A/N - Sorry this took so long; I was on holiday for two weeks, so this should've been published sometime in July, but I only just had the chance to do it. Plus, there was the May and June exams.
CHAPTER 4: IT'S RAINING; IT'S POURING; YOU'RE SNORING
Hermione tried not to smile grimly when she was shown their room, tried not to frown at the rush of genuine affection that Draco had at seeing his owl, which seemed to surpass any that he had faked when they were together.
She was just glad that they hadn't been given her childhood bedroom, with the single bed. At least the allocation of this room, further away from her parents' bedroom than her old room had ever been, meant that they had believed their story somewhat.
"Thank you, mum – and dad, for the room," she said brusquely, brushing past her parents and Draco to stand inside the room. She wanted them gone as soon as possible so that she could privately berate Draco for his rudeness, unload the books from her trunk and research, structure a better game plan than what they currently had - and, more than anything, she wanted to sleep.
That bloody homecoming had gone on for hours.
"This bed will be fine for you both, won't it?" Henry asked, implying something in his undertones that struck so close to home within Hermione and Draco that they both had to laugh anxiously.
She glanced to Draco; she could see that he was itching to make a crude comment to her father, who was suspiciously watching him. Her cheeks tinged with red. "It's more than fine," she said pleasantly. "Thank you again."
Draco stepped into the room, looking around himself, quietly impressed. He paid particular attention to the lake that laid in their lands, which he could partially see from the large French doors in their room; the only thing that blocked it from view was a small patch of woodland that seemed to wind around the rest of the estate. On the wall, to the right of the French doors was the smallest bookshelf he had ever seen, so pitiful considering the wealth that they had; they could've spent their money on acquiring a large one that took up the entire wall, instead of the three shelves that it currently sported. There were two little, hardly necessary armchairs sat near it, and a little side table.
Then there was the bed. Easily a double bed, but could have nearly been a king-sized bed for the amount of space that it took up in the room, placed to the left of the doors, so only minimal light from the sun (when it was morning) shone on the bodies within it. He felt drowsy just looking at it; at the many goose-feather pillows and the thick duvet for the winter spread across it.
"The bed seems big enough," he said nonchalantly, running his hands across the fabric of the sheets. Yes, they really were as soft as they looked. He shot a dark look to her father, and Hermione ground her teeth. "I can sometimes move around a lot in bed. Right, Hermione?"
Draco hadn't slept in a bed like that for years, after the majority of his wealth had been seized, and he was forced to live like a commoner. His own lumpy, cold, lonely double bed had nothing on what he was faced with now.
And he didn't care whether Hermione was pregnant or a lady or not – the bed was his. She could share it with him – he didn't particularly care – or she could find an extra blanket, take one of the excess pillows and enjoy the sweet, hard floor.
Instead of replying to him, she kneeled on the floor and scooped a large, white, fat cat from under the bed. She saw Draco stand to attention and move protectively in front of Hercules, and quietly snorted. "Tell the cousins to make sure their animals – or themselves – don't come in this room," she said, purposely nodding to the distressed father of her child, standing guard by the cage of his monstrous owl that seemed more than capable of looking after itself. "Wanting privacy is more important now than ever with two wizards in the same room; especially since Draco has hardly had much experience in hiding it from a wide range of Muggles before."
Jean took the cat from Hermione's arms, nodding understandingly at her daughter's words. "Well," she said, steering her husband out of the doorway, subsequently breaking his and Draco's stare down, "we know when we're being dismissed. We'll see you both in the morning for breakfast. I hope you both sleep well!"
"Oh-oomph." Hermione elbowed Draco in the gut before he could finish, but it didn't stop him from looking anything less than amused as he pulled her to him and whispered in her ear that that wasn't very polite, watching her parents exiting out of the corner of his eyes.
"Goodnight!" Henry and Jean mumbled, swinging the door closed behind them.
Draco and Hermione both bid them both goodnight; Draco a lot more cheerfully than Hermione did. As soon as they had firmly shut the door behind them, he threw himself onto the bed and let out a moan as he relaxed onto the comforter. His eyes slowly shut…
Until Hermione began to lecture him.
"Go away, woman," he groaned, turning over and pressing his face into the quilts. "Let me have my peace."
A cushion hit his back, but it hardly mattered. Then another hit him, and another. Where was she getting these pillows from?
"Get up, you lazy bastard," she snapped. "This is your fault, your idea. The least you could do is cooperate."
"I want to sleep," he whined.
"You can sleep when you're dead - which will be soon if you don't start taking some damn responsibility."
He sighed and rolled back over to stare at the ceiling. "Fine. What is it that you want?"
