Chapter 4: Oh Baby!

Hermione lazily traced circles on Draco's chest, feeling more content and relaxed than she had in years. The smell of Draco was overwhelming, and the feel of his warm body next to hers was so comfortingly familiar.

"I didn't think I'd ever be in this position again," Hermione murmured, nestling further into the crook of Draco's arm.

"Oh ye of little faith," Draco replied, pulling her closer to himself. "I always knew it couldn't end like that. We left too much unfinished. There were too many things we never had together."

Hermione cuddled up closer to his body, enjoying the heat of his skin on hers and sighing contentedly.

"So," Draco continued casually. "Will you still be here when I wake up this time?"

The question was asked half-jokingly, but Hermione wasn't fooled for a moment. She did have a great track record of leaving while Draco slept. And besides, Hermione knew Draco and knew that he was completely serious.

"Well," she began slowly. "First of all, this is my house. So I don't really plan on running out early in the morning. Second of all," and here she paused to look at Draco's face. "I can't imagine anywhere I'd rather be than lying here next to you when you wake up."

Draco smiled genuinely. Draco had a beautiful smile; it was a slow movement, a lifting of lips slightly more to the left than the right with a glimpse of bright, white teeth glinting through only slightly. But an honest smile from Draco was also a rare sight, and all the more beautiful for its rareness. His usual smirk was rarely a sign of mirth, rather a cocky slap in the face to anyone who looked at it, or maybe a tool for flirtation, but Draco was almost never happy when he was smirking.

"That's good to hear," Draco kissed her briefly. He stretched out, yawning widely. "What time is it?" He said through his yawn.

"Almost three." Hermione frowned slightly, but Draco was gazing at her bedroom ceiling and didn't notice. When could she tell him the truth? She knew that the longer she lied to him the worse things would be when the truth came out, but no moment seemed appropriate. When was the time right to expose a secret that had been kept for five years?

"Draco, I–"

"I love you, Hermione," Draco interrupted. "I don't think I've ever told you that."

"Yes, you have." Hermione had no other reply to offer him.

"Not when you were being you, though. I've told you I loved you when you were May, but never Hermione." He was looking at her now. All Hermione could do was smile at him and give him a kiss.

"I still love you, too."

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When Draco woke up Hermione was still sleeping. There was an odd compulsion, a strange feeling in his gut, to leave her as she slept as had been done to him too many times. Why not take revenge, make her feel that same displaced humiliation and confusion when she woke up alone. It was so tempting.

But not tempting enough. As Draco looked at that sleeping face, so soft and relaxed in repose, he knew he could never go through with it. He could never abandon her the way she had abandoned him, even if she did deserve it. He loved her too much to sabotage this new beginning and to lose her again as he was just rediscovering her. They did have unfinished business, and Draco would be damned if he would leave things that way.

Deciding to make up for his evil thoughts, Draco climbed out of Hermione's bed and crept down the hall towards her kitchen.

The refrigerator door held a few photographs, several of Hermione with Potter and Weasley, a few of an older muggle man and woman, presumably Hermione's parents. None of these were especially surprising, but what puzzled Draco were the pictures he saw of a young child. There were a few baby pictures and more photos depicting the same child through the years. At first Draco thought the little girl was Hermione as a child, but this girl had pale blond curls and her skin was slightly paler than Hermione's slightly darker skin tone. Her features were a lot like Hermione's; aside from her coloring she practically looked like a clone. At first Draco could brush this off, assuming that perhaps this was some young relative of Hermione's who happened to bare a striking resemblance to her. But then he saw a picture that was close-up of the little girls face. Her eyes were a pale silvery gray, a peculiar color that Draco had only seen in two places: his father's eyes and his own.

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Hermione awoke sometime later. She was more relaxed than usual and, thus, had slept later than she normally would have. When she opened her eyes she saw a peculiar sight: Draco, sitting at the edge of the bed, cradling something in his hands.

"Draco?" Her voice was hoarse and slightly cracked from sleep.

