draco sighed and rubbed his face, absently.  He felt very tired.

“Not well.  Guess you’re fucked, then?  Although, wasn’t Potter raised by Muggles?  He might help a bloke out.  Ask him.” 

Theo was attempting — unsuccessfully — to affect an expression of wide-eyed innocence.  On more than one occasion he had poked fun at Draco for being overly enamoured of the correspondences received from Potter.  Draco felt his cheeks redden at the thought, and he willed his face to appear neutral.  Potter might, in fact, be willing to help out Draco.  But Draco felt like he needed to put in the effort himself first — to show Granger his ‘bona fides’ — just like she asked. 

“Let me give it a week.  If I’m still hopeless, I will reconsider.”

It was two weeks, actually, before Draco broke down and asked Potter for help.  The erstwhile Chosen One laughed until he cried, when he saw the state of Draco’s flat and heard about his trouble with the dishwasher.  Draco had made numerous attempts at solving the challenge of that bloody machine, and every time, it created a veritable explosion of bubbles.

After Harry stopped laugh-crying, he explained the difference between dish soap and dishwashing detergent — which was absolutely fucking misleading, to the point that Draco had to think that some arsehole had called those two apparently separate and distinct items something completely bloody similar on purpose.  But at least now, he knew how to use his dishwasher.  Draco hoped that Granger would be impressed by it, as it had been so much more difficult than he had expected.  Potter also taught him how to use the laundry machine, for good measure, meaning Draco had now conquered two — admittedly related, but still technically different — aspects of Muggle life.  To hear him tell it, the Muggles who raised Potter had effectively treated the sodding Chosen One like a house elf — with the end result being that the green-eyed man was very proficient with Muggle-style chores.  Draco felt like he was going to be permanently indebted toward Potter — just another humiliation he was going to have to endure, in the name of showing his penitence to Granger. 

Although, and Draco very reluctant to even think about this too loudly, the bloke wasn’t all that bad.  Certainly, if their situations were reversed, Draco would have been a lot more smug.

Draco kept busy with his new job and acclimatizing to life in Muggle London for the next several weeks.  He owled Granger, every few days, checking in to see if she needed him.  He didn’t want to pester her, so he limited himself to owling her twice a week.  He was always apologetic about disturbing her and asked if she had anything he could do — either for her or with her.  Draco got a response each time.  Initially, they were fairly terse.  Over time, they had become less frosty, but it would be a stretch to call them overtly friendly.  More like they were co-workers – Draco had a sense of what that sort of relationship felt like in practice now.  Specifically, they were co-workers who did not discuss their lives outside of their specific shared project.  It was just that their shared project was also their baby.  Finally, one of Granger’s reply owls invited Draco to attend her next Healer’s appointment.  Draco had pumped his fist in the air — alone in his flat — in celebration.  He had really missed seeing Granger.  His co-workers weren’t hostile, but they hadn’t warmed up to him yet either.  Theo kept him company, sometimes in the evening, but it wasn’t the same.

When Draco finally saw Granger again, he was surprised by how much more there was to see — her bump was noticeably larger.  She was slowing down a bit, as the pregnancy progressed and this time, when Draco accompanied her to the appointment, she allowed him to take her to lunch and escort her home afterwards.

Draco felt hesitant, as he entered her flat for the first time in months.  It felt very strange to be in Granger’s home again, after everything that had happened.  Draco noticed that she had fixed the window pane that had cracked from her rage-induced discharge of accidental magic, the night he told her about Astoria.  He was grateful — a visual reminder specific to that night would have only added to his feelings of discomfort.  Merlin knew it was already strange enough to return here, in these circumstances.

Granger’s flat had two bedrooms.  Previously, she had used the second one as a makeshift office and library, but she told Draco she wanted to convert it to a nursery — discussing her plans with him, as she fidgeted a great deal more than normal and chattered nervously.  Clearly, she was also uncomfortable with him being back at the site of so many of their trysts.  “I thought I could move my desk and bookshelves out here to the living room, and set up the crib in there.  I’d also like a bassinette for next to my bed, for the first few months at least.  I haven’t purchased either of them yet, though.  First step is making room for it.”

“Can I help?  Or, just do all of that?  I don’t like the idea of you moving furniture, especially by yourself.”  Draco was concerned that she would do too much.  The concern was well founded,  because Hermione Granger always did too bloody much, in all contexts and at all times.  In Draco’s opinion, Hermione’s middle name should be “too bloody much” and doing too much was likely to be her eventual cause of death, even though that better not occur for at least the next century, if at all.  And the Healer had been very specific that she needed her rest.  Telling Hermione Granger she needed to rest was easy enough, but getting her to actually do it was nigh on impossible. 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, as she thought.  “Okay.  I was intending to use magic for the heavy bits, just so we are clear.  But, if you are offering, it probably doesn’t make sense for me to do the actual moving.  I can supervise.”

That was how Draco found himself regularly inside Granger’s flat once again, albeit under very different circumstances.  Instead of wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her until she was a pliant heap on her bed, before sinking inside of her and burying himself to the hilt — Draco was now moving the same bed, while making awkward small talk, so that there was more space for a yet-to-be-purchased bassinette.  He found himself being subjected to the whims of Hermione’s nesting instincts, which — as it turned out — came along with a great deal of uncharacteristic indecisiveness.  Draco found himself rearranging the contents of her fairly small flat multiple times, until her exact preference was realized.  Occasionally even then, her preference changed and the process would start all over again.  Draco just gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile, and respond to her increasingly nit-picky requests with polite agreement.  That is, until the fourth time he had to move the same blasted bookshelf and in a moment of frustration, he got a bit snappish with her.  Draco cringed and immediately apologized, instantly remorseful.  But she just smirked slightly at him, with a knowing expression.

“After you moved it the third time, I realized I was maybe overthinking this a bit.  And then I kind of wondered what you would do?  If I asked again.  My apologies, I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Draco just gaped at her, feeling a rush of insecurity that threatened to overwhelm him, as he tried to figure out her motivations.  Did Granger just say she was intentionally trying to frustrate him?  They both knew that she had him by the short hairs, but it had genuinely never occurred to him that she would abuse that power.

Granger spoke her next words slowly, making sure that he was listening to every word.  “Perhaps, in the future, if I’m being unreasonable, you could just tell me?  I’m not actually interested in having you perpetually in sackcloth and ashes, you know.”  Hermione looked at him seriously, her eyes intent, the trace of a smile vanishing.  “I just don’t think that we will be the most effective co-parents, unless we can share what we are actually thinking and feeling.  Which isn’t to say, we ought not to be careful about how we deliver these messages to each other.  But, maybe feel free to tell me ‘no,’ if you think I’m being excessive?”

Oh. 

So she hadn’t deliberately baited him strictly for her own amusement.  She had done so intentionally to provoke this conversation, to demonstrate to him that he was making a different kind of mistake this time.  Bloody witch ought to have been in Slytherin.  

“You have too many books to fit into this space.  Either shrink some of them down for long term storage, put an extension charm on the back of your closet, or accept that some of these will have to stay in the baby’s room.”  Draco released a breath he had been holding for at least an hour, feeling relieved.

Hermione snorted.  “Thank you, Draco.  I appreciate hearing your actual opinion.  Well, it’s my flat, and I do want these books in my living room, even if it’s crowded.  Now, you can feel free to stop right now and I will take care of it myself.  But —”  She paused, putting both hands on the small of her back to do a small back bend, accentuating the rounded curve of her belly.  Then she let out a low whistle. “— there are an awful lot of books.”  Granger looked at him, with a barely concealed smile.  Of course he wouldn’t leave the books for her to move, which she bloody well knew — the cheeky witch.

Draco grinned and turned away from Hermione, getting back to work and feeling like things were a bit more normal between them.  Not like how it had been before — in that first year after Hogwarts — but closer to that.  Maybe even something like that.  He sighed in contentment, before shifting some of her books to the shelves she had indicated. 

He honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Granger would prefer to live surrounded by her books.

In the weeks that followed, Draco helped Hermione assemble a crib and they decorated the nursery in a tasteful light green, which appeared to be a nod to him.  They were putting the finishing touches on the room, when Granger blurted out, “What do you think about the name Cassiopeia?”

Draco stilled, and he inhaled a sharp breath.  A constellation?  He felt tears prick behind his eyes.  She was following the Black naming traditions.  The House of Black’s motto was “Toujours Pur,” and yet she had selected a name that honoured his family traditions.

“I like it.  What made you think of that?”  Draco kept his back to her, as he moved items into the closet, trying to keep his voice more neutral than he felt.

Even without looking, Draco could somehow hear her roll her eyes at him.  “I’m well aware of the constellation names in the Black line, Draco.  And to be fair, I was close with Sirius and Tonks — and I’m fairly fond of Andromeda.  Teddy too, of course, but he has a different sort of name.  I don’t think all of the traditions from your extended family are bad, you know.  This was the first name I thought of, when I found out I was pregnant.  Even before I knew it was a girl.”

Draco felt his heart squeeze with a surge of affection, followed by his deep regret for the circumstances under which Hermione had learned of her pregnancy and the subsequent events involving Astoria.  Granger had been picking out constellation names to honour his heritage, even as he was arranging to marry a bride solely on the basis of her blood status.  Granger kept chatting away, unaware of Draco’s emotional spiral.

“I will definitely call her ‘Cassie’ though, so if you are bothered by the shortened form, I think we should look at a different name.”

“I quite like ‘Cassie,’ as well.  Do you like ‘Hermione,’ for the middle name?  Name her after her amazing mother?”  Draco kept his tone light and pleasant, pushing down his own feelings of regret and tried to focus on the future, instead of an unchangeable past.

Granger made a face.  “‘Cassiopeia Hermione’ is too much of a mouthful.  I’d rather not burden her with that.”

“Jean, then?  The same middle name as yours?  Appropriate for our future mini-Granger, don’t you think?”

She let out a small laugh and smiled at him.  “It’s better as a middle name than Hermione, I’ll give you that.  Cassiopeia Jean Granger.”  Hermione turned to him, with a warm smile.  “I think it sounds good.”

To Draco, it sounded perfect.  “I like it, Granger.  Good choice.”  The two of them finished squaring away the nursery, in a companionable silence. 

A few more weeks passed and it was time for Granger’s baby shower.  As she had warned him, it was happening at the Burrow.  Which meant that Draco was going right into the heart of Weasley territory.  Also, since it was a baby shower, he was pretty sure he’d be doing it sober. 

Fucking perfect.

The Burrow was crowded and noisy.  The entirety of the dwelling was care-worn, and well used in Draco’s eyes — in contrast to the opulent, but emotionally restrained Manor of his birth.  There were items stacked seemingly from floor to ceiling, and all of them seem to represent something integral to at least one of the numerous family members.  There was so much visual chaos, that Draco was just overwhelmed.  He suspected there were more items stuffed into this hodgepodge of a home than in the whole of his parents’ Manor house, despite its much smaller size.  But, Draco could feel that this was indeed a home, not just a house — there was a lot of love imbued in this place, and it was immediately apparent upon arriving in their floo.  Even by him.

Draco had never experienced anywhere like it. 

The She-Potter greeted him at the floo.  “Hermione’s upstairs — mum’s giving her some baby advice.  She’ll be down in a moment.”

Draco nodded, looking around apprehensively.  “I suppose if there was anyone to ask for advice about babies, it would be your mum.”  He paused, hoping his panic was not as visible as it felt.  “Where should I go?”

Ginny’s expression was friendly enough, at least on the surface, but there was a hint of mischief in her face that did nothing to alleviate Draco’s anxiety.  “Come with me.”  Draco hesitated for a moment, before nodding nervously and following Ginny Potter outside, into the back garden.  “Here you go.”

“Hello Draco.”  A voice said from behind him, with unexpected familiarity.  Draco turned around and then froze.  For a bare moment, his whole body seized in terror.  Draco released a breath, becoming relaxed again.  Well, ‘relaxed’ might be stretching it.  More like back to an ‘I’m in the heart of Weasley territory for Granger’s baby shower after I impregnated and left her’ level of tension, and not a ‘trying to survive having the world’s worst house guest for an extended period of time’ level of tension.

“Hello, Aunt Andromeda.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Draco was relieved he did not stumble over his words.  Andromeda nodded, seeming to realize that at first, he had only seen the ghost of Bellatrix.  That probably happened to her a lot, the poor woman — especially during the war, as the two witches looked remarkably similar.  There was a small child running around the yard, evidently looking to pester some garden gnomes, if Draco was properly interpreting the excited squeals the boy was emitting.  That would be Teddy Lupin, Draco guessed.  Hermione had talked about spending time with Andromeda and her grandchild before, usually when chatting about her weekend plans to him, before his disastrous betrothal.  Even so, it had never occurred to Draco that they would be attending today.   

Ginny looked at him, smiling slyly.  “I’ll let you two catch up.”  And she left.

“Congratulations, nephew.  While I understand that none of this was intentional, she is a wonderful witch.  I think your child will be very fortunate to have Hermione for a mother.”

“Thank you.  I am lucky.  More so than I deserve.”  Draco looked at his feet, feeling awkward and a bit dejected.

“Ah, well.  Very few people get what they deserve — good or bad.  I am proud of you, Draco.  For standing up to your parents.  I know it’s exceptionally hard.  But for me, it was also very much worth it.”  Andromeda cast her eyes on her grandson, her expression fond and also a little sad.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Aunt.  Or, er, losses.”  Draco cringed, cursing himself for his lack of tact.  He had no idea what to say to this woman — who was both a complete stranger and the closest relative with whom he was not actively estranged from.  It could be worse, though. 

At least she wasn’t also a Gryffindor.

Andromeda smiled sadly.  “Thank you.  How have you been holding up.”

“I’ve been learning a lot.  A lot about how to put together a crib and about Muggle primary school — Granger wants to look at sending our daughter there — eventually.  And how to cook by myself, without house elves or Hermione to help me.  Potter helped me figure out a dishwasher — it’s a Muggle machine.  As the name suggests, it washes dishes.”  Draco sighed.  “I’ve been coping alright.”

Andromeda let out a little chuckle.  “I see.  Sounds like truly a Herculean effort — especially given where you started from.  And coming here today.  I’d imagine you were quite anxious about your reception, from the many inhabitants of this Burrow?”  Draco nodded, fighting to keep his face neutral in the presence of an unexpected kindness, on an already difficult day.  It wasn’t just that everyone here hated him.  It’s that everyone here had a good reason to hate him.  Admittedly, some of them had the same or similar reasons, but still.  And Draco didn’t really dispute that they should hate him. 

And in the case of Ron, the hatred was mutual.

Andromeda smiled at him warmly, the expression going a long way to making her seem as un-Bellatrix like as possible.  “I’m going to give you some advice, nephew.  Make friends with Teddy.  Keep him close and he’ll be an adequate barrier for you from any unpleasantness for the rest of the party.”  Andromeda handed him a pack of chocolate frogs.  “Give him this, and he’ll be your constant companion.  Now I’m going to have to deal with his inevitable crankiness when the sugar wears off, so you make the most of this opportunity.  Do not increase my burdens, without at least accomplishing something, yes?”