"You need to stop being so bloody rude. Especially to my father. Do you really think that people will believe that I would willingly date and have a child with an arsehole like you? They need to be able to find a reason why someone like me would want to be with…someone like you."
"Up until today, I entertained the idea that you were with me for my wealth." He sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "But I see now that that's pointless. And anyway, someone has to defend this relationship from Henry – you're not. You're not even defending yourself. I believe that, as any good boyfriend, it's clear than I'm standing up for the woman that I'm supposed to love." He sat up to face her, looking pleased with himself. "Does that not send a good message?"
Her lip curled. "I've been dealing with the consequences of working for you for a long time, Malfoy. I can handle my father; I don't need a knight in shining armour – or whatever you think yourself to be."
Draco snorted, clearly entertained by her reaction. "Fine, have it your way then." He shrugged, not bothered about having some responsibility taken away from him. "I'll be pleasant tomorrow - the son that your father always wanted - if that pleases milady. We can blame it on tiredness or something – but, if you don't let me sleep now, then that bad mood might just continue."
Hermione looked slightly crestfallen and as if she was going to persist this argument with something more, but she stopped herself. "No one wants a son like you," she said. "I sure as hell don't. And anyway, you can't sleep until we've un-"
Draco decided not to correct her on the sex of the baby again, seeing that she was on the verge of ripping her hair out. Instead, he decided to help her.
With a wave of his hand and a smug little smirk at her rising frustration, their trunks unlatched themselves: clothes flew out of them, without creases and folded, and into draws that automatically opened themselves; shoes lined themselves up in pairs in front of the French doors; coats and jackets hung themselves on hangers in their wardrobe, and his books found their way to the small bookcase.
"There. Done in a jiffy. We've unpacked successfully."
"You let me take your wand thinking that you were inept at wandless magic?" She shrilled. Draco sincerely hoped that she wouldn't mention the dammed rules again, but he was sorely disappointed. "I said that we're not supposed to use magic here – what if someone had walked in?"
He rolled his eyes. "For the record, Granger, I did not let you take my wand," he said. "And if you knew everything about me, it'd make things so terribly boring, wouldn't it? I like to show my cards when I see a benefit."
Hermione crossed her arms, embarrassed that he had tricked her. "Oh, and what was the benefit this time? And what if someone had walked in?"
"Oh come on now, is that really a question?" He merely waved his hand in a careless manner. "I'd Obliviate them, of course."
She breathed in deeply, as if trying to reach an inner peace. She pinched her nose, unable to look at him. "And what about reading your books, to find a solution to this mess that you've dragged us in? We have to make some headway to keep up the charade, you know. Unless…you don't mind being arrested for lying to a court."
Draco groaned, throwing himself back down onto the bed. "Bloody hell, it's almost midnight. I'm tired. Aren't you?"
"You're such an old man," she sneered. Hermione was also tired, though she wouldn't admit to his face that he was right. Still, she didn't know when they'd get another opportunity to be alone and undisturbed to research their problem; and they needed to do it soon before she was supposed to start showing "signs".
God, what a disaster.
"I'm a father – I'm allowed to be unreasonably tired. I'm too young for this."
"Hardly. And shouldn't I be more tired than you, being the mother and all? You're not exactly carrying another living thing inside you right now," she muttered.
"It's not technically a living thing right now, you know that, right? It's basically just a ball of cells."
"Oh sorry," she said sarcastically, "I didn't realise that we were being specific about this thing. I'm sure thinking it's just a ball of cells will make this whole thing easier." Hermione shrugged coolly. "Speaking of pregnancy, shouldn't we be reading some books so we can fake this as accurately as possible? Like, what am I supposed to be feeling? When is the bump going to appear? We need planning."
"Morning sickness," Draco suggested. "I hear a lot of pregnant women have it. And the whole hormones thing – you're doing fantastic with that. Really moody."
"Malfoy, honest to God. I really feel like I'm the only one taking this seriously, and I'm not even the one who this affects the most, and-"
Draco wished that he was standing near her so that he could shake her by the shoulders or clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her words from reaching his ears – or just so he could hold her head still and make sure that she looked at him when he very calmly placated her, like any good boyfriend. He sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand across his face. "Hermione," he said slowly, gaining enough of her attention that she stopped herself from talking. "My dear, what we both need is sleep – not more planning. "I'll," he couldn't believe that he was compromising with her, but he supposed that everything really was his responsibility, "I'll look at some of those 'what to expect when you're expecting' books, and some potions and spells and what have you tomorrow, while you do whatever you do when you're with your family, and it'll be fine. Alright?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "You'll handle it?" She severely doubted that her family would allow her and Draco to be separated for an entire day, or would allow him to miss out on all the family bonding now that he was a part of their family, but she'd like to see him try.