Draco turned around slowly. His face was an interesting combination of confusion and anger.

"What the fuck is this?" He held up one of the pictures he had found, the one that showed the little girl close up.

Hermione paled instantly but didn't back down from his intense gaze. She cleared her throat, breathed deeply, and licked her lips before answering. "Her name is Heloise. She's my daughter."

Draco raised his eyebrow incredulously. "Your daughter?" The word your was heavy with meaning.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Our daughter. Yours and mine."

Draco had already known it was coming, but it hit him heavily all the same. He stood awkwardly, looking around for some answer or validation, hands clenching and twisting uncontrollably, but being careful not to damage the photograph he held in his hands. "H-how... When–why didn't you tell me?" He was close to yelling but not quite. Before Hermione could answer he asked another question. "How old is she?"

"She's four years old. She was born about nine months after graduation."

"That night..." Draco trailed off.

"Yes, the night before graduation."

"But we used–"

"Birth control doesn't always work."

Draco paced up and down, running a hand through his messy hair, making it even worse. But still he cradled that picture ever so gently in his hand. For a moment he was wordless, but then he burst out more violently than before.

"Why didn't you tell me!" He yelled. "If not through the years we were apart, why not last night!"

"I don't know!" Hermione yelled back. "I don't know why. It just didn't seem like the right time, alright?"

"You and your secrets," Draco shook his head in disbelief. "You and your goddam secrets." Grabbing his things Draco apparated home.

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It only took Draco one hour to destroy a few priceless family heirlooms (vases, paintings, etc.), to scare the house elves away from the house, and to demolish a picture of Hermione. After he had done all this, he repaired the photograph, called the elves back, and collapsed into a chair in his study. Luckily his mother was on a trip to Venice and wasn't around to bother him. Now all he had to do was think of what to do next.

He was mad at Hermione. Hell, he was furious. He didn't think that he had ever been this angry with anyone in his entire life. But he did still love her. And either way, now there was someone else to think about.

A daughter. Draco had a daughter. That had been surprising, to say the least. It hurt him to think that there was a piece of his own flesh somewhere that he had never met, never spoken to, never held. He couldn't let his anger with Hermione get in the way of meeting his daughter.

Heloise. A peculiar name, to be sure, but so was Hermione and so was Draco for that matter. Either way, it was a very pretty name, French no doubt. Draco still had the photo he had found in Hermione's flat. Heloise was the perfect combination of the two of them, Draco's startlingly fair coloring with Hermione's beautiful features.

Draco made a decision. From that moment on he would be a father. Not a father in the sense that he had impregnated a girl. And not a father like his own had been: cruel, abusive, and possessive. No, he would be there for his daughter; she would never go without and he would protect her from any danger he possibly could. Draco would be a good father. Hell, anything would be better than what he had gone through with his father.

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Hermione gazed out of her window over the city-scape of London. A light drizzle was falling, making the world outside as murky and dim as Hermione felt.

She didn't know how she had let things get this bad. It had always been her intention to tell Draco eventually, but at first she had been afraid to face him again and later she simply hadn't known how. How exactly does one approach a former love and simply come out and tell them: "I know we haven't seen each other in a few years, and I know I broke your heart, but you should know we have a kid." There simply hadn't been a good opportunity. And the whirlwind of last night hadn't exactly been full of opportunities to tell him; they were too wrapped up in seeing one another again.

A tap on Hermione's window caught her attention. Looking up, she saw an owl outside the hovering outside. She let the owl in, caught the note it dropped in her hands, and closed the window as it soared away. The note was in Draco's hand and read, simply:

Hermione,

I can't deal with you right now, but some things are more important. I want to meet her.

Draco

Hermione didn't need to think to know who Draco meant.

TBC...

So, here is the list of people who guessed correctly:

LUNA GURLZ, Ravencries, grack, and Turtle

Congratulations reviewers!

Also, sorry this is so short: it was the place to stop though.