Draco grinned at his aunt.  “Thank you, Andromeda, truly.  I wish that I had been allowed to know you.”

“I do too.  Perhaps, when your baby is born, we can rectify that?  I know that Teddy would love to spend time with his cousin.”

This caught Draco off guard for a moment, before he recovered.  That’s right.  Teddy and his daughter would be cousins.   “I’d like that very much.”

The older witch put her hand on Draco’s arm and gave him a light squeeze, before making her way back inside to the party, leaving Draco and Teddy alone with the garden gnomes.  Draco turned his attention to the little boy — he was somewhere around three or four, Draco wasn’t actually sure and he couldn’t tell just by looking at him.  The boy — who was currently sporting pink hair — was flipping over rocks, looking for gnomes.

“Hello Teddy.”  Draco said, pleasantly, as the boy looked up at him.  “I’m your cousin Draco.  It’s very nice to meet you.”

The boy looked up at Draco.  He screwed his face up for a moment, and his pink hair shifted to a platinum shade that matched Draco’s.  “Hello.  Do you like gnomes?”

Draco paused for a moment, considering.  “I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered one before, so I guess I don’t know.  Do you like gnomes?”

“Yes.”  The small boy nodded, grinning.

“Excellent, should we get you a stick, so you can poke at them?” 

Teddy answered with a big grin and a nod.  Draco found a stick.  Together, they spent the next twenty minutes poking around the Weasleys’ back garden, looking for gnomeholes.  Turns out, the little buggers are pretty fast, so they never actually got to poke one.  Draco offered Teddy the chocolate frog, which the small boy devoured with alarming speed.  After that, Teddy looked at Draco like he hung the moon.  Draco found he quite liked spending time with the small boy.  He had almost no experience with children, so watching Teddy navigate his environment with wonder, was both fascinating and a relief.  It would be awhile, after his daughter was born, before she would be able to be this curious about her world, but Draco knew it would happen.  She was going to be a mini-Granger.  Draco assumed she would inherit her mother’s insatiable thirst for knowledge and he was really looking forward to being able to show her the world.  Not Ron Weasley’s back garden, necessarily — but something like this.

Draco hoped that she would get Granger’s curls.As it turned out, Andromeda’s plan was bloody flawless.  Teddy really was the perfect bulwark against hostile weasels.  As long as he was within an arm’s reach of Draco, none of the attendees could very well come over and scream at him for defiling Granger.  Draco stayed focused on playing with Teddy, which meant they could meander around the Burrow and the surrounding environment without any hassle.  Draco still got a lot of less-than-friendly looks, but no one said anything to him — which he thought was the best he could achieve in this scenario.  He'd have to send Andromeda an owl with his thanks, and his compliments.  And some more chocolate frogs for Teddy.  He might need to execute this maneuver again in the future and it would be smart to keep the small boy on side, as an ally.

Hermione found him with Teddy, back outside in the yard, after they had gone on a meandering trip through the whole of the warren-like, maze of a house.  Or at least that was how it felt.  The interior layout of the Burrow was deeply confusing — to Draco, at least.  Now they were back looking for gnomes, with new sticks.  Teddy had insisted that Draco needed a stick too.  Both Black cousins were taking turns at poking the ground and then pausing, while seeing if the pokes provoked any action from the gnome inhabitants.  So far, they were mostly getting told off. 

“Hello Draco, hello Teddy.  Have you been having fun?”  Granger’s smile for Teddy was warm and Draco was close enough to Teddy that he could pretend that some of that warmth was also directed at him.

Teddy launched into an excited ramble of what Draco assumed was an account of their afternoon, while Draco stood beside him, still holding a bloody stick, feeling awkward.  Teddy pointed at Draco and then continued speaking too quickly for Draco to catch most of his not-quite-fully-formed speech.  He heard “fun” and “Draco” and “the best” in there, which caused Draco to blush and put his hand on the back of his neck, while he looked away.  Hermione smiled at Teddy, after casting a sideways glance in Draco’s direction.  “That sounds wonderful Teddy.  Do you think you can check over by that tree?  The last time I was in this yard, that’s where I found some gnomes.”

Hermione smiled as Teddy ambled away, far enough to give them some conversation space, but close enough that they could still keep an eye on the small boy.  She turned her attention on Draco.  “Did you know that Ron and his brothers will capture the gnomes, swing them around by their ankles and then throw them as far as they can over the fence?  It’s barbaric.”  Granger sounded horrified.  Draco made a non-committal noise.  He wasn't touching that one. 

Granger looked at him intently.  “How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected Granger, this far behind enemy lines.”

She scoffed.  “These are not your enemies, Draco.”

Draco just looked at her, a knowing expression on his face.  “Ron?”

Granger scrunched up her face in thought, and then relented.  “Fine.  But not all of them are your enemies.  Has anyone picked on you, as of yet?  Do I need to go yell at anyone?  Or cry.  Depends on the person and the offence.”

“I’m alright so far, Granger.  But thank you for defending me.”

“Oh well, that’s more or less old hat for me, at this point.  Ginny just told me that she and Harry are going to have a baby as well.  They’re due about five months after we are.  Our kids will be close in age.  Not the same Hogwarts year, unfortunately, because of how the birthdays will fall with the school cut off.  But close, nonetheless.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice.”  Draco said absent-mindedly, looking past Hermione’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Teddy as he went behind the tree.

When he glanced back at Hermione, she was frozen.  “Granger, what’s wrong.”  His instincts kicked into gear and he moved closer to her, quickly.

She shook her head and looked at him, seeming slightly dazed.  “It’s like I — I feel like I just had an out of body experience.  I just pictured trying to explain to second-year you — you know, when you were at the height of your “my father will hear about this” era, and you were basically infatuated with the Heir of Slytherin — that someday, we would be having a baby together and you would be pleased that Harry Potter’s baby was going to be close in age to our own child.  It just — my brain completely short circuited.  I’m going to need a minute.”

Draco winced at the reminder of his own past idiocy.  “Short circuited?”

“It’s a Muggle expression.  My brain stopped working when I thought of it.  It will pass.”

“Granger, I wouldn’t change anything.” Draco blurted out.  Hermione raised her head in his direction, looking perplexed, cautious and a bit hurt.  Well, fuck.  That didn’t come out right. Draco hastened to explain.

“I would change how I treated you, if I could, of course.  What I mean is that I don’t regret making Cassiopeia.” 

Hermione’s body language became slightly hostile, as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her bump.  Fuck!  Now he sounded like he was just talking about the sex.  Draco cursed himself for being so inarticulate.

“I mean, I don’t regret having her, Granger!  I seem to have lost the ability to speak clearly, today.”  Draco assumed his lack of perspicacity was a side effect of being in the presence of this many Gryffindors.  Clearly, it had dulled his wits.  “I’m happy that we are having her.  I don’t want to change that.  Ever.  I wish I had pulled my head out of my own arse much sooner, mind you, but I have no regrets about having a baby with you.”

Hermione’s posture softened and her eyes were a little bright.  She released a shaky exhale.  “Well, I mean, we’re in this now regardless, so I suppose that’s good.”  They stood there a moment, not saying anything further, the two of them watching Teddy hop about the garden.

“Have you been using Teddy as a human shield?”  Hermione asked, after a moment, breaking the silence.

“Yes.  But it was Andromeda’s idea.”

“Andromeda’s been through a lot.  She’s a very good grandmother.  And aunt, apparently.”  She cast a sideway glance at Draco.  “I’m going to go back inside.  You can collect your walking protego and bring him in now as well, or you two can keep pestering gnomes and come in when you are ready.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be in a bit.”

It took a few moments for Draco to convince Teddy to give up his pursuit for the time being, and come join the rest of the party inside.  Once inside the Burrow, Harry came over to them both and made some small talk with Draco, which was both weird and welcomed.  Ginny used the opportunity to take Teddy back to his grandmother, and Molly asked if Draco would be a dear and help her get some plates from the kitchen.  Draco was so startled by Mrs. Weasley’s kind manner, he just blinked and acquiesced, saying he’d be happy to help.  

As soon as the door to the kitchen door shut behind him, it immediately swung back open — admitting Ron and George.  It seemed as though the Weasley Matriarch had manufactured this tête-à-tête, likely assisted by the Potters, which actually hurt Draco’s feelings a bit — he had thought the Boy Who Lived had been sincere in his efforts towards — well, not friendship, exactly.  Friendly acquaintances, maybe.  On the way to that, perhaps.  But, evidently not.

Overall, Draco was finding the Gryffindors to be sneakier than he had expected.  Or at least, more competently sneaky than he had expected.  

“Oi!  Ferret — we need to have a chat.”  Ron had his chest puffed out, his face was red and he was clearly trying to be intimidating.  The intended effect was lost on Draco.  He had been personally threatened by Voldemort, more times than he could count.  Also, Bellatrix intimidated the fuck out of Draco.  But the Weasel?  He wasn’t going to cut it.  George put his back to the door, silenced the room and then folded his arms across his chest, his expression fairly neutral.  George had the air of someone refereeing a Quidditch match; it didn’t seem like he was personally out for Draco’s blood, which was a bit of a relief.

“Well, seeing how you’ve trapped me in your mother’s kitchen, is now a good time?”  Draco’s voice was sarcastic and he held his arms loosely by his sides, ready to grab his wand if necessary.  He wasn’t convinced that Hermione’s tears would be sufficient to keep her hot-headed friend in check.

“I have no idea how you convinced her to take up with you in the first place, but I’m sure you tricked her!”  The red-faced, red-haired man bellowed at Draco.

Draco felt his resolve to not rise to the bait fade.  He squared his shoulders and looked the Golden Duo’s utterly useless plus one, straight in the eye.  “How would one go about tricking Hermione Granger, Weasel?  That witch is smarter than all of the rest of us combined.  You can’t trick her.”  Draco was offended on Granger’s behalf.  This wanker never has enough faith in Hermione, and it had irritated Draco for years.  Possibly longer than he was comfortable admitting to. 

Ron exploded.  “I don’t care!  You hurt her.  And you do not deserve her!”

Draco felt his anger relent, somewhat.  Hard to admit, but the man had a point.  “I know.  I know I don’t deserve her.  And I have to live with that.  I am trying to make it up to her — but only in the ways that she is comfortable with. Which is why I’m in your bloody kitchen, being yelled at by you, git.”

Ron scoffed.  “Nice realization for you to have now, after you’ve managed to lock her into being involved with you forever!”

“I don’t know what part of unplanned pregnancy is confusing to you, but none of this was intentional.”

George sighed from the door, interrupting the two former classmates, his voice weary.  Draco got the impression that the man had been listening to Ron’s rantings on the subject for quite some time.  George spoke to Draco.  “Look mate, I love that witch like a second sister and more than some of my brothers.”

“Hey!”  Ron looked offended.  Draco couldn’t resist a small smirk at the tosser’s expense.

George waved his hand dismissively at Ron, before turning his full attention on Draco. “She’s as fine a witch as I’ve ever met, and you better not do anything further to hurt her.  Or you will answer to me.”

“Us,”  Ron said, as he crossed his arms over his chest, trying again to look intimidating.  And once again, failing at it.

George gave his brother a patronizing nod. “Sure.  Us.”  George then looked at Draco, with an expression that seemed oddly serious on the normally jovial man.  “Malfoy, I need to make a few things clear.  Hermione is family and I am very serious about making sure that she is well taken care of by the wizard in her life.  I expect I will be similarly protective towards the rugrat, once she’s here as well.  As long as you are doing right by them, we won’t have any problems.  And Ron here, he’ll eventually get used to it.

Ron scoffed, looking at his feet.  “Not bloody likely,” he muttered.

George looked at his brother, his expression hardening somewhat.  “Then he will at least learn to keep his mouth shut about it.”  George looked back at Draco.  “Malfoy, are we clear?”

“Of course!  I am doing everything I can to make her comfortable and, Merlin willing, someday she will forgive me.  But I have no idea why either of you think I would be more scared of you than her — if I mess up, I doubt there will be enough of me left to hex.  But, if that’s the case, you are welcome to do so.  No one will be more disappointed in me than me, I assure you.”

And Draco was determined.  There was too much riding on this to allow for failure.

George smiled at him.  “Oh, I know that Hermione can defend herself.  Mostly, I’m here because she asked me to supervise Ron, to make sure he didn’t punch or hex you.  She was quite concerned about your well-being, actually.  She’s good people, our Hermione.  So try not to botch this any further, yeah?”

Draco gave him a shaky nod.  That was probably as close as he was going to get to approval, at least from a Weasley.  Ron glared daggers at Draco.  “I still don’t like it.”

George scoffed at his younger brother.  “What else is new?  Come on then.  I think the cake’s coming out soon.”

They left the kitchen.  Draco remembered to get the plates, handing them wordlessly to Mrs. Weasley, who had a faint blush across her cheeks, as she accepted them with embarrassed thanks.  He nodded and turned away from her, hoping to find Granger, or maybe Andromeda and Teddy.  Instead, he was cornered by Ginny Potter.  She dragged him off, into one of the many side rooms that seemed to have no logical purpose or flow.  The layout of this place was endlessly confusing to Draco, so much so that it felt like it was done that way on purpose.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Mrs. Potter.”  Draco’s words were polite, but they were said without much enthusiasm.  His feelings were hurt.

Ginny gave a small laugh.  “Thanks, Malfoy.  So you know, Harry wasn’t aware of that ambush.  He was just genuinely trying to make you feel more comfortable.  He’s really come around on you.”

Draco took that in, inwardly feeling embarrassed by how relieved that clarification made him feel.  He had been working so hard to be accepted by Granger, and having Potter on board felt like progress.  It has been nerve-wracking to think that he had been wrong about that — or worse, that he had lost ground that he had previously gained.  He released a breath and looked at the other pregnant witch at the party.  “But not you though, correct?”

“Eh.  I think it’s more correct to say, not yet.  See, Harry wasn’t there, when I found Hermione the day after you broke your big news.  He didn’t find her, consumed with terror because she didn’t believe her child would be safe from your parents, not with you abandoning her because her blood-status was insufficient.  She was beside herself — because she didn’t believe she could trust you to protect a half-blood after that.  I’ve never seen her that afraid, Malfoy.  And I’ve seen Hermione in some pretty tough situations.”

Draco breathed in sharply, finding himself unable to speak.

“I know that you will protect your child.  Now, anyway.  Can’t say that Hermione’s analysis of the situation was obviously wrong at the time, though.  She had reason to be afraid, yeah?

Draco found his voice.  “Yes.  Not from me, but yes.  And I didn’t give her any reasons to believe in me.  Her fears were well-founded, based on what she knew of me — even though I would die for her.”  Draco didn’t elaborate as to which ‘her’ he was referring to; it didn’t matter, he wouldn’t hesitate to die for either one of them.  And he had taken Granger’s words to heart.  He was doing his level best to live for them as well.

“Exactly.  So no, Malfoy.  You haven’t won me over.  Yet.”

“Going to threaten me, so I don’t hurt her again.”

“I’m pretty sure Hermione can handle that fine.”

“That’s what I said.  She’s the scariest of this lot, by far.”