"I'll handle it," he said gently. "I am a business man, Hermione Granger. I can deal with heavy workloads."
She refrained from scoffing. "What a lucky woman I am."
"So I can sleep undisturbed now?"
Hermione heaved a sigh, nodding her head. "Yes. I suppose you've claimed the bed then, and I'm taking the floor? I repeat: what a lucky woman I am."
He smiled slowly, ignoring her snide comments; he kicked off his shoes and whipped off his socks afterwards. "You can share the bed with me like a real pair of lovers, if you really want. I, frankly, don't care where you sleep; but if someone comes in in the night or the morning…"
She ground her teeth. He did have a point, but she hoped that her request for privacy didn't fall upon deaf ears. Though, that was hardly something that she could count on when she had her cousins living under the same roof as her – some of which, had no sense of boundaries. And then there was the problem of their memories…She'd have to lie in the same bed as him sometime, and there really was no time like the present.
Maybe lying next to her boss in bed would trigger the sickness she was supposed to be feeling during pregnancy.
When he began to strip himself of his jumper and shirt, Hermione made a distressed noise. Looking horribly entertained at her strangled scream and her attempts at looking anywhere but where he was standing, he paused, his shirt more than halfway unbuttoned and hanging open, and asked her if there was a problem. He looked like the man on the cover of a bloody romance novel – which he'd probably take as the highest compliment; he had always thought that she was into that type of 'literary trash', as he called it, despite idolising the men on the cover himself.
"Never seen an almost naked man before, Granger?" He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "How, precisely, did you get pregnant?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she grumbled, but it held no weight; her cheeks were still red. "I just don't think that I should see-" Hermione stopped herself, knowing that she'd just sound stupid if she continued.
"You don't think that you should see what, exactly?" He asked, continuing to unbutton the rest of his shirt, and threw it on the floor, where his jumper was currently lying. His fingers danced around the edge of his trousers, trying to gage whether it'd be going too far to make her witness that, but she seemed to be purposely ignoring him and his teasing. "We're supposed to be together, pet. It's only natural that you should be used to seeing this." He gestured proudly to his shirtless self. "You can't be blushing like a virgin every time you see a little bit of my skin."
Hermione didn't particularly want to see her boss semi-naked (or, yes, lie with him) – especially as it was someone as deplorable as Malfoy – and didn't want to have the memory of his lithe, toned body, with a series of thin, silver scars from the War scattered across his torso, ingrained in her mind. Although, he wasn't completely perfect, as he'd have himself believe. Yes, Hermione confirmed to herself, eyes quietly taking in his proud body; he wasn't exactly the stereotypical Greek Adonis that he portrayed: he was a little pudgy in some places from no longer participating in regular Quidditch training or matches, he was a little too pale and his delicate happy trail of blond hair wasn't so attractive to Hermione, but he wasn't bad. Not in the least.
But still, none of that was the point. She didn't want the memory. She didn't want any of this.
"Can I take these off – or do you want to leave, and I'll tell you when this masterpiece is hidden under the covers?" He smiled wolfishly. "You're really missing out, pet."
Hermione sniffed, and stared him in the eye as she said, "I don't care, darling. Take them off; it's nothing I haven't seen before. And of course I'll be sleeping next to you, but you better keep your hands off me if you're as tired as you claim."
She tried to ignore Draco's guffaws as she forced herself to keep his eye contact. He unbuckled his belt slowly, playfully raising his eyebrows and gently swaying to his own tune; he only laughed harder when he heard Hermione mutter "for God's sake, stop with the strip tease", but, for her sake, took his trousers off normally and threw them to join the rest of his clothes.
Oh God and his legs. Absolutely covered in fine blond hair.
"There," he said smugly, "that wasn't so bad, was it, love? Quite enjoyable, really." Mirth was still evident in his voice, and she hated it. Her face was on fire. "You know, usually I sleep in the buff-," he flexed what muscle he did have in his arms then, and Hermione thought that he must've believed himself to be an utter comic, "but just for you, love, I'll keep the boxers." He threw himself back onto the bed and resumed his relaxed position, arms crossed under his head.
She took in a deep, calming breath. Boxers, she cursed to herself. Boxer briefs. She had been naïve enough to hope that he wore boxer shorts, but she should've known that briefs was more his style. That bastard.
Jesus. She could see the - No. She wasn't even going to finish the thought.
"So, my lovely lady: when are you joining me?"
He was really testing her and taking complete joy from it all.
"Just give me a minute," she replied sweetly.
