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Chapter 9
"How'd it go?" Draco asked when Hermione returned to her flat a little over an hour after leaving it.
She quietly entered what was to be the nursery and observed his work. The light oak-colored crib rested against the far wall, adjacent to the window. The changing table was on the opposite side of the room, and Draco was currently working on putting together a matching rocking chair.
"Wow, you've gotten a lot done," she observed, running her hand over the bite marks he'd told her about earlier.
"I thought about changing the paint color, but figured you'd have my head for it," he replied, testing the chair's rocking capabilities.
Hermione smiled and walked over to hug him. "As long as it isn't Chudley Cannon orange," she said, relaxing for the first time all day once his arms were around her. "I was thinking a nice, light purple would look good in here."
"Lavender?" he jokingly suggested.
"I hate you," she laughed. Pulling out of his embrace, she fingered the rocking chair. "This is a new addition. Was it Scor's as well?"
Draco shook his head. "Mine actually," she replied. "My mother, well so she says, used to rock me to sleep every night in this chair. She always claimed I slept through the night because of it. Anyhow, she, or should I say the elves, were recently doing a bit of spring cleaning and came across it."
"It's perfect," she replied, kissing his cheek. "Thank you so much, for all of it."
Nodding, he asked, "Will you tell me how it went now?"
Sighing, Hermione shook her head and exited the nursery. She quietly moved past the living room where Scorpius lay asleep on her sofa, and entered the kitchen. And all the while, Draco was on her heels. Neither spoke as busied herself with making tea and slicing a pound cake Molly had sent home with her. But soon there was nothing else to do but face Draco.
"Ron's really not happy," she finally said. "He's afraid that if you're involved in his child's life, she'll turn into a Death Eater. Because thus far he's been so extremely involved."
Draco watched intently as she pushed the cake from one corner of the plate to the other. Reaching out a hand, he halted her movements. "Please don't get mad at me for playing devil's advocate right now," he started. The suspicious glare she shot his way suddenly made him nervous to continue, but he soldiered on. "Do you think it's at all possible that you're maybe, perhaps, not giving him the opportunity to be involved?"
Hermione wrenched her hand away from his and fumed. "I have given him every opportunity," she claimed. "I've told him about appointments with the healers. I've mentioned fixing up the nursery. Not once has he asked if there's anything he can do to help. He hasn't even asked if I know the sex or picked a name. He hasn't asked about check-ups or if I need help. So don't tell me I haven't tried to let him be a part of this!"
He held up his hands in surrender and muttered a less than heartfelt apology. "I understand his work schedule is hectic," he said calmly. "Maybe if you talk to him, tell him you want him to be more involved, things will get better."
Hermione felt one, traitorous tear slip down her cheek as he spoke. Her fear was, as irrational as it may be, that by gaining one she would lose the other. While Ron was her daughter's father, Draco had become her rock, her support. They'd never been friends before, but her pregnancy seemed to be the thing that brought them together. It was more than she could say for Ron and herself.
"I'm sure you think I'm crazy and hormonal and just flat out stupid, but I'm scared, Draco," she admitted. "I trust Ron to know the score of every Quidditch game. I trust him to do his job as an Auror well. I trust that once a week, he and George will get into an argument and he'll threaten to quit the joke shop. But raising a child? With me? I'm not so certain about that."
"And yet you trust me," he added softly.
Hermione shrugged. "You've been here this whole time," she replied simply as she reached for his hand. "I haven't forgotten who you were, Draco, but I know who you are now. Well, at least I think I do. And I like who I see. The boy I grew up with is such a far cry from the man you are now."
Pulling on her hand, he rose from his seat and directed her to do the same. Without relinquishing his hold on her hand, he wound his other arm around her waist and held her close. "I'm not going anywhere, Hermione," he vowed, relinquishing his hold on her hand now to let it join his other. "Not until you tell me to. Even then I might not be able to stay away."
Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder while the other cupped his cheek. "I don't want you to leave," she whispered. Balancing on the balls of her feet, she pressed her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss, one neither wanted to break this time.
It wasn't love, not yet, that they felt, but it was something close. Companionship was something they both longed for, and found it in the other. It felt natural to be in Draco's arms, to feel his touch, to kiss him. It was a small sliver of stability, and Hermione craved it.
It wasn't until the kitchen door swung open that they parted. Scorpius looked hesitantly from his father to the woman in his arms. His sleepy eyes soon registered the scene before him, and he smiled widely.
"Daddy?" he asked hopefully.
Laughing, Draco pulled out of Hermione's embrace and crossed the room to kneel before his son. "Be cool, little buddy," he advised, his voice just above a whisper. "We don't want to scare her off, do we?"
The little boy shook his head knowingly and received a smile in return. Wrapping his arms around Draco's neck, Scorpius was lifted up as Draco returned to his normal height. Father and son rejoined Hermione, who smiled warmly at them.
"Mimi, can we keep you?" Scorpius asked as she rubbed his back softly.
Wide-eyed, Hermione stared at Draco who seemed to grimace upon hearing his son's question. Taking a step closer, she kissed the little boy's rounded cheek. "I think I'd like that," she told him.
