Perhaps it was the fact that he had vanished for the past four years, but Draco Malfoy was taller than she remembered, and certainly more memorable. He stood out like a sore thumb, even amongst a seaful of blonde women and men in wizarding robes. Hermione watched as he put an arm around Asteria and clenched her shoulder comfortingly, his expression somehow sombre, or attentive. Asteria buried her face against his neck.

Draco was suddenly aware that he was not breathing. A sharp pain in his palms told him that he had dug his nails into his skin. His whole body was screaming in protest at his tense position, his thighs clenched and jaw square. He threw his shoulders back slowly in an attempt to soothe himself.

He realized that they had not spoken since the war. What could he possibly say? He felt his first words should be important, somehow, they should mark the occasion. They could never be casual. Draco battled with himself. Her cold self-sufficiency annoyed him. He should not be the one believing this to be a moment worth thinking about. He approached the window Granger was leaning against, the one offering a perspective into the room where twenty or so babies were sleeping peacefully behind the glass. He pointed at the small crib furthest to the left.

The truth was that Hermione could not run away. No airplane could take her far enough from her sins. She was carrying a baby that could be Draco’s, and she was married to a man who thought it was his. Neither of them would let her leave. Nor did she want them to. She wanted to cling on to someone who rocked her back and forth while they told her that everything would be all right. Assuming responsibility for her choices had always been easy, because her choices had never been wrong before. And they were wrong now.

The voice was so filled with venom and pain that for a moment, Hermione did not recognize it. She turned around and met Draco’s anguished eyes, his face paler than ever. He was looking very smart and prim in a black suit and white shirt, and his hair was combed carefully back. But for all his neat appearance and carefully studied reflection, Hermione felt the chaos wrecking inside him.

She did not count the minutes, but she knew that her suspicion must be confirmed when another pain hit her, so sharply this time that she swore a little. Her breathing shallow, Hermione forced herself to stay calm, even though her heart was fluttering in panic and her mind was protesting fiercely against what was happening.

When Hermione reached the ensuite bathroom, she felt wretched. Her whole body was drenched in sweat as if she had just run a mile at top speed. There seemed to be something pulsing in the middle of her chest and her heart would surely jump out of her throat any minute. She couldn’t honestly be thinking of doing this. She couldn’t. This - right now - would change everything.

They stood underneath a bus stop for a moment, looking up at the house that had been advertised. It looked nothing like the picture in the Muggle paper, but perhaps that was just the effect of the weather. Draco glanced sideways at Hermione, who was looking up at the property with a weird expression on her face. He could not read it, which was a first: Hermione had lately been like an open book to him.