Ginny quirked her eyebrows at that.  “For me, it’s not enough just that you don’t hurt her.  I want you to be good for her.  Think you can handle that?” 

Draco nodded at Ginny, wondering how the smallest, youngest Weasley somehow managed to be the most intimidating of the lot.  “Merlin knows I am trying.”

“I see that.  Keep it up.  But I’m watching.  And I don’t actually know that Hermione’s the scariest one of us, for what it's worth.  I think it might be me.”  Ginny Potter’s smile was wide and a little unnerving.

“Sure thing, Red.”  He kept his tone light, and slightly dismissive — intentionally.  No need for Ginny to know that Draco was already a little bit frightened of her.

“You know, everyone around here tends to forget that I had Voldemort live inside my head for the better part of a year, when I was eleven.  It was a very formative experience for me.  And as I’ve said, I’m watching you.”

Draco shuddered.  Maybe that was what he was sensing.  “Message received, Ginevra.  But I’m already doing it.  If you have any suggestions or notes on what I can do better, I’m happy to receive them.” 

Ginny snorted.  “Sure.  I’ll send you an owl.  Let’s go get cake, before they start wondering if someone here has hexed you.”

And that was it.  They had cake.  Afterwards, everyone watched as Hermione opened presents.  It was uncomfortable for Draco, because he wasn’t sure if he was also supposed to be thanking people for the gifts as well.  Many of them looked at him like he was supposed to be up there with Hermione, so he stood next to and slightly behind Granger; accepting the assorted items as she unwrapped them and thanked whichever person gifted it to her — er, them — in the first place.  When it was all unwrapped, Arthur Weasley made them both pose for a photo, with all of the presents, together. 

Granger’s bump had a big red bow tied around it, courtesy of George.  At Arthur’s urging, Draco awkwardly put his arm around Hermione and focused on not pulling her in too close.  He tried to think about how he would pose next to one of his co-workers at the Apothecary and aimed for something slightly warmer than that.  He definitely did not try to smell her hair, but the floral scent was in his nose regardless, reminding him of all the times he held her by the hair when they were on more intimate terms.  Fuck, he couldn’t think about that now — but being close enough to feel the warmth from her body and to smell her scent.  After so long, it was a challenge to keep his composure.  Draco tried to affect an expression of pleasant nonchalance, hoping he wouldn’t look too out of place in the eventual photograph. 

Arthur put down the camera and Granger shivered as she stepped away from him.  Draco didn’t say anything about it, but he felt a surge of hope that maybe he wasn’t the only one so affected by their unplanned closeness.  Maybe Granger missed him too?

Hermione turned to him, with a bit of a shy smile.  “Help me bring all of this back to my flat?”

“Of course, Granger.  For you, anything.”

Draco liked having hope.

Chapter Text

Following the baby shower, there was a little over a month to go before Granger’s due date.  By now, they had settled into a routine where every day after work, Draco came over to Hermione’s flat and made her dinner.  She was so tired and uncomfortable, trying to keep up the pace at the Ministry while frantically trying to get items off her desk as she prepared to take an extended maternity leave.  It was stressing her out enough that she finally relented and let him help her, after months of declining his repeated offers.  All of the cooking lessons she had given to Draco, when they had been in happier times, were now being put to good use — feeding Hermione while she grew their child.  

In some ways, being in her apartment while cooking and eating together, talking about their respective days, felt very familiar — almost heartbreakingly so.  But for the fact that he didn’t dare touch her, their conversations moved back into a more natural flow, even when they weren’t talking about their baby.  Their feelings about each other had become the proverbial hippogriff in the room — something they never discussed. Granger’s hurt was still too raw, even if she valiantly endeavoured to keep it to herself.  Sometimes, Draco caught her looking at him sadly; always hurriedly looking away when she was caught.

Granger had started to loosen up a bit overall and now they constantly shared their excitement about meeting their daughter.  They just never talked about what any of that meant for them.  Draco didn’t think it was a conversation he would ever initiate.  Not until Granger gave him the go-ahead to broach the subject.  She had said she would let him know if her position changed, back at Grimmauld Place when they agreed to proceed as co-parents.  Hermione was thawing somewhat, despite continuing to be guarded, so Draco remained cautiously optimistic that all was not permanently lost.

Shortly after the party at the Burrow, Draco noticed that Hermione started making small noises of discomfort or wincing in pain whenever she moved around.  Draco asked if she was okay, but she either said she was fine or denied making any sounds or facial expressions at all.  But recently, after a few weeks of increasingly implausible denials, she started acknowledging openly that she was sore and tired all the time.  All of this had been bloody obvious for weeks, even to a casual observer, but the stubborn witch had heretofore refused to acknowledge it.  And Draco was not a casual observer.  Draco Malfoy was, in fact, an avid observer of Hermione Granger.

They were sitting on either end of her couch after dinner, reading books.  Draco was reviewing some new potions theory and Hermione was reading a novel.  Which in and of itself was a pretty big tell that she was getting to the end of her rope — because usually, she regarded them like a dessert she could have only after she had eaten her vegetables, a weekend reward for a week’s worth of hard work.  But here she was with a novel, on a weekday .  It was one of her favourites — Persuasion, by the Muggle author, Jane Austen.  Draco had observed her re-reading that particular volume often, particularly when she was flustered about something.  For Granger, it was the literary equivalent of comfort food.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wincing.  Draco, watching her out of the corner of his eye, noticed immediately.

“Granger, are you okay?”

“My feet are sore.  It’s fine,” she sighed and put the book down beside her.  “Well, actually, it’s not fine, but there’s nothing to be done about it.  Not until she’s born.”  She absentmindedly stroked her bump, scrunching her nose in the direction of their child, clearly frustrated with her current circumstances.

“I could rub your feet,”  Draco said quietly, as nonchalantly as possible, without making eye contact.  “If you wanted me to.”  He held himself as still as a statue, waiting to see her response.  He really hoped that it was okay to make the offer.

Hermione froze for a moment too.  He knew she was biting her lip — no need to see her face to confirm it.  “Okay.”  She said in a small unsure voice.  “If you don’t mind.”

Draco looked at her.  She was trembling.  “Put your feet up on my lap, Granger.  I’ll see what I can do and you can settle yourself back into reading.”  

That earned him an actual smile.  “Thank you, Draco,” she said softly.

“Anytime, Granger.”

And thus started their new routine of Draco rubbing Hermione’s feet on the couch, after they finished eating dinner.  He let her read a book, while he worked on making her feel better.  Draco was pleased that Hermione was letting him get closer to her — he viewed it as a positive sign that she was starting to trust him a little bit more with herself, as opposed to just being supportive of his future role as Cassiopeia’s father.  But, it also opened him up to a new and different source of torment — because Hermione could not stop moaning while he touched her.

The bloody noises Granger made when he rubbed her feet were going to drive him straight out of his mind.  Merlin, she sounded exactly like she did when she came, if at a lower volume and with less intensity.   After the first night he offered, sometimes she would shyly ask him, and while it was fucking killing him, but he didn’t dare refuse her requests for a foot rub — for two distinct, but related, reasons.  

First, he genuinely hated to see her in distress.  Hermione was not pretending to be sore and tired.  She was sore and tired.  And she was sore and tired because her body was making their baby.  A foot rub was the least he could do, almost literally.  Secondly, he got to touch her and she made those fucking sounds.  He knew he was a glutton for punishment, but when it came to the state of Hermione’s arches, Draco Malfoy had no limits on how long he would rub her feet.

Her sounds, which she didn’t even seem to be aware she was making, became what he thought about after he got home, as he furiously wanked off in the shower back in his own flat — feeling both relieved and slightly guilty after the deed was done.  He wasn’t going to share this information with Granger, obviously.  But he couldn’t help himself.

Those fucking sounds continued to haunt him, even as he tried to sleep.

As they got to three weeks before Granger’s due date, they both started to get progressively more anxious about the impending labour and delivery.  Hermione was experiencing ‘false labour,’ which meant she had what were described as “painless contractions’ with increasing frequency.  She had let him feel her stomach once while it was happening and Draco didn’t understand how the rigid, flexing he felt could be considered ‘false.’  

“Well, they just aren’t supposed to be painful.  No one said they were going to be comfortable,” Hermione had explained this to Draco while breathing through one of these Braxton-Hicks contractions, as she called them, “It’s the Muggle term for these.  Named after the male Muggle doctor who ‘discovered' them — as though women hadn’t been experiencing them since forever, before some man decided to stick his name on it.”  She had rolled her eyes, her words dripping with derision.

It was a strangely liminal time to live in.  Draco started staying later and later in Granger’s flat in the evenings, for fear she’d go into labour after he left, once she was alone for the night.  He was extremely worried about the prospect of Hermione going into labour when she was by herself.  What if she was unable to summon help for some reason?  Hermione seemed anxious about being alone as well, apparently sharing his concerns even if neither had actually given voice to them.

One night, she fell asleep on the couch next to him, her head drifting over to rest on his shoulder.  Sighing in contentment, he let himself lean his head slightly on top of hers while continuing to read for another hour or so.  Eventually, Draco drifted off himself.  When it was well after midnight, Granger stirred after a few hours of sleep, her movements waking him up.   She looked at him bleary-eyed as she rose and shuffled her way to the bathroom.  “Draco, it’s so late.  Just go back to sleep on the couch.”

Draco’s heart leapt at the invitation, even as he stretched and yawned.  “Alright, Granger.  You want me to make you breakfast in the morning?”

She snorted, as she opened the bathroom door.  “I certainly won’t say ‘no’ to food.”

The next morning was a Saturday, so he let her sleep until the very un-Granger-like hour of nine o'clock before he woke her up with the smell of pancakes and sausages.  Hermione consumed them ravenously, moaning as she took the first bite.  “Oh my God, Draco — this is so good.  Thank you so much.”

Draco shivered when she used the Muggle expression, which, fortunately for him, went unnoticed by Granger.  Very rarely, Hermione would use an overtly Muggle expression here or there.  She had changed her speech patterns to assimilate into the Wizarding World and she rarely deviated back to her original roots.  The most common exception had been when they were together, intimately.  Draco used to take it as a sign she was about to come — the more incoherent and Muggle she sounded, the closer she was.  Thanks to prior conditioning, that expression coming from her had actually made his cock twitch.  He adjusted himself discreetly, as Granger practically inhaled a sausage, imagery which was not helping matters.  Better nip that in the bud, he thought.  He didn’t think Granger seeing him get half-hard in her kitchen first thing in the morning would help maintain the detente they had worked so diligently to achieve.

Hermione was oblivious to his train of thought, as she demolished her pancakes with a speed reminiscent of the sodding Weasel.  “I was thinking, do you want to put a bed in Cassie’s room, for you to stay in for the next bit?  I think we’re both nervous that it’s going to happen at night and we’ll rest easier if you are close by, and the couch is not the most comfortable and you’ll have no privacy sleeping there.  If you want — it’s okay if you don’t, obviously.   I can always send you a patronus, if my water breaks at 2 a.m, or whatever.”  Hermione was trying to sound breezy and casual, but it was clear she was nervous about proposing this to him.

“I would rather stay,”  Draco said quickly, before Hermione overthought her offer and rescinded it.  “With all the books in the living room, I think I can fit a twin bed in there by the wall, opposite the crib,” he said dryly.

“Will that be big enough for you to be comfortable?  Because even pregnant, I’m still smaller than you.  Maybe I can sleep in there and you can have my bed?”

Draco was offended that she even offered.  “I’m not kicking a pregnant witch — especially one pregnant with my own child — out of her bed, Granger.  I cannot believe you’d even suggest it.”

“I’d be fine.  My biggest concern is how far I have to walk to get to the bathroom, the roughly six or seven hundred times a night I need to do that.  And both rooms are about the same distance from the toilet.”  She made a dismissive gesture, as if it wasn’t a big deal either way.

“Absolutely not Granger.  Not another word on that.  I will get a bed that works well enough and I will camp out in Cassie’s room for as long as you need me.”

Hermione sighed, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands.  “It might not be a bad idea to plan for you to stay for the first few weeks.  I understand it’s the most intense as far as taking care of a newborn and as you are taking six weeks leave anyway, maybe you should just spend it here?”

Draco was loving every minute of this conversation so far, and he fought to keep the pure elation he was feeling from showing too much on his face.  “I think it’s a smart idea. And you will be recovering as well.  I’d like to be here, if you’d let me.”

“Okay.  Get yourself a bed, bring over whatever else you think you’ll need, and let’s play it by ear.  We’ll see what it’s like after she’s born and re-evaluate as needed.”

It was already the best weekend Draco had in a long time.

Two weeks before her actual due date, Hermione started her maternity leave — finally conceding that she was too uncomfortable to maintain even the pretence of working.  This left her at home, with no work to distract herself from either her physical ailments or the seemingly endless wait.  Consequently, Granger was driving herself absolutely spare.  They had agreed Draco would keep working right up until Cassiopeia arrived, to preserve the entirety of his six weeks’ leave for when they thought they would need it the most.  Despite the sensible nature of the plan, it left him unavailable to keep her company during the workweek.

Fortunately, Granger’s friends came through in the pinch, with a rotating cast coming daily to make sure that Hermione wasn’t left alone while Draco was at the Apothecary.  It was sweet, if he was being honest, the way the Gryffindors (and Andromeda) rallied around her — they made a schedule and everything, with many of them arranging to take days off to help out.  It was going well, although there was the occasional awkwardness between a house-guest and Draco when he arrived and whomever was there for the day left.  But most of Hermione’s people seemed to accept that Draco was going to be a fixture in her life.  Everyone was doing their best, Draco included.  He had smiled at and made small talk with more lions than he was entirely comfortable with.  

It was going relatively well, until about a week into Granger’s leave, when Witch Weekly published an in-depth piece on Astoria Greengrass.  The date of her cancelled wedding ceremony with Draco had come and gone, and to mark it Astoria had arranged to have a piece about herself published.  The cover story detailed how she had moved back to France after she had been spurned by Draco.  Apparently, she was also trying her hand at fashion design.  As far as Draco was concerned, the article still leaned too much on the fictitious idea that Astoria was a jilted lover; but otherwise, it didn’t mention Draco too much, and it only indirectly mentioned Hermione and their forthcoming baby.  On advice from Harry and Ginny, Draco didn’t mention it to Hermione.  The three agreed that it might be best not to upset Granger, who was so close to delivery and already tense.  But Ron came over with a copy to show it to her anyway, when it was his day to be on Granger watch.  He waited until Draco returned at the end of the day, to show it to her though— acting like he had just remembered.  The fucking prat.  

Granger looked at the cover, sniffed dismissively, and incinerated the magazine without reading it.  “It doesn’t matter.  She’s not in our lives.  Hopefully she can just go live hers.”  Hermione sounded a little bitter, but not as much as Draco would have expected. 

“I’m sorry there was more press, Granger.  She doesn’t mention you really at all, or the baby.  It only comes up indirectly, but I’m sorry.”  Draco said quietly, not making eye contact with Ron, who was standing next to Hermione, looking at Draco with exaggerated disappointment, as though he was hoping Granger would take her cues from the Weasel’s bloody performative reaction.

