Chapter 9
Draco returned home while Hermione made dinner. His nose had led him to the kitchen, and he sighed happily after a deep inhale of the delicious scent. She remained quiet as she mashed potatoes and checked the chicken baking in the oven. He watched her move to the refrigerator to pull out salad fixings.
"I'll do it," he volunteered, taking the vegetables from her. After washing the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers, he stationed himself at the counter beside the stove. "Does it hurt?" he asked, breaking the lettuce into mouth-sized bits.
"What?" she asked, eyeing him quizzically.
He gestured toward her stomach. "Being pregnant," he clarified. "Does it hurt?"
She touched her stomach as she felt her baby kick. "Sometimes," she admitted. "It was worse with Ana. Everything hurt, it was hard to move around, and she had the most powerful kick. She did it so hard once that you rushed me to the hospital to make sure she hadn't ruptured something."
They resumed their dinner preparations in silence. When the salad was finished, he set the table, exploring each cabinet as he went. "I went to see Jensen today," he said breezily as he pulled two drink glasses from the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator. "She talked about hypnotizing me. I guess she thinks it'll get my memories back."
"Could be worth a try," Hermione agreed, groaning as she bent down to remove the chicken from the oven. Setting the glasses down on the counter, he helped her stand and pulled the pan out himself.
"She also suggested that I be nicer to you," he added, a blush coloring his cheeks at his admission.
"Don't worry about that," she replied. "I'd rather you be nice to me because you want to. Not because the healer told you to."
He placed the hot pan down on top of the stove and scoffed at her. "So, you'd rather I continue being a complete git?" he asked. "That would make you happier?"
"Than you pretending that you can stand me? Yes," she replied, louder than necessary. "Around Ana or friends or whoever, I guess it wouldn't hurt to be nicer. But I don't want some fake version of you, Draco. I don't want to wonder if you're being kind to me because that's how you really feel or if you're doing it because you think it's what you're supposed to do. I spent enough years knowing how much you hated me. I can live through it again."
Untying her apron, she threw it down on the nearest chair and left the kitchen. Draco stared at the kitchen door, startled by her reaction. Since waking up from the coma, he'd been rude and surly toward her, accusing her of heinous things because his memories told him they were so. He hadn't expected to receive carte blanche to continue this behavior.
He advanced toward the door, but stopped just feet short of it. Was he supposed to go after her? Should he have apologized, or tried to convince her that he wanted to be nicer? Did he really want to be nice to her, though? Despite protests, he wasn't entirely convinced that she hadn't played a part in his parents' death. Nor was he sure that she and Blaise hadn't had an affair. The memories were in his mind, so they must be true.
Before he could make up his mind to go after her, the kitchen door opened and Ana ran to him. "Love me, Daddy?" she asked when he'd hoisted her up so they were almost eye level.
"I do," he replied honestly and without hesitation.
But she wasn't pleased. "That's not what you say," she told him with a frown.
His frown matched hers. "What do I say?" he wondered.
Her little hands rested on his cheeks. "You say 'forever and ever I do'," she replied. He repeated her words and received a kiss from his little girl. "Better, Daddy."
"Do you love me?" he asked, happy for the affection he felt for her.
"Always and always," was her trademark answer. "Eat now?"
Draco looked to the stove where their dinner sat, not yet growing cold. "We should wait for your mum," he decided, glancing back toward the door in hopes that she would soon return.
"Her tummy hurts," Ana informed him. "Her not coming."
Draco put her down in her seat and quietly began to serve dinner. But he hardly touched his portion. His eyes lingered on the door as Ana ate and told him about her day at the Weasleys' house. She was lively and animated, giggling delightedly as she recalled something funny that Potter's son had said to her. But he was too distracted to listen to most of it. Finally, she finished and excused herself from the table.
He rose to clean off the table, and spotted Hermione's empty plate beside him. The dirty dishes forgotten, he grabbed the plate and began to fill it for her. He took the stairs to the master bedroom slowly, fearful that he may drop her dinner. The door was ajar and he used his foot to push it open just enough for him to slip in.
"Thought you might be hungry," he said nervously, setting the plate down on the vanity. A thick document folder hid her face from his view, and at the sound of his voice, she jumped and closed it quickly.
"Thanks," she replied, slipping the folder into the top drawer. He had to look closely, but he was sure he saw her mutter a spell to lock it. She eyed him as she ate a small forkful of mashed potatoes. "Please stop watching me eat," she requested, placing the fork back on the plate.
Draco laughed to cover his embarrassment. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just...I wanted to say I'm sorry."
"For watching me eat?" she asked dubiously.
He shook his head and sat down at the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry that I don't know what really happened to me," he told her. "I wish I knew who I was after the war. I just...I want to remember something. Anything."
"You will," she promised. "Whatever it was you were experimenting on, Blaise is looking into it. In no time, he'll have a solution."
Draco nodded if only to confirm that he heard her. But he didn't believe her.