Hermione took off her own shoes and socks, throwing them all into the same pile as Draco's, then moved onto stripping herself of her matching jumper. Draco watched her amusedly, counting in his head and waiting for her to give in and take the floor. She was Hermione – yes, Jean, Draco recalled – Granger, and there was no way that he saw her going through with the challenge that she had set herself.
When she froze on her shirt buttons, he said to her, "you know you don't have to try to outdo me, Granger."
"Scared that I will?" She retorted, turning around and pulling out a large nightshirt from her drawers.
"Oh, you probably could if you thought you could." He sat up again, watching her better. "I just don't want you to embarrass yourself."
"Embarrass myself?" She asked, keeping her back turned to him as she unbuttoned it the rest of the way. She put her nightshirt over her head, slipped her shirt off and quickly put her arms through the sleeves of the nightshirt. "Why should I be embarrassing myself?" Her pyjama shorts were easier to put on, seeing as she was thankfully wearing a skirt. "Maybe I do think that I'm as wonderful as you seem to think that you are."
"If you did, my lovely, you certainly don't show it. And, for the record, it is a proven fact that I am wonderful - not just an honest opinion of myself."
"Whatever."
She didn't give herself time to look at him as she approached and slid under the covers, covering herself up from him. He gave her a curious look, but slid off the bed and finally covered himself up with the covers as he swung himself in next to her.
She smelled like coconut. He smelled more like champagne and apples. A sort of cider.
They both lay on their backs, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling - bare legs touching bare legs, his almost-bare body pressed against her clothed one, body warmth being shared - and regretted everything that had led to this situation. Were they tired before this moment? Well, they weren't anymore. Neither had any idea how to go about falling asleep, a most vulnerable state, with someone else next to them – or even in the room with them. This was most definitely something that they weren't used to – even Draco, who Hermione believed to always be sleeping around, didn't often have women staying the night with him.
A storm began outside, heavy rain splattering against the French doors and creating a riot of noise.
His owl was hooting. He had forgotten to let it outside. How could he have forgotten? Owls were nocturnal.
Grumbling to himself, he dragged himself out of the bed with difficulty. Hermione stirred under the covers, and he knew that he and Hercules had woken her up.
Had it been more than five minutes since he had finally fallen asleep? He checked the clock in the room. Oh, wonderful, he thought to himself, moving away from the clock and to his bloody bird, it has actually been ten minutes.
"Malfoy," she slurred. "I'm going to murder you and your fucking bird."
His hands fumbled on the cage's lock longer than usual, tiredness consuming his brain. He couldn't quite see properly. "I get to murder the bird first," Draco said. It was still raining heavily outside, but if it wanted to go out…
"Get rid of it," she whined.
"Working on it."
She pulled the covers tighter around her when he opened the door, letting in large gusts of cold air that inflated the curtains and rain that froze his body and covered the floor under his feet. He all but flung the owl on his arm out of the door, wanting to close it as quickly as possible. It, thankfully, took off into the night despite the storm.
Shivering from the wintry weather, he staggered back to the bed and crawled into it. His hand touched Hermione's shirt, the iciness of it seeping through and causing her to gasp and wriggle out of his grasp as he pulled her closer to him, her back pressing to his chest. The cold had electrified her and served to wake her up more than she already was, but he was warm. Not hot like it had been, but warm, as if the wind had doused the flames.
"Just for a little while," he murmured, trembling behind her. "We don't want me getting hypothermia."
"Oh I do." She gasped again as his hand slid under her shirt to press against the warmth of her bare stomach; she tried to push it away with her hands, but it didn't budge. "You're really pushing it, Malfoy. I will smother you."
"That's cute, Granger. Go to sleep."
Oh, how she envied him. How she wished that she could be in as deep a sleep as he was.
But, here she was, listening to him snore the room down. It really was a wonder that he was able to attract anyone with such a noisy quality – and the thought that they were able to stay in his bed next to him for the night without being disturbed by it? It was ridiculous – they must've been deaf! And the worst – the absolutely worst part of it all, the one that made Hermione grind her teeth together and pray for extra strength – was the fact that as he breathed out after each one he whistled.
His snoring might've been the only thing that she didn't envy about him.
It was so infuriating that she would've thought that he was awake and doing it on purpose, but she had checked, and he wasn't. That snoring coupled with the ongoing storm outside, and the abnormal feeling of having someone in the bed with her – and knowing that that someone was Draco Malfoy - was making it terribly difficult to sleep. At least the owl had been eliminated now, and she had been able to roll him away from her once he had fallen asleep…
Groaning, she pulled a pillow over her head and tried to block out the outside world as best she could.
