Author's Note:

The 'not date' episode was written, but adding it here would slow the pace of the story, so I've decided to wait to post it up until after the last chapter of the fic, as sort of an aside for your amusement. It really doesn't impact the fic, and is more fan-service than anything else.

Now, not another update until after the next chappie of "When Love and Hate Collide", which is coming within the next week or two.

Early April, 2007

A few days after their 'not date', where she and Draco had talked, joked, and harmlessly flirted a bit, Hermione received a letter from her mother, requesting her to come home. Her father, it seemed, was having a bit of a difficult time throwing off a rather nasty illness and her mum thought it would be nice if she visited him to cheer his spirits. After all, she hadn't seen them since last September, and letters once a week just weren't the same thing.

An odd foreboding settled in at the too-lighthearted tone of her mother's note, and so Hermione made arrangements to leave on Friday night, after classes were finished.

"Be safe," Draco offered, as he saw her off at the Floo in the teacher's lounge. He took her hand and pressed it between his palms in a supportive, comforting manner. "Fire-call me if you need anything."

"I will," she promised him, her hand lingering in his for a moment longer than necessary, and then she pulled away and was off to the Leaky Cauldron in London.

A flash of green and one nauseating ride later, and she was spit out into an ancient stone fireplace that overlooked a room packed with wizards and witches dining and imbibing a bit after a hard day at work. After greeting Hannah Abbott, who was tending bar, Hermione made her way out the pub's front door and caught a Muggle taxi to Waterloo Station to catch the 5:50pm train to Sutton. Approximately forty minutes later, she arrived at the station. Another taxi ride, and suddenly she found herself standing outside her family's home.

Looking up at the dimly lit house from the kerb, that instinct that said something was wrong grew louder in her head. She hurried up the walk to the front door.

Her mother had the front door flung open and Hermione bundled up in a warm hug before she could raise her hand to the bell.

"Oh, my girl! How we've missed you!" her mother proclaimed, tears filling her eyes. She leaned back and took Hermione's face between her hands. "I'm so glad you've come!"

No matter the excitement of the moment, nothing got by her mother. The woman's eyes were like a hawk's, and her deductive reasoning as sharp as a knife's edge. The moment she noted her daughter's chubbier cheeks, Hermione knew her pregnancy secret was blown up.

Her mum's gaze dropped to Hermione's protruding belly, which had been hidden by glamour charms. "Oh." Her tears welled up and her mouth rounded with surprise. "Oh, my."

"Hi, Mum. I've missed you, too," Hermione said, exhausted from her journey. She'd never had issues with travelling distances before, but it seemed that had changed, too. "Can I come in?"

"What? Oh! Yes, of course! Come in, come in!" her mother ushered her into the house, took her coat and hung it on the peg by the door, and then sat down on the plush, grey sofa next to Hermione in the small, comfortable living room. "Something to drink, eat?" When Hermione waved her mum off, the woman turned to her and smiled. "Well, then…it seems you've some news for us."

Right to the point, that was her mother.

The apple didn't fall far from there tree, there.

"Um, yes." She waved the charm off her person and allowed her very visible pregnancy to be revealed. "Surprise! In about four more months, you'll be a grandmother."

The answer came not from in front of her, but from behind.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but did you say, 'green butter'?" her father asked, apparently haven gotten out of bed to come down to greet her. The tie of his robe was loosely done up, and his thinning hair was sticking up in all directions. The slight glazed look to his eyes and the waxiness of his skin told Hermione that he was fighting off a fever. "Why on earth would anyone possible eat such a thing? Can't be good for you."

With that, he fainted.

~.~.~

Muggle doctors were extremely procedural when dealing with foreign illness, specifically when it came to those which offered no antibiotic treatment.

"Hepatitis A?" Hermione looked between her mother and the physician. "But how on earth would he have caught such a thing?"

The doctor turned to her mother. "Mrs. Granger, have either of you been out of the country on holiday between the last two to eight weeks?"

Her mother sighed. "Yes, we've been cruise hopping fairly regularly since December. We've gone to the Caribbean, the Panama Canal, the Galapagos Islands, Central America, and just came back two weeks ago from Beijing to Jeju Island. Richard became ill a few days after our return."