“It’s fine, Draco.  And it’s not your fault.  You aren’t responsible for what someone else chooses to do.  Look, I don’t want to make friends with Astoria, but I do have sympathy for her — at least, to a point.  She was doing exactly what she was raised to do, after all.  And while she may not have loved you, the rug was pulled out from underneath her in a pretty big way.”

By Draco went without saying, but Ron made an effort of looking at him even more pointedly, transparently hoping that Hermione would pick up on it.

“If she’s going to be in the press at all, it’s going to come up, even if it’s just a blurb at the beginning.  It happened to her, and unfortunately, it’s what she’s known for.  We can’t expect Astoria to avoid the press for the rest of her life, just because it would be easier on us.   As long as she doesn’t talk about me or Cassiopeia, I don’t care what she does, nor do I wish her ill.  And if she does talk about my daughter, ever, well it wouldn’t be the first time I put someone in a jar over bad press.”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed on the last sentence, her face becoming hard, her curls sparking again.

Ron yelped as he was hit by a spark.  “I don’t think Astoria’s an animagus, ‘Mione.”

Hermione scoffed.  “Doesn’t matter to the jar.”

When Draco returned to Granger’s flat after work the next day, Mrs. Weasley was on designated Granger-support duty.  The red-haired witch had brought with her an absolutely enormous quantity of food, which she told Draco to keep under a stasis charm, to save for when they got home after the baby was born.  She called him ‘dear’ while doing so, which made Draco blush slightly and feel warm inside, which he hoped wasn’t noticeable.

“Now, once the baby has arrived, if either of you needs help, I am only a floo call away.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I will let Granger — er, Hermione — know that.” Draco was touched by the offer.  It would be very nice to have an expert on hand when they needed assistance.  And with the notable exception of Ron, Draco liked the Weasley siblings well enough.  6/7 wasn’t a bad track record.

“I’ve already told Hermione that, dear.  Now I’m telling you, Draco Malfoy, the same thing.  If it’s the middle of the night and Hermione’s sleeping and you need help, please know that you can call me.  The first baby is always the most intimidating.”  The older witch was looking at him very intently and kindly, her expression conveying deep sincerity.

Draco swallowed, and blinked back the tears that were threatening to form in his eyes.  “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.  Truly, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, dear.  And you can call me Molly, if you’d like.”  The witch smiled at him in such a maternal fashion that Draco froze for a moment, before replying.

“Can I work my way up to it?”  Draco asked hesitantly.  He was feeling a touch overwhelmed.

Molly Weasley laughed, gave him a few more instructions about the food, asked him to say goodbye to Hermione for her, and then returned to the Burrow through the floo connection.  About fifteen minutes later, Hermione rose from her nap and found Draco sitting at the desk in the living room, working on a letter for his co-workers, explaining what he had been doing and what would need to be done in his absence.  He kept updating it, every few days, as the baby took her time deciding when she would arrive.

“Is Molly gone?”

“Yes, she just left.  And she left us enough food to feed all of Hogwarts.”

“I don’t think Molly knows how to cook small amounts of food.”  Hermione mused.  “It will be nice to have, once the baby is born, though.  Don’t you think?”

“Yes, it will.”  

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder as she moved past him, giving him a small pat on her way to the kitchen to start raiding some of that food, presumably.  Draco’s heart leapt at the small touch.  

It was a good day.

It had not been a good day.  

It had not been a good week.

Granger was late.  Granger was eight days late.  Granger was so fucking mad about being eight days late, that she was letting anyone and everyone know about it.

Every single day past her due date, Hermione grew more and more irritable.  If Draco had thought that Hermione Granger disliked being late for events, it was nothing compared to how much Hermione Granger hated being late for her own daughter’s birth.

“Bah!  I cannot take this anymore!” she screamed in frustration, on the eighth day after her due date had come and gone, with no sign of Mini-Granger.  She had been shifting uncomfortably on the couch for about an hour, not being able to settle comfortably in any position — not anymore.  In the hours since he had come home from the Apothecary, she hadn’t made any progress with her book.  Ordinarily, she’d be halfway through it by now, but she’d only gone through a few pages, flipping back and forth in increasing agitation.  

“Is there anything I can do to help, Granger?”

“Can you induce labour?” she hissed, throwing her book across the room.  That got Draco’s attention.  

Granger would never hurt a book.  

“The Healer told you that you just needed to wait.”  He tried to sound soothing, without sounding condescending.  He wasn’t sure he’d managed it.  She glared at him.

“Oh, what does she know?” Hermione snapped.  “I’ve looked into Muggle methods for this.  They say walking around can help, but I don’t feel up for it because I’m chronically exhausted!  I haven’t slept well in forever.  I wake up nine hundred times a night to pee.  My back is fucking killing me.  And the baby is sitting right on top of my bladder, with her feet inside my rib cage, pushing out from the inside.  Which is extremely uncomfortable!  Although, for what it’s worth, she seems really fucking strong.  And, I just want to meet her and I’m tired of waiting.  I’m just so, so tired.”  

She ran her hands through her hair in frustration.  “I’ve also heard eating spicy food, or having sex can induce labour,” she muttered, her nose scrunched up in her irritation.

Draco froze.  Then he cleared his throat and willed his voice to sound neutral.  “Spicy foods and what?”

“Sex.  Apparently the act of sex, or having an orgasm can sometimes induce labour if you’re close to it already.”  Granger emphatically shrugged and waved a hand in the air.  “So I’ve read.”

Draco found the sudden silence in the wake of that remark, very loud. 

“Granger, are you asking me —?” he started speaking, not sure if it was something he should seek clarity on, so much as he was just supposed to listen to Granger vent.

“It’s just —“ Hermione rubbed her eyes, before throwing her hands out to her side in defeat.  “— it’s just that I’m so tired of being pregnant.  And, I’ve quite missed sex.  And you smell so good, all the time.  Not that I feel capable of doing anything like — well, that — at the moment.  It's just —  I’m just so frustrated — on every level, I just want —”  Granger was more frazzled and overwhelmed than Draco had ever seen her before.

He took a breath, not sure how he should respond to this, but he knew she needed something from him.  “Granger, I really —”

“Draco, I shouldn’t have said anything, please.  I’m just not doing very well with this.”  And with that, she burst into tears.

Draco felt his heart drop in the face of her sobs.  “Can I give you a hug, without it seeming like I’m hitting on you?”

She laughed a bit, through her tears, only sounding slightly hysterical.  “I suppose it depends on the hug, but you can try.”  The last word was more of a sob.  She was unravelling quite a bit, that much was clear.

Draco crossed the room quickly and held her.   It was harder to pull her close than he remembered it being, what with their daughter literally coming in between them.  “It’s okay, Hermione.  The Healer said they will induce in another three days, if you don’t go into labour beforehand.  It will be over soon, I promise.”  He tried to rub her back in a way he hoped was soothing, without seeming like he was making a move.

“Every hour feels like a day to me, Draco.”  She sniffled into his chest.  He rubbed her back some more.  “I might actually break here.  And I’ve had some pretty tough times, you know, historically.  I wasn’t prepared for how much the waiting would affect me.”

“Can I take you on a walk?” He asked, casting his mind back to the non-sex options for inducing labour she had mentioned.  “Get you some spicy food?”

“I have near-constant heartburn already.  So that’s out.  And I don’t really want to walk.  I’m almost done with standing right now, if I’m being honest.”

“Let me know what you’d like me to do, Granger.  And I’ll do it.”  Draco took a step back to look at her, and tried to keep his face and voice supportive, but neutral.  

Hermione bit her lip, still sniffling, before taking a deep breath.  “Draco, I think I want to —“ she cut off suddenly, inhaling and grabbing her stomach.  Her face twisted in pain.  “Ow.  Fuck!”  She stretched out the swear word quite a bit, as she tried to breathe through a contraction that didn’t look particularly false.

Draco was initially concerned, but then he felt a shiver of anticipation go up his spine.  “Granger, is this it?”

After a moment, her face cleared of its pained expression and she grinned at him. “Well, that was definitely a real contraction.  I guess we‘ll see if I have another one and start timing them?”

In a way, Draco was grateful for the timing of this interruption.  He wanted to get this process started as well — watching Granger be so uncomfortable and unhappy was not enjoyable.   And now, he would never have to definitively answer if he was the kind of man who would have taken her up on a request to shag her into starting labour.  He’d like to think he’d say no, but if she was very insistent — let’s just say that Draco would prefer to live with the illusion that he definitely would have nobly refused Granger’s advances, without having to actually test his resolve.

It took an hour for Hermione’s contractions to reach three minutes apart, which was when the Healer had told them they should leave for the hospital.  Draco grabbed their go-bag and helped Hermione into the fireplace.   Since the first one, every few minutes she had to stop, breathe and just live with the pain of the contractions.  Her adrenaline rush was making her giddy and excited in between the pains, but everything came to a stop once a contraction started.  Then there was nothing to do but breathe and endure.

Draco was starting to feel terrified.

Like Granger, in the moments between contractions, Draco was full of nervous anticipation.  It was very thrilling to think that they were about to meet their girl.  But Draco was afraid of the process they — or, he supposed, more correctly, Hermione — had to go through to get her.  Draco worked really hard to keep his fear off of his face and out of his voice.  Hermione needed his unqualified support today, and fuck if he wasn’t going to give it to her.  To both of them, really.

Draco reached out for her hand, trying to project an air of confidence and ease he did not feel.  “Ready, Granger?”

She sent him a tremulous grin.  “Ready, Draco,” she said, nervously.

He threw down the floo power and shouted out “St. Mungos!”  

Draco Malfoy had a lot of painful experiences in his past.  There had been some schoolboy disappointments, of course.  Those were trivial and he didn’t dwell on those, no matter how much he might have thought his world was ending at the time.  He knew now that Potter getting that exception in first year to play Quidditch didn’t take anything away from Draco, even if it had felt like a personal attack at the time.  And for the most part, especially before Hogwarts, Draco had experienced an idyllic childhood.  Or at least, as idyllic a childhood as one could have with remote and detached parents, who also had extremely high standards for him to meet — lest they mete out consequences for his failures, whether real or perceived.  But it had felt safe and in his ignorance, he thought he was happy.

And then Voldemort returned.  And any illusions of safety and happiness were ripped from him.  For years he lived in a crucible of terror as his father, the man he had once idolized entirely and believed to be invulnerable, became reduced to a crawling, obsequious wreck in the face of that monster; as his mother was forced to endure Voldemort’s chaotic whims in her own house, under constant threat of torture or death; as Aunt Bellatrix entered his life and then became more and more unhinged towards everyone, including (and sometimes especially) the three Malfoys; as Hermione was tortured by the same mad witch, before his eyes as he watched helpless to intervene and unable to look away.  And then, after the war, his time with Hermione had clued him in as to how hollow his early benchmark of ‘happiness’ had actually been.  And then, predictably, he fucked that up too — hurting her and himself, to appease people who really didn’t have his best interests at heart at all.

Draco Malfoy knew fear, just as he knew pain.  Far more so than anything or anyone else, fear had been Draco’s most constant companion and adversary over the past half-decade.  It was a surprise, when he discovered that he had never known fear as intense as the sheer terror he felt watching Hermione endure contraction after contraction, as she prepared to bring their daughter into the world.  

He knew that Granger was in the right place — that the Healers at St. Mungos could, and would, provide them both with the best possible care.  He knew that giving birth was not an uncommon thing — this was how everyone got here after all.  He knew — more than most — that Hermione Jean Granger was the strongest fucking witch on the planet.  Possibly of all time.  He, most unfortunately, knew that she could endure significant pain and come out stronger.  All of this he knew, but none of it could convince his rapidly beating heart to feel anything except unrelenting fear that he would lose them both and be powerless to stop it.  The helplessness he felt — the utter uselessness he felt — for the first few hours of watching Granger withstand increasingly painful and frequent contractions, along with the effort of pretending it was not affecting him, nearly broke him.  He occluded as much as he could, trying to maintain a mask of calm for her benefit.

“Granger, do you want to squeeze my hand?”  Draco asked hesitantly, his voice very neutral but pleasant, after the Healer performed another diagnostic spell, assessing Hermione’s progress. 

“God, yes.  But I didn’t want to ask.”  She gripped his offered hand tightly and squeezed painfully through her next contraction.

Draco smiled slightly when her grip loosened but did not release.  “Please ask me for anything you want, at least until this is done.  Whatever you think of, no matter how strange or small.”  He looked down at his brave witch.  “You are doing so good, Granger, so good.”  Well, this was a different context than he normally would say those words, a thought he quickly banished.  He was close enough to an overt spiral already.  Keep it together, Draco, he told himself sternly.

They kept holding hands, as Granger breathed through contractions and they kept holding hands during the rest periods in between.  She would stop talking to him, sometimes mid-word, when she was experiencing a contraction.  But otherwise,  Draco kept up a steady stream of inane chatter to keep her distracted and Granger participated in the conversation as much as she was able.  After another hour, during a rest period, she looked at him intently.  “How are you holding up?”

Draco was surprised by her question.  “I’m fine, Granger.  You are doing all the work here.”

“You are occluding a lot.”  She said, her voice without judgment.  “Which is fine.  Whatever you need to do.  But I know you only do that when you are upset.”

Draco felt his occlumency walls threaten to crack at Granger’s attention to his emotional state in this moment, but mercifully they held.  “I can’t help you and deal with my own emotions at the same time, Granger.  It’s fine.”

“It’s okay to be scared.  This is scary — we’re going to be parents soon.  Also, I have to push a person out of me.  That’s intimidating.”  She stopped talking to squeeze his hand and breathe some more.  The Healer performed another assessment charm.  The contraction passed and Hermione looked back up at Draco.  “Thank you, for being here with me.  I know this isn’t easy for you either.”

Draco rolled his eyes and let some more of his own emotions shine through from behind the shield of his occlumency.  “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”  He smirked at her and got a small grin in return.

“Okay, it’s just about time to start pushing.  I’m going to go grab the medi-witch and we’ll start with your next contraction.”  The Healer left in search of her colleague.

For a moment, it was just the two of them in the room.  Draco was still holding her hand.  Hermione looked at him, with fear showing in her eyes for the first time that day.  “What if I can’t do this?” she whispered, in a small, uncertain voice.  

“You can.  And you will.  We’ll see if the Healer can grade you on your performance.  Aim for an Exceptional, yeah?”

“Exceptional?” she scoffed, smiling at his transparent attempt at distraction, but also seeming to regain some of her courage despite herself.  “If there’s a grade, I’m going to go for an Outstanding.  Obviously.”

There’s my girl, Draco thought.  “Of course, Granger, my mistake,” he said with a smirk.

A little over an hour later, Draco Malfoy was looking down at the small, squished face of his sleeping newborn daughter, who was contentedly resting in the crook of his right arm, while his free hand fussed with her blankets.  

“She’s perfect, Hermione,” he said, with tears in his eyes.  Hermione lay back on her pillows, exhausted and happy.  It had been an hour of pushing.  Hermione had refused charms to block the pain for the entirety of her labour, but relented about a half an hour after she had been pushing without making any progress — and even then only after the Healer told her that the pain was exacerbating her fatigue and was making it harder on the baby.  It had been the right approach to change Granger’s mind.  The initial pitch was that she was making too hard on herself, which didn’t dissuade Hermione ‘too bloody much’ Granger in the slightest.  But saying it was more difficult for the baby had gotten quick agreement from the stubborn witch.