"Hermione." His lips were moving against her skin, calling her out from her slumber. "Hermione. The window. Owl. Hermione."
"What?" She rubbed her palm against her eyes, acutely aware of his position on her. Lips on her bare shoulder, speaking into the skin as if she could understand what he was mumbling, his heavy arm lying like a dead weight across her stomach, anchoring her to the mattress, and the fine wisps of his hair tickling her chin. Was he comfortable like that? She could barely understand how he had gotten himself in such a position in the first place.
"Get the fucking owl."
The bird pecked at the window as a testament to what he had just said.
Hermione threw her arm over her eyes and yawned. "Why can't you get it? I was sleeping."
"So am I," he retorted. Was it just her, or was there a growing wet patch on her shoulder? She hoped that he wasn't slobbering all over her. What a disgusting pig. "You're my assistant." He pulled his arm off her as if allowing her to get up from the bed, tucking it back into his side. "Go. Stop it. Assist."
Cursing under her breath, she shoved him away from her and swung her legs out from under the covers. He was unperturbed, and turned over to his other side to continue 'sleeping'. Thankfully, the storm had ceased sometime in the night, and Hermione was able to open the doors for the owl to come in without a problem; it wasn't Hercules, but she knew that it must've been for Draco from work. She took the letter from its foot, and allowed it to fly back outside.
She broke the seal and read the address line. "It's from Dragonhide," she told him.
He groaned into the pillow. "See? Didn't I tell you that I wouldn't be left alone?" He pushed himself up from the bed, finally, and sat with his back against the headboard. "What a bloody holiday."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't act like you're not enjoying the benefits," she said, looking him over. Last night must've been the best sleep that he had had in a long time.
He chose to ignore her. "What does it say?" He asked around a large yawn, so contagious that Hermione had to cover her mouth as she also yawned from the sight of him.
Hermione skimmed the letter as she perched on the bed, tucking one leg underneath her. "They know about…us," she said. "Apparently, Mr Doug Wilson, of Dragonhide Publishers, is willing to…overlook this breach in your employee code, given that it, to him, is proof that you've progressed as a person." She muttered something under her breath, too quiet for Draco to hear, of her personal opinion about what the letter was apparently claiming. Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to read it, glancing at Draco who seemed to be as intrigued by it all as she was – and, as usual, suspicious.
"What does he want in return?" He cautiously asked.
"He wants…to meet us. Soon. Before we have to go back to the Ministry. It says that he personally wants to discuss this matter, as the one who hired you in the first place." She looked up from the letter to see him frowning. "Why does he want to meet us?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "Legitimacy? But we can't go back to London publically, or allow either of us to be sighted. We're supposed to report to the Ministry as soon as we leave this holiday of sorts."
"So we apologise, and deny the invitation."
"No. He's The Boss. If you have forgotten, I'm supposed to be taking over from him when he retires."
"'Supposed to be'," she drawled. "You and every other highly appointed employee are supposed to be taking over from Mr Wilson."
"If we don't go, he might demote me or fire me – and then you won't get my promised payment."
Hermione was about to retort, when there was a knock at the door and the tentative voice of her mother asking if she and Draco were awake yet. She was just about to reply that they were, when Draco answered for her, leaping out of bed and pulling on his slacks from yesterday. She didn't think that she had ever seen him move so fast.
"Uh, just a moment, Mrs Granger," he called. He sharply nodded his head towards the bathroom in a silent command for Hermione to go there; at first she was reluctant to go, but he had obviously cursed her with a vomiting curse, and she scrambled across the room to the toilet. Draco followed her in, patting her on the shoulder and congratulating her on being a mother as she emptied her stomach, all the while cussing at him around the vomit. After kissing her sweat-beaded forehead, he swaggered out, and opened their door with an apologetic smile. He was glad not to see Henry there with Jean, but in his stead was Lauren and some other, younger cousins – one of which, was holding the white, cumbersome cat from last night. "Sorry I took so long," he paused naturally as he listened for the sweet music of his assistant's retching. He held their eyes – particularly Jean's – knowingly. "Morning sickness."
Her mother looked surprised, for whatever reason. Perhaps she didn't actually think that her daughter could be pregnant. "This was just a breakfast call," she said, looking at the others by her. "If Hermione's experiencing morning sickness, you better make sure that she actually attends."
He smiled charmingly. "Of course," he said. "If she's not feeling much better, I may bring some breakfast back up for her instead - if it's not a problem."
"As long as she's looking after herself and that baby, then it's not a problem."
"See you at breakfast."
"Hopefully I'll see you both at breakfast."
Once they left, Draco made sure to consult Hermione about her morning sickness predicament.