The doctor nodded. "That explains it. Your husband obviously ate or drank something contaminated while you were out of country, most likely from your most recent trip, as symptoms generally begin to show within two weeks." He made a notation on his clip board, presumably with that information. "Fortunately, unlike Hep B or C, Hep A doesn't cause chronic liver disease. Unfortunately, there is no specific treatment or cure for Hep A. The most we can do is establish a strict nutrition schedule for him and to encourage him to drink more fluids to prevent dehydration. He will continue to vomit and suffer diarrhoea in the meantime, and it could take weeks or months before his system regulates itself once more. The fever " He paused, glancing back into the room where Hermione's father lay awake and aware in a hospital cot, attached to machines. "That concerns me at his age, but isn't irregular for the illness. We'll keep him overnight to monitor him and work to get that down, and then you can take him home, Mrs. Granger."

As her mother went into the hospital room to be with Hermione's father, Hermione stopped the doctor before he moved onto his next patient.

"Doctor, is there any risk of exposure to an unborn baby?" she asked, concerned for both her father and her child. "I'm five months along."

The doctor looked down at her belly and smiled. "No, Ms. Granger. Hep A is only contagious if you've consumed anything contaminated with the virus, or if the virus is injected directly into one's bloodstream. It's not airborne or passed through the skin by touch. Your baby is quite safe." He patted her arm and moved off, but turned at the last moment to caution her. "You may, however, want to caution your mother to toss all garbage in the house, to replace all the food stuffs in your home, to thoroughly clean all bathroom and kitchen surfaces, and to wash all your dishes, cups, and utensils with hot, clean water and soap the moment you return. Taking such extra precautions can't hurt."

Hermione agreed.

As the doctor walked away, Hermione went in to sit at her father's side, and at her parent's unrelenting prodding, proceeded to tell them the cliff notes version of her life since she'd last seen them. Her parents were both understanding and supportive, as they'd ever been of her decisions, and although they were sad for her that things hadn't worked out with Ron, they were both extremely excited about being first time grandparents.

The news of a granddaughter coming soon seemed to lift her father's spirits, in fact, and the grey pallour that had coloured his face when she'd first seen him that evening had been replaced with a healthier, pinker tone. His blue-grey eyes sparkled not with fever now, but with anticipation.

As she left her parents briefly to go back to her family's home to collect some things for her mother to stay over for the night, that dark, chilling vibe she'd felt earlier had eased. It seemed she'd gotten home at the exact right moment, and now her parents had something good to look forward to…and her father had another reason to fight for his health.

~.~.~

The next day, she Fire-called Hogwarts and spoke with Draco, updating him as to what had happened at home and the hospital the night before. An hour later, he appeared on her parents' doorstep with a well-dressed house-elf in tow.

"Relax, we've got this," he told her, ushering her over to the sofa and forcing her to sit out their thorough cleaning of the house.

Of course, she grumbled over being kept from the work and at being served breakfast and lunch like some sort of visiting royal dignitary, but when the elf threw her an exasperated-borderline-hostile look after hearing Hermione go on for hours about it, she finally settled down and zipped shut her mouth, letting the dear thing get on with its chores. Long ago, back during her tenure with the Department of Magical Creatures, she'd been forced to finally accept that house-elves didn't want to be freed—a lesson learned only after a group of them came to her office one afternoon to protest her attempts to legislate such a thing. So, instead, she'd worked on laws to improve the conditions of their servitude. The result was a compromise she'd been content to let stand before moving on the M.L.E.: a legal protection against violence by owners, standards for private rooming facilities within wizarding homes, as well as for clean clothing, good food, medicines, and fresh water supplies to be made available to house-elves, and fair labor rules for working hours and time off. It was the best she could accomplish in the time allotted and under the circumstances, and it was the only reason for her capitulation now: because she knew Draco wouldn't abuse his elf, and the elf didn't want her interference anyhow.

By mid-afternoon, she couldn't stand being idle any longer. She went to find Draco, who was out in the backyard behind a series of Notice-Me-Not wards, using magic to trim the verge and tidy up the garden area.

"Isn't your father coming home today?" he asked as he monitored the snipping of the rose bushes, in that Slytherin way he had of moving her in the direction he wanted simply by suggesting something that required her attention. "Tootie-Toot-Toot can help get his bedroom ready, if you need."

"Tootie-? Er, the elf, you mean?" What a bizarre thing to call herself! "Is that really her name?"

"Yes. She can do a fine impression of a train whistle when entertaining a young boy of three, you see."

"So you named her, then?" He nodded once and she mulled that one over. "Well, what was her name before that?"

Draco shrugged. "No idea. Why don't you ask her?"

Hermione recognised that as another sly attempt to get her in out of the spring chill. Of course, she ignored the advice, watching instead as her baby's father expertly trimmed away the dead or diseased limbs from the shrub, knowing just where a Slicing Hex was needed and with how much pressure was required so as not to shock the plant.