“You have two more minutes, and then it’s my turn.”

“I know.  I can share.”  But only with you, he thought wryly.  Malfoys historically were not big sharers.  Draco may have distanced himself from his former House as much as possible, but he suspected that he would always feel possessive of that which was most precious to him.   

The somewhat surly medi-witch returned with paperwork that needed to be completed, for registering Cassie’s birth with the Ministry of Magic.  “Now Miss Granger.  What is the baby’s name, for our records?”

“Cassiopeia Jean Granger.”

“And, you are unmarried.”

“Correct.”  She narrowed her eyes at the witch, her irritation at the question made plain.

“And the father is?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”  Hermione looked at the medi-witch intently, words like steel, while pointing at Draco, who was still cradling Cassiopeia in his arms.  “The same man who had been here with me for the last 12 hours.  See, he’s standing over there, holding his daughter?”

The medi-witch sniffed.  “I see.  I will submit these papers to the Ministry on your behalf.”

“I don’t think so.  Please give those to Draco and he will make sure everything is appropriately filed.”  Hermione plastered a pleasant smile on her pale, wan face, but her eyes were hard.  Draco was glad she had intervened.  He didn’t trust the woman either.

The medi-witch handed the parchment to Draco, muttered something about Death Eaters that Granger clearly didn’t hear, before flouncing out of the room in a huff.  Hermione rolled her eyes at the witch’s back.  

“Why did she think you were here?” Granger asked, voice dripping with scorn.  Granger had good instincts about that medi-witch — something about the departed woman had clearly raised her hackles, even before it became clear she was no fan of Draco.

Draco looked at Granger, who even after just delivering their baby, was still prepared to defend him from real or perceived slights, and his heart swelled with love for them both.  “For my good looks and charm, obviously.”  Hermione snorted, and held out her arms. 

“My turn,” she said, eagerly.  Draco walked over to the bed and made the complicated maneuver to transfer Cassie into Granger’s arms.  Hermione looked down at their girl, touching her sleeping face, before bringing her close enough to smell the top of her head.  Cassiopeia had some faint wisps of blonde hair, which Draco desperately hoped would turn out to be curls.  They would have to wait for her to grow more hair before they would know for sure.  Granger sighed, in happiness and relief.  Draco leaned over and kissed Hermione on the top of her head.

“You did so well, Hermione.  I will be forever in awe of you.”  More so, actually, as Draco had been in awe of Hermione for quite some time.

She gave him a tired smile, and tilted her head in his direction.  “Outstanding?”

“Outstanding,” he agreed, without hesitation.  Hermione shivered and gave him a smile, before bringing Cassie into the crook of her arm, and closing her eyes, finally able to rest.

Chapter Text

The first few weeks back at Granger’s flat were a hazy blur of exhaustion for them both.  Cassie seemed to sleep more during the day, which meant she was up more throughout the night.  As such, he and Granger were up more in the night.  With the two of them only getting snatches of interrupted sleep here and there, the days felt endless.  Granger was breastfeeding, so a lot of the work caring for Cassie both naturally and exclusively fell to her.  Consequently, he positioned himself to do as much of the non-feeding tasks as possible.  

Draco quickly mastered diapers and he was extremely proud of his newfound skills at bathing a slippery, floppy newborn.  They both had been in a panic the first few times they had given her a bath together, for fear they would accidentally drop her.  Now, Draco was both more confident and skilled enough that he only rarely felt the need to call in Granger for backup.  Plus, he really started to enjoy that bath time had become ‘their’ thing — something for just him and Cassie to experience together.  It made him feel slightly less jealous of all of the closeness Hermione enjoyed with her during feeding times.

Draco also had to deal with the fact that he frequently saw Granger topless.  He tried — he honestly was trying so hard — to be nonchalant about it.  Of course, technically he’d seen it all before.  He could probably still draw her tits from memory, not that he ever would.  But the context of their relationship had been very different in those days and it wasn’t helpful now for him to dwell on the past.  For Granger’s part, she made every effort to be discreet; using a baby blanket to preserve the illusion of privacy.  But they were both so tired and sometimes when Granger was repositioning Cassie, Draco got an eyeful.  He wasn’t looking on purpose, but his eyes had long been drawn to Hermione as a matter of habit.  Draco was, mercifully, too tired to think particularly lustful thoughts, which he had come to regard as a blessing the more times he caught a peek.

But the sight of Granger nursing his child?  Most beautiful thing he could imagine.

The days and nights were long, but somehow the weeks seemed to fly by and before he knew it, Draco only had two weeks of paternity leave left.  Draco had an idea, but he needed to see if Hermione was on side with it first.

“Granger, um, do you think I could invite my friend Theo over?  So he can meet Cassie?”  Hermione was across the room from him, looking at her bookshelf, while Cassie was napping.  “I thought we could take her to the park, so you could have a few hours of actual rest, by yourself.  If you wanted.”  Draco wasn’t ready to be outside of their flat with Cassie unless he had someone with him.  Not yet.  He couldn’t tell if his lingering anxiety was because he was insecure as a new father, or if it was because his father had threatened Hermione and Cassiopeia on New Year’s Eve.  Either way, Draco wasn’t ready to attempt a solo trip with Cassie, out beyond their protective wards.  He’d feel better if he had backup. 

“Theo Nott?  He’s not a blood purist, correct?” Her tone was deliberately casual, but Draco knew the inquiry itself was not. 

“No.  And not a late convert to that, either, for what it’s worth.  He always hated his father and thought the pure-blood stuff was rubbish.  It’s why he bailed on England during the war, rather than let his father force him to take the Dark Mark — the lucky bastard.”  Draco had turned away and said that last bit under his breath, but Granger still heard him.  Draco could see her out of the corner of his eye and she immediately reacted to his words.

Granger cocked her head to the side and made a face that was sympathetic towards him while simultaneously conveying disappointment with his words.  “Draco,” she said softly, “You are not responsible for that happening to you.”  She stepped up to his back and surprised him with a hug; her arms wrapping around his chest from behind, startling him into immobility.  It was not lost on him that from this position he couldn’t hold her in return — not the way he wanted to, not the way he would if he could — so he consoled himself by putting his hands over hers, and squeezing them once.  He swallowed roughly and tried to blink back tears.  “Thanks, Granger.  Glad to know you’re still on my team.”

She abruptly let go and moved across the room; busying herself once again with her books, her back to him, before continuing to speak.

“Ah well, it’s really more our team now, what with Cassie and all that.”  She said from across the room, sniffling quietly, her voice sounding suspiciously thick.  “As for Theo, if you think she is safe around him, then I have no objections.  Do you want him to come here?”

“If that’s okay?”

“I don’t see why not.  But I don’t know Theo, at all.  I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Theo is probably my best friend in the world.  Sorry, scratch that, Theo is my best friend in the world.  Short of you, I can’t think of anyone else I would go to for help if I was in a pinch.  But he’s —”  Draco paused, pondering his next words.  How to describe Theo Nott to the uninitiated…

“Theo is mischievous.  Not someone who is particularly concerned about following rules.  He’s very smart.  Bit of a prankster.  Not a perfect analogue, but he’d be something like the Slytherin House’s equivalent of the Weasley twins, I think.  He has a good heart, more or less.  You might actually get along with him.”

“Okay.  Give me a heads up before he’s coming so I can put on my dressy sweatpants and we’re good.”  Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco while making a self-deprecating gesture about her appearance.  She was a new mum, with very little sleep, who hadn’t left the house in a while.  She had dark circles under her eyes, she had her hair tied up in a very messy bun and she was wearing sweatpants and an old Gryffindor quidditch jersey, which she wasn’t wearing just because it hurt his feelings — or so he had been told.  

Draco still thought she was the most alluring witch he’d ever seen.  Maybe more so than before, in fact.  Because now that stunning witch had also given him his daughter.

Theo arrived the next day, bearing a large gift basket filled with assorted baby items — both Muggle and magical, Draco noted, impressed.  Hermione also seemed pleasantly surprised, as she accepted the basket graciously, and moved to put it in Cassie’s room, which Draco shared.  Well, Cassie took turns sleeping in either of her parents’ rooms.  In a way, Draco supposed, this was really Cassie’s flat now.  “I’ll just go put this away and get the baby for you,” Hermione said as she left the two of them in the living room.

As soon as she had shut the door behind her, Theo turned to Draco.  “I pretty much nailed that, don’t you agree?”  He was smirking and he looked more self-satisfied than usual.

“Yeah, I think so.  That was a nice gesture.”  Theo Nott bringing a gift of Muggle origin was a very clever idea, as far as calming any lingering doubts Hermione might have about Theo’s personal beliefs regarding Muggles and Muggle-borns.  Draco was actually touched by Theo’s thoughtfulness.

“Oh, you better believe it!  Do you have any idea how strange Muggle baby stores are?  I told the shopgirl to pack up several of the more expensive items and then I added the magical ones later,” said Theo.

Hermione came back into the room holding Cassie, walking over to present her to Theo.  “Here she is,” Granger said proudly.

“Well look at this beautiful girl!  Well, two beautiful girls, I suppose. Granger — already looking fit, I see.”  Theo let out an appreciative whistle, as Draco cringed from behind Hermione’s back, shaking his head at Theo emphatically.

Hermione grimaced and stilled for a moment, before smoothing her features to neutrality.  “Thank you,” she said, politely, but her voice was brittle as she turned and passed Cassie to her father.

Draco hustled Theo out of the apartment fairly quickly after that, collecting the pram and expediting their departure.  Hopefully, Granger would at least be able to get an uninterrupted nap.  For the next two hours, Draco and Theo took turns pushing Cassie all around the park near the flat.  Theo took it upon himself to fill Draco in on what had been happening in the broader world — since her birth, Draco’s world had been reduced to Cassie, Granger and the flat they all shared.  There had been visitors, of course — Draco had especially enjoyed it when Andromeda and Teddy had come for a visit — but for the most part, it was just the three of them together.  The rest of the world had almost completely fallen away.

“Have you heard from your parents?” Theo asked.

“No.  And I don’t expect to.  I could see how Mother would maybe relent eventually, if she were left to her own devices, but unless she leaves Father he’ll never allow it.”  Draco looked off into the distance, clenched his jaw, and then sighed.  “Best if they live their lives and leave me to live mine.  I don’t want them anywhere near Cassie, anyway.”  

Theo nodded, without commenting.  “Granger letting you stay with her forever?”

Draco snorted.  “We aren’t discussing it, but I think it’s working right now.  It’s so much better, for us all to be in one place.”

“But yours is just over there.”  Theo pointed in the direction of Draco’s largely vacated flat.  “And it’s bigger.”

“I know,” Draco sighed.  “But I don’t know if Granger would be comfortable and I’m afraid if I ask, we’ll be living in separate flats again.  It’s fine.  It is cosy — but I don’t mind.”  And he didn’t.  Not now.  He might feel differently about when Cassie was walking around, but that was a long time away.

“If you say so.”  Theo looked unconvinced.  Of course, Theo lived alone in an enormous manor house, so he probably didn’t see the appeal of living in a small flat with three people and more books than your average library.  

While Draco understood Theo’s position, he didn’t share it.  Draco loved spending time in that tiny, crowded flat.  After all, the three people in their flat were the two best people he knew, and himself.  Mostly, Draco felt lucky just to be included.

When Draco came back with Cassie, Hermione was still asleep.  He said his goodbyes with Theo, who departed via the floo connection.  He put Cassie down for her nap in her crib in his room, noticing that Theo’s gift basket was still wrapped up and tied with a large bow.  Granger must be waiting for him.  He decided he’d start cooking dinner, allowing  Granger to sleep just a bit longer.

Hermione woke up just as he was finishing up, sleep tousled curls framing her yawning face.  “Is Theo gone?”

“Yes, he said to say goodbye.  How did you sleep?”

“Oh, it was wonderful.”  Hermione stretched her arms out above her head.  “Thank you so much for that!  It was different with her out for a bit.  I felt like I could really sleep, because I wasn’t constantly on alert, listening in case she cried.”

“I’m glad it worked out.”  He smiled at Hermione, pleased his plan had been a success.  “I’m almost done with dinner if you’d like to go open Theo’s gift basket — assuming you can do it without waking Cassie.  I thought we could have an early dinner and then plan out how the night shift is going to go, before getting her up from her nap.”  They usually came up with a plan of attack for how they were going to split up nighttime duties with Cassie — with one of them taking the early part of the evening and the other taking the very early morning, with a negotiated handover sometime in between.  That way, hopefully, both of them could cobble together enough sleep to be able to function the next day.

“Sure.  You don’t want to open the gift basket with me?”

“It’s fine, I’ll get the food ready and you can show me after.”

Hermione smiled.  “Okay.  I’m very curious to see what he came up with.”  Draco nodded and got back to fixing their plates.  

It was a few minutes before he heard Cassie cry and Granger call out to him.  “Draco” she hissed.  “Please come in here.”  Her voice was high and strained. 

Draco rushed to Cassie’s room.  “What — fuck, I’m coming — what’s wrong?” He called out to Hermione frantically, before he even entered the room.

Granger cringed when she saw him, holding up a hand, with their daughter held in her other arm.  “Sorry, Cassie and I are physically fine.  Could you hold her for a minute?  I accidentally woke her up — probably from the gasp I let out, for the love of Merlin. ” Hermione looked agitated.

Draco took his daughter, held her close, and kissed her on the forehead, before putting her into the crook of his arm and pulling his attention back to Granger, his eyebrows creasing in concern as he tried to calm his still racing heartbeat.  “What is it?”

Hermione picked up a yellow cardboard box, containing a Muggle device of some kind.  “Theo’s gift basket?  It most prominently featured this.  It’s a breast pump, Draco.  A bloody breast pump!  I don’t know Theo.  At all.  And even if I wanted one of these, I wouldn’t want my best friend to buy this for me, never mind someone who is effectively a stranger.  This is so disturbing!”

Draco’s mind whirled.  What the fuck did Theo do now?  “Hermione, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what a ‘breast pump’ is.”  Although, if it had ‘breast’ in the name he was pretty sure he was going to have to kick Theo’s arse, whatever the explanation

“Well, good question, Draco.  It’s essentially a set of suction cups that I put on my nipples, attached to a motor that mimics a baby sucking on them, to collect breast milk so she can be bottle-fed later.  Why did your friend, who I met for the first time today, give this to me, Malfoy?” her eyes were flashing, but mercifully, the sparks did not reappear.  Granger’s electrostatic reign of terror had ended with Cassie’s birth.  They presumed the sparks had been caused by Cassie’s incipient magic mixing with Hermione’s own.

“Oh I’ll kill him!” Draco exploded.  What in the actual fuck?

“Not unless I get to him first,”  Hermione said tartly, her eyes narrowing in anger.

Oh no.  Granger looked seriously pissed

“Granger, it’s possible he didn’t know what it was,” Draco said, his hands out in front of her, in a gesture of surrender.

