A/N: Well...I'm back! Sorry for the like, four month hiatus. Things got crazy busy. Having two jobs is no bueno. I'd also like to point out that I stayed up until six in the morning to finish this. I'm so exhausted. Hopefully I caught all of my spelling/grammatical errors, because I noticed I was making a ton of them due to said exhaustion.

ANYWAYS. Enjoy reading, and I'm so excited to be back. :)

It was really, very white. The walls were white, the linoleum floors were white, and even the hard, plastic, and extremely comfortable chairs were white. That much white makes me uneasy, as does the general smell of hospitals, and at that moment I was an anxious mess. I still associated hospitals with the blood and death after the battle at St. Mungo's, and even though the reason I was here was the complete opposite of death, the person sitting next to me had to put his hand over my clasped, shaking ones in an attempt to calm me.

"Hermione. It's just an appointment," Harry said under his breath, stretching his legs out as he smiled reassuringly to the couple sitting across from us. They looked like they thought I was about to get a death sentence. I couldn't blame them.

I sighed, and looked pointedly at him. "I know! These places just unnerve me now, and I don't understand how you're all right as rain, especially after you-know-what," I whispered, shoving his hand back onto his lap. Harry had gotten a bad case of post-traumatic stress disorder a few months after the battle, and he had spent a good month and a half in the same ward as Gilderoy Lockhart. The healers there thought it had been aftershocks from the power of the duel he had with Lord Voldemort, but I knew that wasn't the case. I sneaked him off to psychiatrists as much as possible to get a decent diagnosis, and it seemed so obvious when it was revealed to us what he had. But, Harry made me vow to him to never speak of those few months to anyone. I told him he shouldn't be ashamed, that so many people go through it, but he wouldn't have any of it. It disappoints me a little, because I know he harbors a lot of that anguish today.

"This isn't the same," he huffed, leaning back into his seat, and I followed suit. Crossing my arms below my breast, I shifted forward, trying to get the soreness of my constantly stretching abdominal muscles to dissipate. Which, just like my exhaustion and constant hunger despite having no appetite, never, ever went away.

I miss sleeping all through the night more than anything.

"Miss Granger?" The nurse, called out from the open doorway, and I slapped Harry's thigh with the back of my hand as I stood up, indicating that he should follow me.

Other than an awkward mishap involving the doctor believing Harry was the father, the appointment went perfectly. In the car on the way to my parents' house for lunch, I kept flicking through the photos from the scan, my fingers tracing over the blurry outline of my child. Dainty little nose, high forehead, pronounced chin...I knew this one would be a spitting image of Lucius. And that made me hurt a little more.

"Shame we couldn't have found out the gender," Harry said, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his thigh. "It was being a bit shy."

"I know", I said, smiling, "I don't think I would have wanted to know, though."

Harry scoffed. "Why not? Much easier to, you know, plan things."

Much easier to envision my life with a miniature Lucius, or a miniature of myself. Both of which I couldn't handle. I realized that this was quite the opposite of what I would have done if this had been in a better point in my life. I love planning more than anything. I was just heartbroken when those homework planners I had gotten for Harry and Ron during our school years weren't used to their fullest extent.

Considering how completely unplanned this situation was, I figured it was best to just leave it at that.

"You still want to drop by your mum's?" He asked, before changing lanes, speeding past the car that was in front of us, and switching gears. All the while in the middle of a swearing marathon.

"Yes, if you don't mind killing us before then," I said, with a sweet smile on my face.

Harry let out a sarcastic laugh. "Very funny," he commented.

"By the way, when was the last time you shaved?" I asked, reaching over to rub my hand against his possibly three-day stubble.

"Luna likes it," he said, smiling.

A smirk grew on my face. "Oh, I see."

"God, Hermione, don't," he chuckled.

"I just never took Luna for the scruffy type," I said, leaning against the door.

Harry took a left turn down the street I grew up on. "Yeah, well, she's nice." An uncomfortable look was gracing his face.

"Harry. We don't have to skirt around the fact that she's a crazy little minx in bed-"

"Hermione!" He yelled in a moment of sheer panic.

I bit my tongue in between my front teeth, holding back laughter from Harry's obvious discomfort. He exhaled loudly through his nose, something he always did when he was nervous, and he pulled up in front of my childhood home.

"Harry. It's just my parents," I said.

He opened his door and got out without saying anything, and went round to open my door. "I know that, I'm just nervous they're going to ask me something, er, bad," he said as he extended his hand, helping me out. I had stuffed the pictures into the front pocket of my bag, which was slung over my shoulder. Our feet crunched in the untouched snow, and I saw my mother pull back the lacy curtains in the front room. She waved enthusiastically.

"Like what? 'Oh, just wondering if my dear Hermione has been shagging one of Voldemort's followers.'"

"When did you become so nonchalant about this?" He fretted.

