Chapter XII:

The sun beat down on the stone mansion that managed to look a lot less intimidating than the one they'd just come from. It was smaller, for one thing. It looked a little more rustic and homey than like a foreboding base for You-Know-Who to rest and recuperate at. A little path bordered by bushes led to the front door, which Draco pulled open for her and allowed her to walk through first. The tour he gave her solidified her love for it. The wallpaper was lovely, the rooms were more modestly decorated, with a vibe a bit more like a holiday home than a fortress of evil. He had to pull white cloths off of a lot of the furniture, making her like it even more as it indicated that Lucius' presence hadn't infected the house in a long time, if ever. Draco paused in a room with bright green wallpaper. "This was my room," he gestured to the little bed that would in no way fit his frame today.

She chuckled. "How did I guess?"

He rolled his eyes in response, but then said, "I thought it could be the nursery." She told him she loved the idea. It was almost like giving the baby a family heirloom, which she wasn't sure Draco would be allowed to pass down when his father found out they'd gone. Speaking of...

"Where are we?" Hermione asked. "How are we sure your father won't find us?"

"Oh, he might be able to find us," Draco chuckled. "But he can't get in." He led her outside, where she could see that a rather large, but much smaller than the one she'd been in that morning, garden led down a path to the seaside. If it was winter it would be dark by now, but instead the sun was still high in the sky, glinting on the sea reflectively. She could practically hear a child's delighted shriek as they chased them back up to the house after a day playing on the sand and splashing each other in the water. "Cornwall," he answered for her, mirroring her smile. "When I was 17 it was passed over to me, and I've put up wards which will only allow apparition by our bloodline, henceforth." She turned to him, feeling ridiculously emotional. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and hug him, but she just thanked him instead. Not ready for that in any way. They settled down on deck chairs looking out at the scenery in a companionable silence and ate their chocolate eggs for dinner until they felt sick to the stomach, but simultaneously satisfied.

Of course, they couldn't live on Easter eggs forever. The next day they went down to the kitchen and Hermione taught Draco how to cook. Well, she taught him how to cook sausages, egg and beans. His repertoire wasn't going to be very extensive after one lesson, but he did prove able to master the singular dish, after nearly setting the kitchen on fire first! Narcissa owled to say that she'd be sending an elf to help them out in the summer anyway, so no need to worry. The whole few days were a magical, quiet experience free from the differences and the past separating them, and the looming long haired blond figure always hovering behind them. Nothing lasts forever though.

On the last day of half term Draco told her they needed to talk about his father. He said that even though they would no longer be living with him it didn't mean he was completely out of their lives. Honestly, he wasn't sure how involved he would want to be with a half-blood he couldn't control, but for one thing they would have to go through with the family photoshoot. Hermione scoffed at that, thinking he was joking, but no, he was dead serious. "I may not agree with all of my father's views but I care about my family's reputation. I'm going to help them- and so are you!"

"My child isn't going to be exploited by-"

"Our child!" He roared, getting up close to her face.

"Child!" She screamed back at him. "That's the word we should be focussed on."

"It's not going to be hurt it's just a bloody photo. It'll get him off our backs."

She frowned, hating to admit that he made sense. "Fine. One photoshoot."

She felt drained from the argument, more than she ever used to. But that was who they were. They fought. It wasn't the ideal atmosphere for a child, but at least they would learn to stand up for themselves?

It's wasn't the only argument of the day. As she was packing up she felt a presence behind her. "I-" she turned around when he didn't continue, raising an eyebrow. "I think we should talk about that night." Her heartbeat immediately picked up, her mouth becoming dry as she sat down on her bed so that her shaky legs didn't collapse under themselves. "We can't just pretend that it never happened, nor should we." That was exactly what she'd been doing. Pretending that she hated him for the plethora of other reasons he'd given. But she didn't.

He remained in the doorway, a good few feet away, not averting his eyes but not forcing her to look at him either. "I want to. Pretend," she clarified. "But you're right. I don't think any child should grow up under such tension."

He nodded. "It's not an excuse, but I'm sure that you could tell that I was drunk and-"

Sudden rage burnt in the pit of her stomach and roared out of her in indignation. "Of course it's not! Being out of control doesn't mean you can stop being human!" He hung his head but she felt no pity for the useless creature he resembled, jumping to her feet and slamming her hands into him, pushing him back into the wall opposite her room as she screamed "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Battering her fists against his chest, she heaved long panting breaths. "FIGHT! BACK!" He stumbled, but didn't move towards her despite not being immobilised like she'd been, so she let go, her hands hanging limply at her side, pain slowly beginning to bloom in them. Heat was building in her face too, so that she had to push her hair back from her face, not that it helped. The flames of her anger would not be extinguished so quickly.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I have a lot of issues. Too many to make you listen to me list them off." A short laugh broke free from her mouth. The statement was the truest she'd ever heard, and she knew about many of these issues already. He went into her room, provoking raised eyebrows again, until she realised he was getting her wand. That made her spring towards him, confused and panicked. But before she could ask what he was doing he handed it to her. "Hurt me. Go ahead." He said it with no fear, just dull acceptance. "Kill me, if you need to. I'm too damaged to be a good father. All I'm good for is protecting you and the baby from my father, but who am I kidding? Your Order friends can do that just as well as me."

"I'm not going to kill you," she said after a moment of silence. "Your life is worth more than just that."

"You shouldn't forgive me," he said determinedly.

She nodded. "I haven't. But I hope I will one day. It was wrong, and it was awful, and so were you," he nodded in agreement. "But people can change, and the most important thing is that you're a good father."

"I will never touch you again if that's what you want," he vowed.

"Let just see how things pan out," she replied. "But the first priority is this child. Always."

A couple of weeks after they returned to school they received the fantastic news that Fleur had had her baby! Right on time for her due date, she was born on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts so they named her Victoire. Things were so different than they had been a year ago. Better, of course, but weird, nonetheless. She remembered leaning on Harry and Ron afterwards and watching the Malfoys sitting silently together in the ensuing wreckage. She'd thought they were just feeling out of place in amongst those who had been their enemies the previous day, but now that she was one of them she thought that maybe there had just always been that uncomfortable dynamic between them. The thought made her pity them, she couldn't imagine growing up like that. Pitying the Malfoys! What a difference a year made.