“Oh, I knew exactly what it was,” Theo said, bright and unconcerned.  “Why is this an issue?”

Draco regarded Theo with quiet fury.  “You gave Hermione Granger a breast pump, the very first time you officially met her.  The first time I brought one of my friends to her flat, to meet our newborn daughter.  One of my friends whose father was also a Death Eater, so it was already kind of a stretch.  Are you fucking kidding me with, Theo?”  Honestly, Draco was flummoxed.  Theo didn’t seem like he was trying to be awful here.  He was just being Theo, a constant and perpetual source of some sort of fuckery, at all bloody times.

“It was the most expensive, and therefore best, thing in that store, Draco.  Well, except for the furniture, which I knew you already had.  How many times did you tell me all about your adventure in putting together a crib?  Too many, if you want my honest opinion.  What’s wrong with it?  Does she already have one?”

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration.  He shouldn’t be surprised by this — really, he shouldn’t.  Theo was a bloody agent of chaos, without even trying.  With gritted teeth, he explained that such an intimate item ought not to have been purchased by a comparative stranger, along with a detailed list of how Theo had made the habitually and notoriously reserved mother of Draco’s child, deeply uncomfortable.  Theo considered Draco’s words, listening intently, before nodding.

“This was an error, and for that I do apologize.  To you and to Granger.”  Theo’s face wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed about what he’d done.  This concession appeared to be solely motivated by his intellectual assessment of the matter.  He recognized that he had made a strategic misstep, is all.  “I will have to get you three a different gift.”

Theo was a bit subdued for a moment, before he brightened back up to his normal level of insufferable.  “What about a baby hippogriff?  In honour of one of your greatest triumphs.  Granger was there for that, right?”  His eyes twinkled.

Draco did not feel bad about the stinging hex he let loose on Theo.  Not.  One.  Bit.

Draco knew that it was going to be hard to go back to work at the Apothecary.  He was worried about how Hermione and Cassie would fare with him gone — not that Granger was anything less than a devoted mother, but newborns were exhausting and he wanted to be on hand to support them both.  He had anticipated that this transition back to his day job would be rough.  But Draco was surprised to discover that the person it was the hardest on was hi .  He didn’t want to make potions.  He wanted to watch Cassie do whatever it is she was doing, even if it was just sleeping without really moving.  His little girl was the most fascinating person who ever bloody existed and he missed her, now that he was forced to be away from her during the day.

Yesterday, Cassiopeia discovered that she had a top of her head to touch, and she was repeatedly moving her hand and touching her own hair, seeming like she was deeply contemplating the mysteries of the universe while she did so.  Clearly, the only conclusion for Draco to draw was that she was already a genius, just like her mother.  It seemed criminally unfair that he had to leave just when she had figured out how to do something.  She’d probably come up with new things to do every day and sometimes he would only get to hear about it.  After all, Cassie might not do it again once he got home.  Draco spent a lot of his day going through the motions at work, desperately missing his girls.  

Draco had decided that Granger didn’t really need to know that he counted her as his, not as long as he kept it to himself.  She still had not broached the discussion of their relationship as anything other than co-parents turned situational flatmates.  Keeping his word, Draco would not raise the matter.  He would say nothing unless, but hopefully until, Hermione brought it up first.

Eventually, Draco adjusted to not being home full-time with Granger and Mini-Granger.  He compensated for how much he missed them by being extra attentive on evenings and weekends.  One of the nice parts of having a job brewing potions is that he didn’t have to take work home with him, so when he was home he could devote all his energy to what was actually important to him.  On weekends, he would sometimes bring Cassie out, mostly with Theo to keep them company.  Theo had profoundly apologized to Granger and then presented Cassiopeia with a locket that belonged to his own mother, for Hermione to keep until Cassie was old enough to wear it.  Granger had been very touched by the gesture and she was slowly warming up to Draco’s oldest friend.  Draco’s weekend outings with Cassiopeia and Theo gave Granger a much-needed break from focusing exclusively on the baby.  He knew Hermione well enough to know she would not pull back enough to take care of herself unless he physically removed the baby from sight.

By the time Cassie was getting closer to three months old, Hermione was doing better.  Their daughter was sleeping in more consistent stretches and thus, Granger was getting more consistent sleep.  This weekend, Granger elected to come with Draco and Cassie on their outing to Diagon Alley.   Draco sent Theo an owl in the morning, letting him know that his services were not required and he was free to engage in his usual pursuits.  Theo's response was mixed — as he declared himself torn between being relieved to have free time and miffed he would not be permitted to see his honorary niece as expected.  Theo had gotten quite attached to Cassiopeia during their weekend visits, something which had endeared him greatly to Granger.  Indeed, Theo’s genuine adoration of their moppet, as he most often referred to her, had been instrumental in Hermione moving past Theo’s unfortunate first overture towards friendship.  Still, Theo’s letter made it clear he was piqued at being replaced by Granger.

“Should I stay home?”  Hermione asked, an amused smirk on her face, as she read Theo’s correspondence from over Draco’s shoulder.  She wasn’t seriously asking, which was a relief.  If Theo had unintentionally ruined Draco’s opportunity to go out simultaneously with Granger and Cassie, Draco would hex him again.

“No.  Theo can see her another time.  I’d like to take both of you out on the town if you’re up for it?” 

She was.  The three of them set out for Diagon Alley, wandering aimlessly in the summer sunshine and entering the shops that interested either Draco or Hermione, with no fixed plans except that the three of them were together and not in Granger’s flat.  

They spent about an hour just wandering.  Hermione got a stack of books from Flourish and Blotts — Merlin knows where they’d find the room to put them — before Draco had suggested they get ice cream and Granger assented.  Cassie was too young for such food, but in his mind’s eye, Draco could see them taking her here every weekend as she got older.  As much as he loved Cassie exactly as she was, he was pretty excited when he thought of a future where she was walking, talking, and sharing all of her thoughts about the world.  Like Teddy had been, at the Burrow.  It was a ways off, but Draco couldn’t shake the notion that it would also be here before he knew it.  Merlin, he hoped she liked ice cream when she tried it.

They were just leaving Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour when Draco saw his parents across the square.  His blood ran cold and his eyes narrowed, instinctively making himself stand taller.  Hermione saw them at the same time and froze, in the act of shifting Cassie back into her pram.  Draco moved quickly, putting himself between his parents and his family.  

“Granger, stay behind me,” Draco said coolly.  Hermione sheltered Cassie in her arms even more and moved so she was standing directly behind Draco, hiding herself and Cassie from the view of Draco’s parents.  Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were standing on the other side of the street, watching Draco as if they were rooted to the spot.  His father’s stare was hard and the man’s jaw was clenched — pretty similar to how he looked when Draco had last seen the man, in fact.  The older wizard stood as still now, as though he had been once again bespelled into motionlessness.  His mother was similarly frozen, but her impersonation of a statue looked much more anguished.

“Granger, apparate Cassie home now.  I will bring the pram home myself.”

“Draco, are you sure you’ll be okay?” Draco didn’t need to see her to know she was biting her lip behind him.

“Yes.” 

Probably.

“Are you going to talk to them?”  

“I’m not planning on it.  Please get home and get back under our wards.”  Draco couldn’t think about anything else, except that Granger and Cassie needed to be home where they would be safe.

Hermione reached out from behind him, taking his hand in hers before squeezing it once, and then dropping it.  Draco heard the crack of apparition behind him, and he let go of the breath he had been holding.

At the sound of the crack, whatever held his father motionless ceased and Lucius scoffed dramatically, before stalking off down the street.  His mother stood for a long moment, still looking at Draco, before visibly struggling to tear her gaze away from him and follow after her husband.  Eventually, she summoned whatever it was she needed to turn her back on her only son.  Draco stood on the patio for several moments more, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.  Then he picked up Cassie’s bag, put it in her pram, and started back towards Granger’s flat.  He was needed at home.

Summer turned to fall and before Draco knew it, winter was upon them.   And suddenly, it was Christmas.  Between the job and the baby, his days were so full that the months were just flying by. 

It was Cassie’s first Christmas and the three of them were getting ready to take her to the Burrow to celebrate with the extended Weasley clan, as well as Andromeda and Teddy.  Harry and Ginny Potter had welcomed their own child — a boy they had named James — in October and the entirety of the Weasley clan adored both babies openly and fervently.  Honestly, Molly and Arthur seemed to love Cassie just as much as they loved James, something that secretly delighted Draco when he had realized it.  It was almost like their girl had grandparents, which was something he didn’t think was possible — not with Hermione’s parents in Australia unaware of everything and his own parents being the fucking worst.  Everyone of Hermione’s extended adopted family was thrilled at the prospect of spending the babies’ first Christmas all together.  

Honestly, the lot of them were so open with their affection that sometimes it was a relief to be able to stand next to Andromeda and feel awkward about it with someone else who wasn’t raised in a family of huggers.    

But if he was being honest with himself, Draco was pretty excited too.  The Burrow was no longer a place he feared going.  Once a month, Hermione, Draco, and Cassie joined the Weasleys for Sunday dinner.  Ron and Draco had essentially agreed that they were never, ever going to be friends; but in a similar fashion they had come to a non-verbal agreement to a cease-fire that seemed to be holding.  Everyone else ran the gamut from coolly polite, like Fleur and Percy — all the way to actually friendly, like George, Ginny, and Harry.  The rest of the family fell somewhere in between, with the exception of Andromeda and Molly, both of whom seemed to genuinely like Draco.  The two of them were so maternal in how they dealt with him that Draco had a hard time accepting that they meant it for him.  But he was getting less flustered when it happened, which was progress.

“Dress warmly — in case we go outside in the snow while we’re there.”  Hermione called out from her room, where she was getting ready herself.  Draco went into his/Cassie’s room and riffled through his belongings for a bit, getting his scarf.  

“Is it okay if I wear this?”  When he came out, Granger had Cassie lying on a blanket, getting her bundled up for cold weather as well.  He held out the green knitted scarf that Hermione had made for him for Christmas during their final year at Hogwarts.  It was a beautiful forest green — similar to Slytherin green, but a bit richer and warmer in tone.  It was soft and inviting to the touch.  When she had shyly presented to him, Granger had informed him that the yarn was a blend of silk, merino wool, and cashmere.  She was nervous when she gave it to him, which was probably why she sounded a bit like she was reciting a textbook when describing it to him.  At the time, Draco had scarcely been listening to her explanation, as he had been overwhelmed by being presented with something that she had made for him with her own two hands.  

Hermione’s movements stilled for a moment, when she looked up and saw what he was asking about.  She quickly recovered, dropping eye contact as she went back into motion; dressing a squirming, kicking but clearly happy Cassiopeia.  “Of course.  It’s a nice scarf and it is cold out.  I hadn’t realized you’d kept it.”  She paused for another moment, biting her lip in thought before looking up at him, confused.  “Actually how do you have it?  I thought you left the Manor with only your wand.”

Draco cleared his throat.  “Oh, um, the first week after I left the Manor?  I had Theo go over to visit my parents — under the pretext of talking to them about how their terrible son had grievously wronged them — so he could steal this back for me.  While he was there, he got one of the house elves to get it and he smuggled it out when he left.”

“Smart plan.  What else did Theo manage to get in his heist?”  She had almost gotten the bootie on Cassie before the tiny girl had kicked her way out of it.  Granger started trying again, her nose adorably scrunching up with her obvious determination. 

“Just this.  That's all I asked for.”  Draco tried to sound casual, but his heart was racing.

Hermione was motionless again.

“It’s just a really nice scarf,” he continued, awkwardly.

Granger swallowed and continued putting ridiculous booties on Cassie, who was kicking her legs excitedly, increasing the degree of difficulty on the challenge.  “Well, I was making it for a very fancy wizard, so I went out of my way to get some really nice yarn.”

“I can tell.  And the quality of the craftsmanship is top-notch.”  And it smelled like you when you gave it to me, and the stasis spell I put on it — the one I have redone every three weeks since — means it still smells like you, Draco thought, but did not say aloud.  The scarf was simply too precious to him for it to have remained at Malfoy Manor.

“Well, I’m glad you still like it.  Can you grab Cassie’s bag?”  Hermione’s eyes were bright, but it seemed like she was unwilling to open this up further.  Which was fair.  People were expecting them and he wanted them to enjoy Cassie’s first Christmas.  This probably wasn’t the best moment for them to open up the past.

Draco’s reception at the Burrow was different this time.  People said hello to him, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but actually to him specifically.  Not just to Granger, with him only getting hit with some overflow.  He was greeted happily by Potter and his wife, warmly by Andromeda and Molly and Arthur Weasley, ecstatically by Teddy, and civilly by the rest of the Weasleys who were not named Ron.  

Ron and Draco did exchange stiff nods, but only because it was Christmas.

Molly excitedly called them into the kitchen and gave Draco three wrapped bundles.  “Here you go my dears, Happy Christmas!  We’ll be taking pictures of everyone in these to commemorate the babies’ first holiday.  You can use Ginny’s old room to get changed.”  The kindly older witch then shooed them out of the kitchen, as she continued with her extensive preparations.

Draco carried the wrapped bundles as Hermione carried Cassiopeia, leading him to a room located on one of the upper floors in the maze of the house that was the Burrow.  Draco swore he would never understand this layout.  Once in the room, he unwrapped his own package to find a green knitted Weasley jumper with a large silver “D” on it.  Hermione’s contained a soft turquoise sweater with a dark grey “H” and Cassie had a tiny jumper that was a soft mauve, with a dark green “C”.  

Draco was wondering if he looked as shocked as he felt, when Hermione burst out laughing when she saw the look on his face.  “I guess you’re finally one of us now.  You’ve got the uniform and everything!”  She smirked at him, before leaning over and checking out his garment more thoroughly.  She snorted.  “It looks like Molly actually did a better job on your sweater than some of the rest of them.  Oh, don’t mention that to Ron, he’ll be crushed.”

She motioned for Draco to try his on, as she quickly put on her own.  Draco pulled on the jumper, which he had to admit, fit pretty well.  Molly knew what she was doing, that much was certain.  

Hermione put her hands over her mouth, her eyes lit up with delight.  “What do you think?  Because I love it.”

Draco looked down at the jumper, feeling unsure of himself.  “Are you sure I should be wearing this?  This feels wrong.”

“Yes.  You’ve been adopted by the Weasleys now.  That’s what this means.  Only family gets jumpers for Christmas.”

Draco, still uncertain, made a face.  “Does this mean I have to be nice to Ron?”

Hermione laughed.  “No, but it does mean you need to look out for him if the occasion arises and he needs your assistance.  But that obligation is now reciprocal, which I think will hurt him more than it hurts you.  If that helps.”

It did help.  Draco supposed he could theoretically help Ron out if he must, but only if he could simultaneously begrudge the need to do so.  And Hermione and Cassie both looked adorable in their sweaters, which helped as well.

“We have to pose for the large group photo, which I think is happening shortly.  And afterward, I want to take one of just the three of us — so Cassie can have a picture of both her parents with her on her first Christmas.”  Hermione grinned at him, her smile wide and cheerful.  

Draco nodded, blushing, feeling really pleased by the idea.  “Anything for you, Granger.”