I gave him a small, closed-lipped smile before my mother whipped the front door open. "Goodness, Harry, it's been so long since we've seen you," my mother trilled before enveloping him in a hug. My parents hadn't seen him since before the war. He works more than I do, and I've been nothing more than proud. It was a miracle he was able to take this afternoon off, and for that, I was grateful.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he chuckled, and I followed him in.

I shrugged my coat off and laid it over the back of my dad's armchair, and watched as my mother pulled Harry's off and lay it on top of my own. It smelled of cinnamon and warmth and home, and at that moment I was so thankful that their memory charms had worn off soon after the war. I don't think I had cried out of pure joy that much before. When I had put the charm on them, I hadn't intended to live past that Christmas, but here I was. Here they were.

"Darling, look how big you're getting!" My mother exclaimed, rubbing her hand across my belly.

I smiled. "Oh, I have these for you," I said, quickly sliding my hand in the pocket of my bag, grabbing all but one picture.

My mother practically squealed. As she awed and cooed over the pictures over what would hopefully be her only grandchild, Harry helped me fix up the tea tray. And by that I mean he just pulled some biscuits out of its container and placed them on a plate.

"Where's dad?" I asked, interrupting my mother's impending tears.

"Oh, um, he had to swing by the office. A little girl got too close to her father while he was playing cricket, and you can guess what happened," she responded, waving her hand around in mid-air.

Harry looked immensely relieved. "It's just my dad," I whispered as I poured the tea into three dainty, flowery cups.

"I don't do well with dads," he replied simply. It was probably for the best that mine wasn't here, Harry did have a tendency of saying everything that came to his head when he was in an uncomfortable situation. My parents still had no idea the father was a forty-something ex-Death Eater whose son went to school with me. I love Harry dearly, but if he had let any of that slip just yet I would have murdered him in his sleep.

As I set down everything onto the table, I saw that mischievous glint in my mother's eye. I knew she was about to say something to make us squirm in our seats.

"So, you two have been spending a lot of time together," she pointed out, picking a chocolate biscuit up from the tray Harry had fixed up.

"Oh, er, I have a girlfriend, Mrs. Granger," Harry replied before I could get there.

My mother waved it off. As usual. "Oh, I know. It's just it seems that the father doesn't want much to do with you or the baby, I thought maybe-"

"Mother!" I interjected, my eyebrows raised in complete astonishment. Harry and I made eye contact, very strained eye contact.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I just think it's a little bit strange he hasn't showed his face yet," she said, a little nonchalantly.

Harry grabbed my hand underneath the table. It calmed me instantly. "Mum," I sighed, "a very select few actually know of my pregnancy, and only two people know who the father really is. Neither of us can afford the attention it will bring to us."

"Bad attention," Harry added, and I pushed back the instinct to dig my nails into his palm.

My mother cleared her throat, set down her tea, and began to stand. "It's not you. I want you to know, I want you to meet him, but right now...it's just not the right time. We're not in the right place. Figuratively."

The rest of the two hours we spent there was quite strained. Harry kept the conversation going quite well, explaining in detail what exactly Aurors do, and some of his best tales from his tour of Easter Europe hunting down any remaining Death Eaters. He was gone for nearly half a year.

Finally, we left, and I had given my mother a hug that lasted quite a bit longer than any of the normal ones. I felt so guilty and she was so stone-faced about it. I didn't know what would happen over Christmas, as I figured it would probably be the next time I saw her.

Harry drove us back to Grimmauld Place where he had been living since moving out on his own, and I said a quick hullo to Luna before using his floo to get back to my own apartment. I was exhausted, and I figured I might as well attempt an afternoon nap. When I arrived, Crooks immediately began rubbing against my legs, his ginger fur getting absolutely everywhere.

"Crooks," I clucked, and shuffled back to my bedroom with just enough time to pull my jeans off and crawl under the duvet. Sleep came to me quickly.

–

I awoke suddenly, a rather irritating fluttering going non-stop in my abdomen. I groaned, and turned over onto my right side, hoping that would be a more comfortable position for him. Her. Whatever it was.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly, and finally, I noticed a small scrap of parchment atop the pillow next to me. I was panicking slightly, and hastily reached over to my nightstand to grab my wand, muttering 'lumos.'

The scrawl on the parchment was definitely feminine. Deep blue ink, heavy loops on the L's and Y's. I had never seen this handwriting before in my life.

Tom at the Leaky Cauldron has a portkey for you to use. It goes off at half-past six. Please use it, I have valuable information regarding you and Lucius.

-G

I read the note countless times. G? It certainly wasn't Ginny, she never wrote in cursive. Finally I managed to roll over to check the time, and it was nineteen past six. Shit.

I scurried through the apartment, hurriedly pulling my jeans on and grabbing my coat and bag. Banging my knee against the books that were precariously hanging off the edge of my coffee table, I turned around to attempt to catch them, but I realized I was wasting time. Those books could sit on the floor for a few hours. It's not that bothersome. I practically sprinted down the street I lived on, turned the corner, and ran down the main corridor of Diagon Alley. I dismissed everyone's strange looks. Normally I would be so cautious about this, but this woman seemed genuine, in a helpful way. I hoped so badly she would have something good to say.