And by consult, Draco meant that he just informed her that he was going to breakfast without her, thinking that he could probably do better on his own, asked if she had any cravings or aversions, then added a headache on top of the vomiting, and left the room after another head-pat.
At breakfast, he had to explain to everyone that Hermione was suffering from a terrible bout of morning sickness and was unable to make it, and was luckily handed a plate of breakfast for her by Jean (who also suggested that if Hermione's morning sickness was as bad as it was now on a regular basis, that she might need to go to hospital – but Draco was sure that she was fine), instead of him having to guess what her favourites and least favourite foods were. Furthermore, because it was set out like a buffet, he was able to pile it up with other things that he deemed to be her cravings, as well being able to speak to her family unhindered. He was much better by himself when it came to socialising – especially without the criticisms of Granger. He liked to think of himself as a free spirit.
Their dining room was nothing like the one back in Malfoy Manor. Absolutely everyone in this house sat together in this dining room and ate their breakfast, not in silence – oh, no – but with warm chatter, as if it was back in Hogwarts. (Or, Fettes, he reminded himself.) This dining room was blue and white and silver, so light and blue that it looked as if it was supposed to be in an apartment that overlooked the coast; Malfoy Manor's, in comparison, looked as if it belonged in a castle high up in the mountains or woods, one that was occupied by a vampire that everyone feared and never visited. Still, at least his manor's dining room made it clear that they were of a nobility and wealthy, whereas this, despite its exquisite nature, looked as if it had been desperately decorated with the intention of being casual.
He spotted Henry sitting at the head of the table, talking to other men that must've been cousins or his brothers, with a vacant seat by him, and moved to take it. However, an arm locked with his, and he looked down to see Lauren steering him away, to seats that were left unoccupied on the opposite end of the table to Henry.
"Let's sit together," she said. Draco would've rebutted her, but he thought that to keep to his promise of the angelic boyfriend, it'd be in his interests to avoid Henry as often as possible, for as long as destiny allowed him to.
"If you're trying to make a move on your cousin's boyfriend, I'd politely ask you to reconsider," he said, slipping into the plush chair opposite her. "When someone's pregnant, it's past the point of reconsidering the relationship."
Lauren rolled her eyes, cutting into her eggs and bacon. "I never actually thought that Hermione would ever get with someone like you," she told him. "It's strange to even think about it in a hypothetical situation."
"What's wrong with me?" His eyebrows furrowed. "You don't even know me. I'm a wonderful person."
"When someone says 'you don't even know me' it's usually because they have issues. Or they're a douchebag needing excuses." She looked at him critically again, and shrugged her shoulders lazily. "I think you're both, for once."
"I don't have issues," he muttered.
"Only a girl would refer to a dress as 'periwinkle blue'"," she stated. "Could you even tell periwinkle blue from any other shade of blue?" She chewed her food ponderously. "Also: who the fuck has an owl as a pet? Who has an eagle owl in England?"
He ignored her and the further digs at Hercules. "Was there a real reason why you wanted to sit with me?"
"I just want to find the attributes that somehow attracted Hermione to you." Her eyes slid to his hands and the way he chewed his food, watching him all too intensely, looking for mistakes or inconsistencies – anything that she could use to indulge her image of him. He was suddenly too aware of what he was doing and how he moved, anxious that he didn't know how he was supposed to behave in this situation. Draco tried not to let it get to him – or, at least, tried not to show that it was affecting him.
"That it? I could tell you that."
"No thank you," she said airily. "You seem like an unreliable opinion – and, like I said, a douchebag. I'd much rather make the decisions myself."
"So ask Hermione." He picked up his coffee – not quite the Starbucks latte that he had gotten practically every morning for the past few years, but it'd had to do – and sipped the hot liquid.
"Can't. She's busy throwing up in your room. Besides, she seems embarrassed by you."
Draco almost choked on his coffee, a bright red flush crawling up his neck. He set his coffee down abruptly and cleared his throat; suddenly he wanted Hermione to be here and restrain her cousin. "Maybe she's embarrassed by you. Are you always like this?"
"I'm a Granger," she retorted.
He lowered an eyebrow. "Really. Fascinating."
Just as Lauren was about to retort, someone moved into the chair next to her and so ended their discussion – or whatever it was. Draco watched him curiously as he had a much nicer, friendlier conversation with Lauren than she had ever had with him, and continued to eat his breakfast unhindered.
The man was slouched in his chair, but seemed to be a few inches taller than himself. His face was soft and stubbly, and his blond hair – darker than Draco's by far, and more of a light brown than blond – was unkempt and unprofessional, as if he had just rolled out of bed and didn't care about presenting himself. Even his clothes – a wrinkly t-shirt of some Muggle band and skinny denim jeans like the ones Hermione had made him wear yesterday – weren't quite up to the standard as everyone else.