"How did you learn how to do that? Correctly pruning the roses, I mean. Most people don't understand that there's actually a science behind it."

He glanced at her once, before turning back to concentrate on his task. "I'm a Potions Master, Granger. That does require some knowledge of competent handling of plants, you know."

She watched him a bit longer, noting that he had a keen eye for gardening and a skill that seemed just a little too well-practised to be strictly apothecary in nature. "Yes, but you've done this before, too."

"Mmm," he grunted in agreement, but didn't expound.

Later, she decided, she'd get to the bottom of that interesting mystery, but only after she'd gone to the hospital to check in with her parents.

"In any case, I'm off to see Dad. Be back later," she told him, and before she could stop to think about what she was doing, she rose up on tiptoe and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for doing all this. You and Tootie-Toot-Toot, that is."

Before he could reply, she Disapparated away.

~.~.~

The doctor had decided to keep her father over for one more night for observation, as he'd been rather dehydrated when they'd brought him in initially, and he still had slightly elevated liver enzymes. Hermione decided to stay an extra day as a result, wanting to make sure her father was out of the woods before returning to Hogwarts.

Having brought a change of clothing for her parents, as well as their toiletries, and book for each of them to read when they tired of the telly, she waited in the hallway for them to clean up. She then set about arranging for their meals for the evening, and checked in with the doctor on her father's updated prognosis before she left around seven o'clock to return home.

By the time she'd reappeared at her parent's door, the house was meticulously clean from top to bottom. The front and back yards had been managed, too, and were now ready for the spring blooming to come.

Draco had really gone all-out to help.

Her heart soared at that thought. He'd really been living up to his promise to fix things, to help them find their way back to each other after all the darkness that had come between them. It almost seemed unbelievable that the callous, narcissistic boy she'd known back in their early days of school had matured into a man of such deep, complex feelings.

She supposed the war had fundamentally altered them all, though, hadn't it?

It was quite odd, and a little ironic that where Draco had come through the other side of his trial by fire a better person, the same couldn't be said for the 'heroes' of the war. Harry, for instance, had become clingy and controlling in the after math, and Ginny less independent, more domesticated. Ron had evolved into a selfish pleasure-seeker, and as for herself—she'd become a liar and a coward. Voldemort had poisoned their lives and murdered their loved ones, and it seemed, that had taken something from each of them. They'd lost their shine.

Meanwhile, Draco had slowly, inevitably found his.

Was it strange that it had taken her falling in love with him, the boy who had been her enemy once upon a time, for her to positively change the course of her life?

Was it even weirder that her change was, or so it seemed, positively affecting the others—Ron, Ginny, and Harry, as well.

It was funny to her now that she'd once thought, at the start of her relationship with the blond Potions Professor, that it would ruin her life and her friend's lives, when was doing just the opposite.

"Maybe it was all fated, after all," she admitted to the wind with a resigned, but happy sigh.

She made her way up the steps to the front door and used wandless magic to unlock it.

As she entered her parent's house, the first thing she noticed was the small fire burning in the living room's hearth, warming the place in a way that electrical heat never could: right down to her bones. Her gaze next fell on Draco sprawled out on the sofa before its cheery heat, napping. His long legs hung over the edge to keep his shoes off the furniture, but that caused his head to lie at any angle that she thought couldn't have been very comfortable. A throw blanket was tossed over his hip, covering the top half of his body.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen so as not to wake him, she next found the house-elf, Tootie-Toot-Toot, fixing them dinner. A lovely stew bubbled on the gas stove, and the smell of spiced meat and freshly baked bread was heavy in the air. A kettle of hot water sat waiting for tea, too.

Glancing around, she noted how spic and span the tile and the countertops and the cupboards were; they gleamed. When she opened the drawer to take out the utensils, every single one of them was polished to a high shine. The dishes had been thoroughly washed, too.

She thanked Tootie for all her help and praised her for being so thorough. Unlike Dobby, the elf took the compliments well. She then cautioned Hermione to take care of herself, the 'young Misses', and 'Master Draco' before popping back to, presumably, Malfoy Manor.

Gently, Hermione crossed back into the living room and woke Draco from his nap, letting him know dinner was on. It wasn't as grand an affair as the restaurant in Monaco had been, and the food wasn't as rich, although it was quite good, but somehow that meal was equally as romantic. With the fire crackling in the background, the lights dimmed to just a few candles she'd magically lit around the room, they spoke in hushed tones as they sat next to each other at the small table and ate.