With Draco carrying Cassie, his little family went downstairs, now clad in the official uniform for a Burrow Christmas.  Ginny clapped in delight when she saw Draco in his sweater.  

“Oi, Ferret!  Looking good!” She smirked at Draco, but her expression was fond.

“Ginevra.  Happy Christmas.”  Draco said evenly, but grinning at the red-haired witch, who was holding her own baby.  “How is little James this evening?”

“A touch fussy, but it will be fine.  Listen, I need to borrow Hermione and Cassie.  We’re taking a picture of all the girls first, then one of the boys, then everyone.”  As she spoke, Ginny started passing James into Draco’s arms, whilst simultaneously taking Cassiopeia into her own.  Before he knew it, Draco was left standing in the family room of the Burrow, wearing a sweater hand-knitted by Molly Weasley, holding Potter’s infant son.  He felt like his brain — what had Hermione called it — short-circuited — when he realized how improbable this felt.  Especially when compared to his Christmas last year, which he spent dining with his parents and Astoria at a table large enough to hold all of the attendees here, and many more, despite it only being the four of them.  Draco was struck again by the overwhelming feeling of love that permeated this admittedly ramshackle home, but the thing that threw him the most?  He was beginning to feel like that love also included him.

Draco held up baby James, so that he was looking into the baby boy’s eyes.  “Hello James.  What do you say we go find your dad?  We apparently are up next for pictures.”  James burped, which Draco took as a yes, before going off to find his former enemy so they could take Christmas photos with each other and their babies.  The whole thing was so surreal, but the most fucked up part was how happy it all made him.

New Year's Eve was spent with the three of them at home.  Neither Hermione nor Draco acknowledged the day whatsoever.  Even though it was a Tuesday, they treated it as though it was a lazy weekend day.  They made no special meals, they went to bed at the usual time and they did not reference the previous year’s events at all.  Granger did take the time to put up the photo of the three of them at the Burrow on Christmas up on the wall after they had dinner, which made Draco smile every time he saw it.  The wall had a lot of photos of Cassie, a lot of photos with Hermione and Cassie, and a lot of photos of Draco and Cassie.  This was the only photo of all three of them, which meant it was his favourite.

Soon afterwards, the holidays were over and it was back to work for Draco.  He and Granger continued living together — they actually never discussed their living arrangement, once again continuing the pattern of behaviour of avoiding subjects that were too raw, he thought regretfully.  He was afraid to rock this particular boat, so he continued to sleep in “Cassie’s room.”  But really, now Cassie had two rooms, with full cribs wedged beside each of her parent’s beds and she slept in both interchangeably.  

Months passed in this state of living together, but without calling it living together.  Their routine of dinners together every evening became more interesting as Cassiopeia began trying different solid foods.  She loved bananas, hated peas and if they let her, she would eat sweet potatoes until she turned orange.  

It was wonderful.  

Fabulous art by Art of Crumbs, who you can find on Twitter at twitter.com/artofcrumbs

Chapter Text

Cassie’s first birthday was fast approaching.  She was taking a few tentative steps here and there, much to her parents’ delight.  The best part was that Draco was home when it happened for the first time.  He would have been crushed if he had missed it.

It had been a busy weekend for the three of them.  On Saturday, they had gone to Diagon Alley for their usual weekend trip.  On the way back home, they had pushed Cassie in the baby swing at the Muggle park, listening to her giggles and squeaks.  On Sunday afternoon, they had taken Cassie to Grimmauld Place to play with baby James, before attending Sunday dinner at the Burrow with the Potters and the extended Weasley clan.  By the time they got back to their flat, Cassie was exhausted and she was soon fast asleep in her crib.  

Hermione and Draco were working on their plans for her first birthday, which was less than two weeks away.  They had figured out their guest list — the flat could only hold so many people, so it would mostly be the same crowd who had been at the Burrow for Christmas, with the addition of Theo.

“Is Theo going to feel awkward with this group?  He’s of course welcome, but if he’s going to feel out of place we can always have a birthday dinner for Cassie with just him.”

“He’ll probably just stick close to Andromeda.  Theo will be fine.  He’s incapable of feeling embarrassment.”  Plus if he wasn’t here for Cassie’s real party, he’d be unbearable about it.

“Oh.”  She paused.  “That must be extraordinarily freeing,” she said, her tone tinged with a hint of envy.  Hermione looked at the calendar in front of her, as she went through a checklist of items to procure and dates by which various party preparations needed to be accomplished.   She froze for a moment, tracing the current date with her finger.  She started to speak and then stopped, looking haunted by whatever was troubling her.  Draco sat up straighter.  She very much had his attention.  

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again.  “Where do you think you’d be, Draco?  If I hadn’t been pregnant, when you saw me at the ball?  You’d probably be married to Astoria by now, I’d imagine.”

Draco stilled.  Hermione wasn’t looking at him, but he could see her hands shake slightly.  His mind moved frantically, trying to think.  What on earth had brought this on?  And then he looked at the calendar and realized it was May 4, 2003.   His never-held wedding to Astoria had been scheduled for this day, the year before.  Hermione drew in a shaky breath and kept her gaze fixed on the calendar in front of her.

“Hermione, I know you asked me not to talk about my feelings for you, but can I please answer that?”

She nodded, her eyes wounded, her expression holding such deep pain as she still wasn’t able to meet his eyes.

“I always loved you.  Always.  The reason I didn’t do anything about that is that I am a fucking coward.  Not anything to do with you.”

Hermione exhaled another shaky breath.  She was trembling, for Merlin’s sake.

“I thought about you every day after I ruined everything.  And if I had been so unfortunate to have married Astoria, I know I still would have thought about you every day, for the rest of my life.  The entire week before the bloody ball, I was a nervous wreck, because I knew I was going to see you.  I couldn’t eat.  Couldn’t sleep.  I don’t know what I would have done if you had not been pregnant when I saw you.  But I strongly doubt that I would have been able to resist talking to you.  And who knows what would have happened then?  I’d like to think I would have done something.”  

Hermione remained rooted to the spot.  Her brown eyes were wide and she chewed her lower lip more intensely than he had seen in a while.  She still did not speak.

Draco took a deep breath and continued.  “Knowing about Cassie?  That made me find the courage I lacked.  I’m so sorry I didn’t do it before – you have no idea how sorry I am.  Easily my single greatest regret and I had a fairly exhaustive list to choose from.”

Draco saw the ghost of a smile float across Granger’s face, vanishing quickly.  Tears started to fall down her cheeks.

“My lack of bravery has nothing to do with you.  You and Cassie are the best thing that ever happened to me.  Being able to do anything with you isn’t an obligation.  It’s an honour and a privilege.”

Hermione nodded, wiping away silent tears.  When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion.  “Okay.  Thank you for telling me that.  I, um, need to go check on Cassie.”  She hurried into the other room, where Cassie lay soundly asleep, needing no assistance of any kind.  

It was obvious that Draco’s words had overwhelmed Granger, to the point she felt she needed to flee.  Even though it was hard for him to restrain the urge to go after her, Draco let her be, swallowing his own frustration that this hadn’t prompted further conversation.  

I don’t know how you could have hurt her more.  

Potter’s words from the night of the bloody New Year’s Eve Ball still echoed in Draco’s mind from time to time.  And Granger, she didn’t owe him her heart.  Hell, she didn’t have to ask him to live with her, but she did.  So maybe she forgot to ask him to move back out.  But maybe — just maybe — she wanted him here.  Maybe she wanted him here just as much as he wanted to be here.  

If Hermione still needed space, the only thing for him to do was to give it to her.  Draco would continue to nurture his own growing hope because he had to believe that if she didn’t still love him on some level, she wouldn’t be so affected by the idea of him being married to another witch.

Granger and Draco settled back into their routine after that, not discussing it further.  But Draco noticed a lot more furtive glances being cast in his direction, whenever Hermione thought he wasn’t watching.  Which was ridiculous, because he was always watching.  The entire week before Cassie’s first birthday, whenever Hermione wasn’t looking adoringly at Cassie, she seemed to be looking at Draco, while lost in thought.  

Even with Granger’s distracted nature in the week leading up to it, Cassie’s first birthday party had been a resounding success.  Draco had selected her dress — a periwinkle number with a truly ridiculous amount of ruffles.  Granger had tied up her golden curls into two pigtails, although their daughter had barely enough hair to support the matching bows.  Their flat just managed to contain all of the people who wanted to wish her well and Cassie was now the proud owner of more toys than they could realistically store in the space available to them.   Between Granger’s books and Cassie’s toys, maybe Draco could offer his own flat for them to live in instead?  The situation was getting out of hand enough that Granger might go for it.  He’d spend some time laying the groundwork and then ask her in another month or so.

Cassie had her first taste of cake ever when she had a slice of the gorgeous cake made for her by Molly Weasley.  Draco allowed her to have a second piece, which she promptly threw up.  After being assured that Cassie wasn’t actually sick, Hermione merely rolled her eyes at Draco, leaving him to magic away the mess.  To be fair, Granger had told Draco not to give her more than one slice.  But in his own defence, it was Cassiopeia’s first birthday and she said “da da” while pointing at the cake.  What was he supposed to do in those circumstances?  Tell her no? 

He wasn’t made of stone.  

Draco hoped that it was just too much excitement and that his daughter hadn’t inherited her mother’s lack of sweet tooth.  It would be a tragedy if he lived with two people who couldn’t properly appreciate the importance of dessert. 

The last guests — the Potters — had just left through the floo, leaving Hermione and Draco cleaning up the debris from the party and arguing about Potter’s lecherous son, who had spent the entire afternoon making eyes at Draco’s precious baby girl, who was now sleeping in her crib.  She was exhausted from all of the excitement of her big day and had gone to bed for the night.

“James Potter is seven months old, Draco.  You cannot be serious.  He isn’t looking at Cassie in any sort of 'way.'  Stop that.”  Granger said to him, with a mix of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

“I know what I saw.  He wouldn’t stop staring at her!” Draco had his eye on that Potter boy.  He was sneaky, just like his father.  And just like his father, Draco was apparently the only one who saw it.

“He’s only even been capable of paying attention to his surroundings for a couple of months!  He’s a baby watching an older baby who can move around more, that’s all.”  Hermione had said this more than once, but Draco remained unconvinced.

“I don’t like it.” 

“You are being ridiculous and you will at least have the decency to keep your delusions to yourself.”  Her words were stern, but her expression was warm and fond.

Draco huffed, but didn’t argue any further.  He looked around their crowded flat and sighed.  He started picking up all of the toys that Cassie had dragged out.  Once she caught James looking at her, she had made a point of taking out every single one of her toys over to the smaller boy to look at.  On one occasion, she even allowed James to touch one of her stuffed toys, a courtesy she had pointedly not extended to her cousin Teddy.  Probably because Teddy was older and could definitely run off with her toys, faster than she could catch him with her unsteady steps.  It had been the dragon, actually, that James had appeared to be the most interested in.  Draco smirked.  He would make it a point to give James his own green stuffed dragon, for his birthday later this year.  That ought to fix Potter and his incorrigible child.

Hermione hadn’t moved from her spot for a moment or two, seeming lost in thought as she looked at the framed photos of Cassie on the wall.  Draco mentally shrugged and continued sorting through the party detritus and toys, grateful that Cassie was fast asleep in her crib.  It would give him some time to get things sorted before she was awake and moving everything around the flat.

“Draco, do you think we should ever have another one?” came Granger’s quiet, small voice from across the room.

Draco froze in the act of picking up Cassie’s toys.  Did he just hear what he thought he heard?  He felt his stomach drop.  Another one?  

“Another party?  Even I think more than one birthday party is a bit excessive.  And I was raised in a Manor house that had wandering peacocks.”  Draco said, with a forced cheerfulness he definitely did not feel.  His heartbeat started to increase rapidly.

“No, I mean another baby,”  Granger spoke very quietly.  There was a pause, and then in an even softer voice, he heard her whisper.  “Someday.”

Draco dropped his nonchalant act, but still could not meet Granger’s eyes.  “Hermione, please, I am begging you.  Please do not tease me with that.  I cannot bear it.”

“I’m not teasing.”  Her voice was small and unsure, but there was no trace of sarcasm.

Draco looked at her, his face going slack, his eyes wide.

“Assuming you still want that kind of relationship with me, I guess?  I probably shouldn’t assume, actually.  I have kept you waiting an awfully long time.”  Hermione was shaking, her own eyes wide too and her voice trailing off as she caught Draco’s lack of expression.  Their eyes met, but Draco stayed frozen.  

“You know what?  Forget I said anything.  It’s fine.  Don’t mind me.”  Her expression crumbled, and she started to rush towards her room, literally fucking fleeing from his impersonation of a bloody statue.

At last, after far too long, Draco regained the ability to speak and he called out after Hermione.  “I’d wait centuries for you, Granger.  Eons, even.”

Hermione froze in the act of trying to enter her room — presumably to fall apart with some privacy — her hand on her door handle, her back to him, her shoulders already shaking with what appeared to be repressed sobs.

“I love you, Hermione.  I have loved you every minute since you gave me that scarf.  I love you now and I will never stop loving you.  I also love Cassie, but that’s not why I love you.  I know — in excruciatingly painful detail — that I fucked up and you couldn’t trust me to love you.  But I do.  And if you’re ready for me to start saying that out loud, instead of merely screaming it within the confines of my head, I will be the happiest wizard alive.”

Hermione turned while he was speaking, watching him with her eyes wide and her breath becoming more rapid, her chest heaving.  When he finished speaking, she burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.  Draco rushed to her and pulled her into the first proper hug he’d given her in so long.  He patted her back and held her while she cried, instinctively making the same shushing, soothing noises he made when Cassie was out of sorts and he was trying to comfort their daughter.  “I know, love.  I know.  Let it all out.”

“I know we live together, but I have missed you so much.” Her voice cracked, as she sobbed into his chest.  Draco held her tighter, tears falling down his own cheeks as well.

“I know what you mean.”  Draco rested his chin on her head, greedily inhaling her scent, now that he felt allowed to do so.  Hermione sobbed for a few moments more, while he continued to hold her close, hoping she could feel his love for her radiating off his skin.

After a long moment, she pulled back and looked at him.  He put his hand underneath her chin, holding her beautiful face.  “Hermione, I love you.  Please say you’ll be mine.”

Hermione sniffled and wiped away the traces of her tears.  “Oh, I’ve been yours for a while, I think.  I’ve never not been yours, Draco.  Not since the very first time.  I was just so hurt —” She broke off in a sob again and Draco brought her back into his embrace. 

“Merlin, Granger, I am so sorry I wasn’t brave enough, soon enough.  You are and always will be the best thing that ever happened to me, although Cassie is a very close second.”

“Is it weird that I’m mildly offended on her behalf?”  She said, sniffling into his shirt, her voice slightly muffled.

“I wrestled with it; I’m not going to lie.  Eventually, I couldn’t ignore the simple fact that you are you and you gave me Cassie, so it gives you an unbeatable edge.  It’s only going to get worse if we have more kids and it is already insurmountable.”