"And," he said suddenly, turning to Draco with a smile, "you must be Hermione's fiancé." Lauren scoffed, but he still held out his hand for Draco to shake. "Nice to meet you. What was your name again?"
He wiped his hands on a napkin and took the man's hand, giving it one firm shake. "Her boyfriend," he corrected. It still didn't sound good. "Draco Malfoy. And you are…?"
"Her publishing boss – and father of her child, I hear," he countered, swivelling in his chair to face Draco head-on. One eye was a watery blue while the other was greener; Draco had never seen anything like it and couldn't help but stare. He smiled again. "I'm Adam Dawson."
"Adam," Lauren chimed in, with a sly look at Draco, "is Hermione's ex-boyfriend."
Draco blinked as a light blush crawled up Adam's neck. "Really, there's nothing to be threatened by if she's having a child with you. That's like, huge."
He tried to fake a smile. "Hermione's never mentioned you." He laughed in attempt at casualness, but it sounded more like someone had winded him. "I thought there was only ever Ronald Weasley."
"Exactly," Adam said. "So there's nothing to envy. We're good, right?"
"Right," he lied. This was just another threat that could expose the invalidity of their relationship, and he had to watch him carefully. "You knew about Ronald Weasley, right? And he…knew about you?"
He huffed, as if he was frustrated, but he continued to smile. "I've met him once or twice when they were dating. And before." He shrugged lazily. "Hermione doesn't like to mix her two lives together."
Draco nodded slowly. "I know," he lied again. Though, it wasn't really much of a lie; it was obvious that she didn't mix her two lives together from the fact that he never knew about this. "I'm lucky to be a part of both ends."
Adam bobbed his head and said, "That really is something to be proud of. You really must be The One". They fell silent after that, Adam turning back around to continue his conversation with Lauren, who was still watching Draco suspiciously, and he going back to quickly finishing his breakfast. He had taken longer than he had wanted to finish it, and it was impractical – he knew – to leave Hermione with a vomiting curse for that long.
Luckily, by the time he had gotten back to the bedroom, Hermione hadn't passed out and choked on her own vomit.
He released her from the curses as soon as his foot passed the threshold (after he checked that no one was around that would've noticed the suspicious and sudden cease to her 'morning sickness'), and he heard her begin her tired rants at him for making her endure that. Yes, it was an assault, he agreed, and he was regretful that she had to endure that for as long as she had – "but look at you! You're a real trooper, Hermione. You are at one with motherhood" – yet this was what she had to have expected by letting him take control of their pregnancy claims. Would he do it again? Was that a request, he asked her, or an actual question. She didn't think that he was funny, but grudgingly accepted that it would happen again if someone showed up at their door in the morning; although, maybe he'd keep it on for a much shorter amount of time.
"Maybe you could just get drunk every night," Draco had suggested. "Then in the morning when you're throwing up it can be passed off as morning sickness."
"And how am I supposed to get drunk when I'm not supposed to be drinking alcohol?" She retorted snidely, scarfing down the breakfast that Draco had brought her. "Also: wouldn't the room just smell of alcohol if I did?"
He shrugged. "You could stick your fingers down your throat."
"God, no."
"Well then, it's the curse or you actually get pregnant. Your pick."
She ignored him and continued to eat the breakfast that he had brought her; she was rather impressed that he had apparently chosen all her favourites and she ate it as if she had been starved for a few days.
He stretched languidly in the armchair, watching Hermione from half-closed eyes as she sat cross-legged on the bed. "I met Adam Dawson at breakfast. How come you didn't tell me about him, darling?"
"Oh yeah?" She said uninterestedly. "What did you think of him?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Not my type," he said. Hermione snorted. "He's shabby. And smiles too much."
"Not quite the 'proper' gentleman you were expecting then," she said. She gave him a knowing look, taking a bite out of her buttered toast. "Did you expect him to be much like yourself?"
"I wasn't expecting anything," he sniffed. "You never even told me about him."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you about him now if it bothers you this much," she said.
Draco opened his eyes and frowned. "It doesn't bother me," he said. "It was just a surprise that I don't even know about all my girlfriend's ex-boyfriends. There's all these things that I don't know about you and we have to convince people that we're together – and having a child."
"I said I'll tell you about Adam now, if you want. There's no need to be so frustrated or infuriated about it – you could have just asked."
"I don't want to know about him," he stressed, pressing a hand into his forehead. "I just want to know why there's still things that you haven't told me."
