Draco's Daddy Diaries
Prologue
It is late when I reach my mansion in Wizarding London. The Floo network is undergoing some kind of freak maintenance in the middle of peak hour and hard as it is to believe, peak hour in Wizarding London would actually include midnight since most wizards work in shifts. And this is why I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to Lucius Malfoy's vast empire is trudging through knee-deep snow in order to go home. And before you say another word, it just isn't a good time to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor right now. Not when I'm bloody tired and might get into a freak splinching accident that common folks like the Weasleys would get themselves into. My pride and my family name is everything, and unfortunately, in times like this, I wouldn't give a damn about Apparating. But then again, maybe pride and the old Malfoy name would stop me.
It is late when I reach my mansion in Wizarding London. Late enough that all I want to do is to crawl into bed without giving a damn about showering to lie down beside my bushy-haired wife of two years, and hopefully, to catch some shut eye. And only Merlin knows how much I need Morpheus' sleeping dust right now.
But as luck would have it, when my tired feet have finally dragged themselves into my bedroom, the entire room is brightly lit. It takes most of my remaining energy not to curse at this horrendous state of affairs because I know my bushy-haired witch hex me if I curse. I am honestly tired, and really, when she steps out of the bathroom in those too-long pyjamas of hers, I can't help feel a sigh on the verge of passing through my lips. Hermione just has that careful expression that can only mean trouble. You know, the expression when she was going on about S.P.E.W. in our school days.
And perhaps she can sense my emotions just the way I do hers, because she says nothing and hands me some Muggle-looking contraption that is just a teensy-bit wider than pencil. It is peculiar, that contraption, and I rotate it to see a tiny plus on its screen.
"What is it?" I ask blankly. Really, she ought to know better than to show me such a complicated Muggle device like this. I'm not as dense as those Weasleys when it comes to Muggle technology such as the telephone (I hear they call it a 'fellytone'.) I'm not so sure what this is for.
"Draco, it's a Muggle pregnancy kit," she informs me, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.
Her words seep into my mind. Muggle pregnancy kit… Bloody hell!
"Are you…" I ask, with a look of disbelief on my face I would never want the Weasleys to see. Scratch that. A look I wouldn't want the entire Wizarding World to see.
She nods carefully.
"Are you sure? You know, those Muggle things might be faulty." She holds up another four of those pregnancy kit things, all with plus signs on them. It is typical Hermione behaviour to be absolutely, one-hundred percent sure.
In all honesty, I'm not sure what to think. But my bookworm is in front of me, nervously chewing her bottom lip and looking so nervous that I embrace her. Her stiff posture relaxes when I hold her to me and I hear her exhale in relief. She really has no idea what her news means to me.
"That's fantastic!" I whisper and a relieved smile adorns her lips.
"I know, Draco."
And suddenly, I'm not so tired anymore.