The bar was quite full today, nearly each seat was full. I made eye contact with Tom, and he beckoned me over.

"Should I be worried?" I asked as he handed me a key with the number 15 pressed into the brass.

He shook his head. "Not at all, Miss Hermione. Fifteen is up on the first floor, right next to the staircase. There's a newspaper up there that might strike your fancy," he added, eyebrows wagging.

I smiled and deposited a few sickles onto the wooden bar top and dashed up the stairs before he could refuse.

There was a newspaper folded on top of the moth-worn quilt that lay over the bed. The date on it was the sixth of December. Yesterday. She had clearly planned this out quite in advance. I sighed loudly before I reached out and barely grazed the paper with my forefinger, and it sucked me in instantly. I was being pulled, pressed, yanked in every which way, and finally, I landed quite softly into a few inches of snow.

Great. All I needed now was to be soaking wet and freezing.

I stood up and wiped the excess white powder off my legs and looked around. I was in a maze of hedges. Which were miraculously still green. Definitely the product of magic.

"Hermione?" I heard a voice call out. It was soft, feminine, but very determined. It was only slightly familiar to me and there was a tight tug of panic in my chest.

I sucked in a breath. "Yes?" I called out, my voice shaking.

My surroundings were pretty dense. I had no idea where I was or how to get out of these hedges. How lovely.

"Just keep talking to me, I'm getting close," the woman yelled, and I could hear her feet crunching through the snow.

I hadn't put proper shoes on when I left, and I could feel the cold wetness seeping into the fabric. "Is there any particular reason you deposited me in six inches of snow?" I retorted, bouncing my heels.

I heard her laugh momentarily. "I apologize for that. I've never actually made a portkey before, so I figured some of the logistics would be a little off," she said, and finally I saw the little light emitting from her wand.

Her figure appeared before me as she rounded the corner, and her face was slightly blinded by the light of her wand. "Didn't do so bad, though. At least you actually landed on the grounds!" She jested, and my heart nearly dropped to my feet when she lowered her wand.

"Astoria!" I exclaimed, walking towards her.

She sheepishly wrung her hands in front of her. "Sorry I couldn't actually tell you who I was, but it was for obvious reasons," she said before she began making her trek back. I followed her close behind. The Manor made its appearance soon after, its lit spires growing closer and closer.

I was having trouble keeping up with her long strides and had to practically hop through the snow. "Oh," I said, breathless, "what obvious reasons?"

"You never would have come if I revealed to you who I was," she said plainly. Right. Of course I wouldn't have.

Snow began to fall once more. It was freezing outside. Baby was fluttering around again. I was about to come face to face with Lucius. Just a terrible night in general.

We finally reached a back entrance to the Manor, and I watched as Astoria kicked her boots off in such an ungraceful manner. It was rather fascinating. Here she was, the face of classic beauty, leaving her boots unceremoniously on the back porch, cold sweat on her brow, hair pulled back into a ponytail that was clearly on its last leg.

The entrance was into the kitchens. Astoria flicked her wand lazily towards me, and the warm wafting of air instantly dried me.

"Mr. Malfoy is up in his office, I believe. He knows you're coming," she said, walking me to the main entrance of the house since I had never ventured into the kitchens.

As I paused at the foot of the staircase, she put her hand on my arm. "I'll be up in half an hour," she said.

I furrowed my brows. "What for?"

"I had a plan," she smiled mischievously. I didn't enjoy it.

It was like déjà vu. My gut twisted around as I ascended the stairs and glanced towards his office. His door was wide open, and light was pouring from the opening. My feet padded lightly over the rug that ran through the whole hallway, and when I reached the doorway, my hand clutched at the wooden frame in an attempt to steady myself.

"Miss Granger, I can see your fingers," his voice drawled out, and I snapped my hand back immediately. Fuck. He already had control of this conversation.

I hesitantly stepped through the passageway, and I could feel his eyes sweeping their way over me. It felt like the pierced my flesh. I hated it.

He was seated at his desk, just like the last time, and didn't even bother to greet me. Just like last time.

"I believe we have some things to discuss," he said, certain. I had no idea what these things were, but maybe it could help us get better at being together. Not being together in that sense, but doing things together. Parenting things, not sexual things. Sexual things are done. Gone. Finished.

"Yes," I said, my voice hitching in my throat. "I think we do."

A/N: Sorry to cut off there, I figured you guys would want something sooner as opposed to later. If there's any Downton Abbey fans out there, I totally imagined Astoria to look like Lady Sybil for some reason. And also, please go vote in my poll on my profile. It's actually pretty close so it would help immensely if I had more people vote.

Thanks for reading! And please review if you have the time and means to do so :)

Bailey