She laughed in a relatively cold manner. "We're not friends, Draco," she said.
His mouth hardened. "No. We're partners." He slouched in his chair. "We've always been partners, pet. You know all about me."
Hermione had thought that he didn't know that she was lying on the train. "That's because you love to talk about yourself all the time."
"And you don't." It was more of a question than a statement.
She smiled wryly. "Maybe you know me better than I thought." At his insistent and deadpan look, Hermione was reminded of last night, when they had dutifully compromised to make this work for each other. She didn't want to owe him – not in this whole circumstance, which was his fault – but she had to. She sighed. "If you had known about my life here, you'd begin questioning me about why I'm working for you and in a publishing company away from home – and I don't want to answer those questions."
"So, basically," Draco said, "you think that I am – or would be - as bad as your father."
"Are you saying that you wouldn't ask those questions?"
He thought for a moment, then sharply nodded his head. "Yes."
She set down her buttered toast on the plate, and looked at him carefully. "Alright," she said after a few seconds. "What would you say?"
"So," he said, "you're rich-"
"My parents are rich-" She cut in.
"So, your parents are rich - why are you working at all? I mean, I understood why you were applying for my assistant before I knew about this, but now, I don't understand."
She considered his question for a moment then said, "Why did you abandon Malfoy Manor and sell your father's business?"
He pressed his tongue against his cheek. "This isn't about me."
"For once." She picked up her toast again and took another bite out of it, all the while watching him carefully. "If you won't answer my question, I won't answer yours."
His lip curled. "I already know your answer to my question," he stated. "So this deal you tried to create is already over."
She smirked. "So why did you ask?"
"Hey, Hermione. Hey."
Draco bit his tongue; he had thought Adam had left ages ago, but maybe he was just hanging around until he saw Hermione. She relaxed in his arms and broke away before he could catch her, to pull Adam down into an embrace.
"Hey. Hey. Adam."
Draco rolled his eyes; was this their couple thing? He thought it was disgusting and stupid and was decidedly going to stay in the background of their reunion until they were done and he and Hermione could continue to do what they had planned, but when Adam lifted her up, a warning of "careful", slipped from his mouth. They looked at him, and Draco had to offer a hesitant smile.
"Of course," Adam said seriously, setting her gently down. His hand moved towards her as if it was going to press against her stomach, but with another look at Draco, he brought it back to his side. When he spoke again, his voice seemed strained. "Congratulations on the baby, Hermione. You're really glowing."
Hermione took Draco's hand and moved back to his side, complaining that they both thought that she was made of glass now that she was pregnant. "Glowing?" She asked.
He scratched the back of his head. "I, uh – I've heard that pregnant women "glow"."
"Oh." They both shared a curious look, one that knew of the ridiculousness of the compliment. "Thank you," she said, turning back to Adam and smiling. "That's very kind."
He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and shrugged lazily. "So are you – enjoying it? Being pregnant." He paused, and Hermione was about to answer, but he suddenly continued and she looked to the floor in embarrassment. "How far along are you? No one seems to have been told."
Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had been asking about Hermione and her baby, and Adam hadn't thought to have inquired about it to him when they spoke at breakfast. He thought it was strange that an ex-boyfriend would be so interested in his ex-girlfriend's new life and child, but maybe it really wasn't. Maybe he was just friendly; they did seem to have been friends. Still, Draco felt rather threatened.
"I'm 3 weeks along," she blurted. She laughed nervously, which sounded more like a rush of air leaving her mouth.
Adam's eyes quickly flickered down to her stomach and then back up to her face. He smiled. "Wow," he said. "That's amazing. That's so early on. When do you start having a-," he curved his hand over his own flat stomach, "bump?"
They both blinked. This was exactly the sort of problems that Hermione was talking about last night, and now they were caught, obvious to everyone that they had no idea what was going on. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "This baby came as a sort of surprise. We're both horribly unprepared, but we're both really happy."
"We still have loads of time to prepare for its birth," Draco said defensively. "And we're going out today to pick up some pregnancy books."
"This wasn't planned?" Adam said, surprised. His eyebrows pulled down and he seemed concerned, the first time that Draco had seen him anything less than smiley since they met. "And you're not even married, I hear."
Hermione pressed her hand to her face and closed her eyes, and he looked between her and Adam, confused about what was happening. He'd understand it if Adam was a part of her family, or if he was obviously of a middle or upper class descent – but he wasn't, or didn't seem to be. "Not this, please."
His face became less taut, and he took a step towards the both of them, pleading her name, but Hermione sidestepped him and bid him goodbye ("we really must be going. I don't have time for whatever this was going to be") as she and Draco exited out the front door.