Hermione leaned back away from him, before reaching forward with both hands and grabbing his face, pulling him into her kiss.  Draco was shocked with his eyes open for a moment, before reacting by throwing his arms around her, deepening their kiss as he folded her more tightly into his arms.

After a moment, they broke apart to catch their breath.  “Fuck, Granger.  I’ve missed this so much.” Draco breathed, his forehead touching hers.

“I know, I'm sorry.  I’m sorry I took so long —” she gasped before kissing him again, her hands gripped tightly onto his shirt, pulling him closer.

Draco pulled back just a bit, slightly shaking his head.  “No. No, Granger.  Don’t apologize for that.  I’m sorry I hurt you so badly that it took this long.  And I meant it.  I’d wait forever for you.”  His eyes met hers, seeking to make sure that she was understanding everything he needed to convey to her.   “I also like living with you and Cassie.  It’s not like I’ve been living under constant torment.  I am a very lucky wizard, Hermione.  I’ve got to live with the best two people I have ever met.”

“Draco, I love you.”  She put her hands on his arms, her eyes wide and searching as she looked up at him through her lashes.  Draco stood still for a moment, almost unable to believe that this moment had finally arrived, after waiting for it for so long.  

And then he moved rapidly, reaching forward to pick her up, swinging her into his arms and carrying her bridal style.  She squealed, but quickly put her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, trying to pull herself closer to him as he carried her into her bedroom.  Granger wandlessly flicked the door open, allowing them inside.  Draco closed the door behind them with his leg, bringing her to the bed.

Draco laid her down on her bed, smoothing her curls away from her face, marvelling that he was once again allowed to touch her so intimately.  “Hermione, I —”

“Please, Draco, please.  I just need you, now.  Please.”

He smothered her mouth with his own as he moved so his body was covering hers, surrounding her smaller body with his own much larger one.  Draco wanted to absolutely devour her — they had spent so much time in each other’s presence with only small snatches of physical contact.  But now?  Now that he could touch her again?  Feel her body writhe underneath him again? 

Draco didn’t think he could ever get enough.

To his eternal gratitude, Hermione was just as eager, clutching at him as though he was her only anchor in a storm.  She gasped as soon they broke their kiss, groaning and opening her thighs to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to her trembling self.

Draco let out a hiss as his almost painfully hard erection ground against her and she fucking writhed beneath him.  “Merlin, Granger — I missed this, I’ve missed you so much, love.”

Hermione whimpered.  “I love you.  I love you.”  She was practically sobbing with need, as she pressed her own hips into his.  “We need to silence the room.  I don’t want to wake Cassie and I can’t be quiet.”

Draco growled at her words, sat up to grab his wand, and silenced the room.  Hermione got her wand out as well,  sitting up on her elbows, looking at him a bit sheepishly.

“I know I just suggested having another one.  But, maybe we don’t have to do that right away?  I mean, Cassie just started sleeping through the night consistently.”  She was biting her lip again, as she looked at him.  There was no need for her to be worried.  Draco agreed with her — it would be nice to have some time properly together before they considered adding to their family.  

Their family.

Draco's heart swelled with love and he reached for her, grabbing her head through her curls and pulling her into a firm kiss, smiling at her words and his own swooping feeling of joy.  “I agree.  I think there is no need to rush, love.  We have time for all of this now.”

They both cast the contraceptive spell, just to be sure.

Draco pulled Hermione closer to him, his hands wandering everywhere over her still lithe form, as he tried to relearn her body by touching her.  Hermione responded in kind, her arms moving up and down his back, before pulling his shirt out of his trousers and pulling it off over his head.  He helped her out of her shirt as well and then they were back to kissing, the feel of their shared body heat causing them both to tremble with desire.  

Soon, they had divested themselves of all their clothes.  He kissed down the side of her neck, pausing for a moment as he stroked her thigh — looking at her in disbelief because he was amazed that he was allowed to touch her again, to want her again.  She mistook him pausing to savour the moment for hesitation, and she shrank a bit as he watched.

“I know I’m not quite the same as I was before Cassie —” she started, visibly deflating a bit under his gaze.

Draco was disconcerted to see her withdraw from him and he quickly interrupted her incorrect train of thought.  “I’ll have none of that, Granger.  You are just as stunning as you were the first time I got to see you naked.”  He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively, smirking.  

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, pulling back slightly.  Draco grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him as his grey eyes bore into hers, moving his hands down the length of her body while letting the hunger he felt for her show on his face.  “You’re still the most shaggable witch I have ever seen and this body gave me my daughter.  I love you, Granger.  I love every part of you and I always will.”

She surged up and kissed him, insecurities banished.  In fact, all thoughts were soon chased away by their rising need — there was nothing left for them to do but feel.  Draco moved down her body, sliding his hands between her thighs, prying them open, and finally, finally  tasting her.  He had missed this — the incomparable taste of her — almost more than anything else.  Granger clutched at her breasts as he feasted on her, crying out in a familiar fashion, as he brought her to orgasm first on his tongue and then again on his tongue and fingers, stroking at the soft muscles until he found the spot that always put her over the edge.  Afterwards, she lay back, panting and breathless for a moment, before she made a move to reciprocate.  Draco stopped her, catching her by the wrists.  

“Next time.”  He couldn’t wait.  He needed to be inside of her.  He smirked at the pout that sent his way at his refusal.  Granger did always love to taste him as well.  

They both cried out as he entered her — Hermione’s legs wrapping around his hips, dragging him in as close as possible, raking her hands down his back.  He put his forearms on either side of her head, his hands smoothing her hair away from her face, looking at her as he thrust into her, slowly and deeply.  Fuck, it was like being home — being back inside of the woman he loved, his hands in her riotous curls.  

Their eye contact never ceased, as she clenched around him, her face flushed with pleasure.  “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she chanted over and over again.  Draco picked up his pace, the sound of his hips snapping into hers reverberating around the room.  He couldn’t hold back after so long without being with her, without the two of them being together like they were always meant to be.    

“You are so good, Hermione.  So good.  Such a good girl, taking my cock.”  He murmured in her ear, licking and sucking on her neck.

Hermione whimpered beneath him, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she moaned incoherently.  He could make out “yes” and “Draco” and “Oh God”, which meant she was close.  He began to feel her walls flutter around him.

“Merlin, Granger, I am close,” he groaned.  He was going to need a few more times before he regained his former stamina.

“Draco,” his name was a whisper from her, as she trembled violently.  “Come inside me, please,” she begged.

Draco held off for just a moment longer, feeling her crest and clench around him just before his own orgasm roared through him.  After they both stopped twitching from the aftershocks, he kissed her deeply while stroking her hair.   They looked at each other intensely, not wanting to move.  “I love you, Hermione.”

“Oh God, I love you so much, Draco.”  They kissed deeply and languidly.  He rolled off of her onto the side of the bed, before scooping her up in his arms, feeling her curls splayed across his chest. 

“Twenty-minute power nap and then we’re doing that again,” she told him sternly, in a voice that brooked no argument, even if she was still a bit breathless.

Draco laughed and kissed her forehead.  “Alright, Granger.  You’re the boss.”

After the third time they made love that evening, as Hermione lay strewn across his chest, both still panting from the exertion, Draco ran his hands over her shoulders before kissing her on the forehead.  Just like in their old days, her neck bore his mark from when he had sucked a bruise into her skin, just above the junction with her shoulder.  He pressed a small kiss over the purpling bruise, as Hermione shivered against him.  Draco wrapped her arms around her and she snuggled in as close as possible.  

“You’re staying with me, yes?  This is our bed now.”  Hermione said.  It sounded like a question, but she told him — rather than actually asking — while she idly traced along his scars.

Draco swallowed roughly, before speaking.  “Yes, Granger.  I’m never leaving.”  Fuck, he was so happy.

“And I can wake up with you, every day?” she asked, voice now sounding a bit uncertain.

Draco felt tears form behind his eyes at the sound of her hesitant request.  “Every day, Hermione.  Always.”  Draco took a deep breath and just went for it.  “Marry me, Granger.  I don’t have a ring — but I will get one.  I don’t have much to offer you beyond myself —”

“Which was always sufficient.”  Hermione interrupted him firmly.  “So we are clear.  The only thing I ever wanted from you, was you.  Although, I will admit that you do make a very nice baby.”

Draco’s heart swelled with love.  “We do.  And stop interrupting me while I’m proposing to you, witch — even if it’s to be endearing.  I love you, Hermione.  With everything that I am and everything that I will ever be.  Please marry me.”

“Yes.”  Hermione smiled broadly through her tears, nodding emphatically.  “Yes, Draco.”  They held each other, alternating between crying and laughing, talking about their daughter and their future, until they fell asleep in each other's arms, their legs tangled together as they slept. 

The next morning, Draco woke up with his fiancée in his arms and the sounds of their daughter crying elsewhere in the flat.  Hermione didn’t stir, so Draco carefully left their  — their! — bed, and collected Cassie, casting a silencing charm so that Granger would remain undisturbed.  

A woman needed her sleep after being so thoroughly shagged, after all.

Draco made pancakes and sausages for them both, while Cassie played in her high chair.  Hermione came out, kissed Cassie’s curls, and then nearly flattened Draco with an extremely thorough kiss, with her hands grasping onto his apron to pull him tightly against her body.  He fought to keep himself from getting too excited, as Cassie cooed happily, watching her parents with avid attention.  

“Merlin, Granger.  There are children present.” He told her with mock severity, a faint blush across his cheeks.

“I know,” she said, with a wide grin, as she squeezed his arse.  Cheeky witch.  

They had breakfast together, it took longer for Draco and Hermione to finish eating than normal because they kept holding hands throughout.  “So I was thinking,” Hermione started and Draco rolled his eyes at her affectionately.  Of course, she was thinking.  Granger was always thinking.  “I don’t want a big wedding if that’s okay.  And I don’t want to wait too long.  I want to hyphenate my last name to Granger-Malfoy.  And if you’d like, we can change Cassie’s to that as well.  Same for any future children.”  She was biting her lip as she looked at him, apprehensive about his response.

“Can I change my name to that too?”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open before she shook her head slightly and spoke.  “You would do that?”

“Yes.”  The name Malfoy on its own wasn’t particularly meaningful to him anymore.  Tying it to Granger?  Tying all future Malfoys to the name Granger?  Well... that had some appeal. 

Also, it would be an elegant ‘fuck you’ to his father.

“I mean, if you want to then I have no objections.  I don’t think you should be ashamed of your name, to be clear — because it’s your name too and you are a good man, and a great father.  You don’t have to change for me.  I’m just quite attached to my own name and I want to keep it.”

“Thank you, Granger.  But this is what I would like to do.  We could start our own House, you know.  Although it’s probably going to take a few generations before we work our way up to ‘Manor’ level of wealth.”

“House of Granger-Malfoy?  I love it.”  Her grin was wide, and she just glowed when she looked at him.

“With a new motto.”  She looked at him, intrigued and Draco continued.  “I was thinking something like ‘Love Above All Else.’”

Hermione grabbed the last bite of pancakes from her plate and chewed, her expression thoughtful.  “Well it’s a bit trite, but it’s a motto.  I mean, there’s only so much you can do with the form.”  Granger gave him a huge smile as she pulled him in for a kiss, smirking over his light frown, which he mostly made in jest.  “I love it, Draco.  I’m happy to approve it as one half of the founders of the House of Granger-Malfoy.”  She said the last bit with mocking pompousness.  But Draco wasn’t paying attention to her levity at the moment.

Founder.  Draco liked the sound of that.  Because it meant that together, Hermione and Draco would start something new and different.  It was a fitting way to let go of the past and for the two of them to set their own course for the future.  Yes, the future Mr. Draco Granger-Malfoy very much liked the idea of being a founder of his own House.

They got married on the third weekend of July, at the Burrow of all places.  Ginny Potter was Hermione’s Matron of Honour and Fleur Weasley was her other bridesmaid.  Theo was Draco’s best man, with Harry Potter standing as his other groomsman.  As he got married to Hermione Granger in Ron Weasley’s back garden, with Potter standing at his side, well  ‘short-circuited’ didn’t even begin to cover how surreal the day felt — especially when he thought back to how he had envisioned his future before the war.  But when he realized he was marrying the love of his life, surrounded by the people who loved them — and also Ron — it made a lot of sense.

Teddy was their ring-bearer — a Muggle tradition that Hermione wanted to incorporate into their bonding ceremony — with Cassiopeia walking slowly up the aisle holding Teddy’s hand, looking very beautiful in her own white dress with the periwinkle sash, the bouquet of flowers she clutched tightly in her other hand dragging on the ground as walked towards them slowly and carefully.  Teddy wore a suit that was a twin to Draco’s and the two of them were so adorable that Draco almost wanted to reconsider their plan to wait until Cassie was four before starting to try to give her a sibling.  

Almost, but not quite.

Granger just about stopped his heart when she walked down the aisle, accompanied by Mr. Weasley, she was so fucking beautiful.  They had two chairs up at the front sitting empty, decorated with items from Hermione’s girlhood — a homage to her parents who lived but didn’t remember her.  Draco wanted no such signifiers for his own parents. Instead, he asked Andromeda to stand for his family, when the time came.  So Andromeda, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, gave the couple their blessing when asked, with Molly taking Cassie off to the side and Andromeda collecting Teddy, so that Draco and Hermione could complete their magical bonding.  

Professor McGonagall had agreed to perform the actual bonding ritual.  The older witch had been positively delighted when they approached her to ask, insisting that Draco call her Minerva.  Which, no.  He tried, but simply could not.  Not for at least another decade.  She surprised him by giving him a warm hug before the ceremony, telling him that she was proud of him for standing up for himself and his girls.  Draco just nodded and looked at his shoes, while Hermione squeezed his hand tightly.

During the ceremony, the Headmistress of Hogwarts talked about her admiration for Hermione, her respect for Draco’s courage, and of their love.  Love which had started unexpectedly, had faced a great deal of adversity, and yet had persevered, eventually coming out stronger for it.  Hermione wiped away tears as their old professor spoke, using a handkerchief that had belonged to her mother.  Draco just let his tears fall, looking at his beautiful bride and holding her hands tightly, as he felt the magic surrounding them, sealing their bond.  He bent her backwards when he kissed her, drawing whoops of joy from George and Ginny, amidst the general applause.

The party afterwards was wonderful.  Every time Draco turned around, Cassie was being swung around the dance floor by someone with red hair.  Ginny and Theo were making friends, which was nice to see.  He danced with Andromeda, who squeezed him tightly with her own hug, whispering that she was so proud of him as she did so.  He hugged her back, tears in both their eyes.  Perhaps the Blacks could learn to be huggers after all. 

With his daughter curled up on one shoulder, and his other arm around his beautiful wife, the three Granger-Malfoys watched with wonder at the magnificent fireworks display provided by George at the end of the evening.  The three of them stayed in that spot, after the last of the sparkles and explosions of colour had died down, just watching the stars.  After the noises stopped, Cassiopeia snuggled into Draco’s chest, falling asleep as he held her.  Hermione leaned in on Draco’s other side, resting her head on his other shoulder, watching the stars while holding his hand tightly.  But Draco wasn’t watching the stars.

Granger was always going to the brightest star in his sky.  He was watching her.