"So, gardening."

"Mmm."

That noncommittal answer, she was beginning to realise, was his way of forcing her to ask direct questions, rather than hint around. Sneaky Slytherin.

"Do you do a lot of it? And if so, where?"

He smirked, having achieved what he'd wanted in requiring her to be frank in her inquisition. "Twice a year, I trim up the bushes and trees at home."

Did he do so as a hobby or for some other reason? She couldn't understand how someone so insanely wealthy would want to do such a thing by hand, even with magic, unless they enjoyed it. Her desire to know warred with her caution not to pry.

Curiosity won out, obviously.

"Why not just hire someone to come in and landscape for you?"

He shrugged. "Because it's the duty of all Malfoy heirs, from the age of five onward, to personally care for the family crypts on the property. That includes trimming the verge and pulling the weeds."

Crypts? He had a cemetery in his back yard?

Well, of course he did! It wasn't as if the Malfoys could possibly mingle their remains in the same ground as that of 'lowly' half-bloods and 'filthy' Muggle-borns, as other wizarding families did in places like Godric's Hollow. That would be…gasp…sacrilegious.

Wisely, she kept her sarcasm in check and her feelings on the matter to herself.

"It also required the mausoleums to be cleaned inside and out, to get rid of the dust and dirt. Father would help me with that until I got my own wand at eleven. From then on, though, every start of summer holiday and every Christmas, I would see the tombs were cleaned until the marble gleamed white."

Every Christmas holiday… "So, that's why you went home this last Christmas, instead of staying at Hogwarts?"

He shrugged. "I went to see my parents, too, but yes, I also went for that reason. It's tradition."

A morbid one, she thought. No wonder he'd dreaded the trip.

Well, that and seeing Lucius couldn't have been easy, either. Hermione knew from Draco's own admittance that he and his father hadn't gotten on since the end of his fifth year at school. She knew Draco still loved the man, but he'd guessed by what hadn't been said that a lot of respect had been lost as a result of what had gone down during those years during and after the war—the whole truth of which Hermione still didn't know. Yes, she'd been present at each Death Eater trial that summer after Voldemort's fall, but there was a lot of personal drama between the three Malfoys, no doubt, which the public had not been privy to, and which Draco did not disclose even now.

"So," she said, attempting to shift the topic away from Lucius and Narcissa, for Draco's sake. "You tended to the flowers and shrubs that decorated your family's tombs, and that's how you knew how to trim the roses like a pro, then? Well, that's‒" A bit depressing for a young child, who should be out playing instead? "‒quite a skill you've learned!"

He glanced at her, and in his expression, she knew he'd read her like a book.

"It's ghoulish to ask a child to do that, especially on school holidays, and you know it." His lips twitched with amusement. "Don't worry. I have no intention of making our daughter do the same, although a visit out there to lay down some flowers once a year probably isn't going to traumatize her."

Hermione's hand automatically moved to her belly, where she stroked over the enlarged bump. "That would be fine. My parents visit their parents at the cemetery every year. Besides, I don't ever think I've seen my father's rose garden or mother's Portugal laurels looking quite so well-groomed, so perhaps a bit of gardening would be good for her."

Draco leaned back in his chair and watched her rub lovingly over the place where their daughter lay. "Names," he finally said, distracting her. "I've an idea, if you'll hear me out."

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. This had been the discussion she'd been dreading.

"Lay it on me," she said, gearing up for a battle.

"Carina."

Completely disarmed by such perfection, Hermione just stared at him in wonder. That was it…Carina. It was the most splendid name for their little girl!

No war necessary.

"I've an idea for a middle name," she shyly offered. "Rose."

In truth, that had only come to her today, when she'd watched him gardening.

Draco smiled ear-to-ear, clearly liking her contribution equally as much.

With the grace of a leopard, he got up from his chair and then dropped to his knees before her. Reaching out his hands, he reverently laid them on her distended belly. "Carina Rose Malfoy. I love it."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Granger," she insisted. He glanced up at her, surprised by the correction. "We're not married."

A wordless moment passed when she didn't dare breathe, but then Draco's lids became heavy and his smile a lazy, assured thing. "'Granger-Malfoy' it is, then."

And just like that, many things between them were settled.

"Carina Rose Granger-Malfoy," she happily agreed.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes:

Thank you all so much for sticking with this revision. I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it, and truly anticipate having it done before the fall this year. I hope you'll stay with me to the end!

Please review!

XOXO,

- RZZMG