Chapter 21

Mine

He should be exhausted, he thought. He should feel distressed by the sight of so much death and destruction. If nothing else, he should feel content to finally be home safe with the woman he loved. Draco Malfoy felt none of these things. He was angry. He was unsettled.

He was jealous as hell.

Mine. The word flooded his mind until all other thoughts were blocked. She's mine. That bastard knew who she was – he knew she belonged to me – and he still… clenching his teeth, he saw the scene play out for the hundredth time.

He had fought for composure for two hours as they swept the final level of the Ministry. He couldn't fight any more. Locking his arms around Hermione possessively, he let his lips crash against hers in a bruising kiss. He knew it wasn't her fault. He told himself again and again. But still, he needed this. He needed to prove to her, to himself, to that fucking bastard Dawley… he needed to make Hermione his.

Nick Dawley, he thought darkly as he dragged his shirt over his head. What a stupid fucking name.

At first, Draco's intensity had overwhelmed her, but as he drew her body close, and the heat of his skin burned against her, she felt his control slipping. She willed every touch of her hands, every taste of her body to seep into him – to calm the war raging in his mind.

I am yours, she said with the intensity of her gaze. I am yours, sighed the soft tumble of her hair against him. I am yours, said her fingertips trailing slowly down the length of his body. I am yours, her lips traced upon his neck… his chest... his stomach. Only yours.

She had conquered him, somehow. He lay on his back holding onto her desperately as she moved against him. If every one of his movements had screamed you're mine, her response had soothed the anger and jealousy from them. He breathed her in, gasping as her lips claimed him. The past 14 hours had been hell, but what did they matter when his hands were tangled in her hair? When his mouth had caressed every curve of her body?

The way she moved against him made him weak. The warmth of her skin, her hair falling softly against him, the taste of each kiss… everything she could make him feel – he was the only one who had ever felt it. The only one who would ever feel it. She belonged to him.

Hermione had set an alarm for herself, knowing how easy it would be to oversleep. She had set it to give herself a solid six hours to recharge for the day awaiting her.

She got four.

Draco sprung upright, wand in hand. Hermione, who had been in his arms, sat blinking frantically beside him. Someone was pounding on the door.

"Hermione!"

"It's Harry," she said, grabbing her robe.

The man on the other side of the door looked hollow. Haunted.

"Ginny," he said.

"Was she –"

"She's in labor."

"It's too soon!" Hermione said.

The glare she got in return made it clear that he knew exactly how early it was.

"Have you taken her to St. Mungo's? There are specialists there who –"

"We waited at St. Mungo's for six hours," he said with a clenched jaw. "No one had time to sit with her for 10 bloody minutes. One of them told her to go home and relax."

The tone of his voice made her sure that particular healer was lucky to still be walking.

"I'll get dressed," Hermione said, rushing back to the bedroom.

In the end, Draco had come too. He had been close friends with the Potters since they'd taken him in, and, truth be told, he wasn't willing to be without Hermione just yet. He'd only just gotten her back.

He watched as Hermione worked. It had taken her three hours to get Ginny to this point – lessening each contraction, stabilizing the unborn child, losing ground, gaining momentum. It was a cycle: lessening, stabilizing, soothing… hoping.

He had never seen Potter in worse shape. Bloody Saint Potter, he had once called him. Today, he looked like a martyr, suffering more than anyone was meant to. If Potter could take Ginny's place somehow – take the pain onto himself – make this easier for her, Draco knew he wouldn't hesitate.

At last, the contractions stopped, and Hermione transitioned from Healer to friend, full of reassurance.

"You won't make 40 weeks, Ginny, but every day we can buy will be a victory. You're 31 weeks, 5 days. The baby's doing well, but you'll have to be on strict bed rest until he comes. If we can get you to 34 weeks, his lungs will be ready –"

"He?" Ginny asked.

Hermione's hands flew up to cover her mouth.

"You said he?"

"I'm so sorry Ginny! I'd forgotten that you didn't want to know –"

She broke off her apology at the look on Ginny's face. She was radiant with happiness. She looked at Harry, and his smile mirrored hers.

"A baby boy, Harry," she whispered, her face full of emotion. "James."

It seemed to be too much for him. Harry draped an arm across her, and buried his face against her body.

It felt like too private a moment to witness, and Draco found himself slipping quietly from the room. Hermione joined him, her own eyes shining with tears of joy. Drawing her close, Draco wondered what it would be like to be in Harry's place. To be happily waiting for the son his wife would give him.

Gods, he thought, my wife.

His chest felt tight as he stepped back from her far enough to reach into his jacket pocket.

His palms were sweating, and his heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could feel it a foot away from him.

This was all wrong.

They'd slept four hours of the past twenty; they'd seen horrors beyond imagining. He hadn't chanced a look in a mirror, but he was sure he looked like hell. He'd always pictured champagne and music and laughter, but he'd been waiting six months for the right moment and this was it.

She was it.

Taking her in his arms again, he kissed her, just once, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Marry me," he said, looking into her eyes.

He waited, knowing how maddeningly logical she was… how deep her need to weigh every pro and con… how much she wanted to finish healer training… how –

"Yes," she whispered, breathless. "Yes."