"I'm so glad your wards let me in. It's about time we finally have our tea together," Granger said as we sat in the drawing room. I was propped up in an overstuffed armchair, feet up, positioned by the tea table.

The wards had opened to Potter's friends two weeks ago, although I only knew that because my mother started showing up with my aunt and baby cousin in tow. I wasn't sure if the rest of the Order of the Phoenix gang was staying away, because they didn't think they could get in, or because Potter had asked them to. I considered asking Granger if she'd known the wards were open, but I didn't want to get into the issue of why I didn't want her or Potter's other friends around.

Potter had begged Granger to come just now to watch me, and she failed to mention that too. There was some big case at work they needed his advice on right this minute. He promised that nothing dangerous would be required of him and it would just be sitting at his desk, reading a case file, and telling the other Aurors what to do. But he was hesitant to leave me alone, because of how far along I was. In fact, he'd barely gone into the office in months. He worked very little these days and when he did, it was from a spare bedroom turned office. But if Granger wasn't going to mention it, neither was I. I didn't need a sitter.

"I figured they'd break a month ago, when I was so miserable I could barely breathe, let alone control the wards. But, if anything, they were tighter then. Even Mother was locked out once," I replied, absently swirling the tea around in my cup. When Mother was let back in, so was everyone else.

"But not Harry?" she asked inquisitively.

"No, not Harry."

"I suppose the house had to let someone in, to ensure you were alright."

"I suppose. Although, I do have this portkey medallion. If anything goes wrong, it takes me straight to St. Mungo's." I pulled out the locket I kept around my neck. In it was a photo of me and Harry and another of me with my parents. Granger reached out to touch it, so I yanked it backwards by the chain. Always the chain. "Don't touch it! You'll activate it," I warned.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I ought to get one myself when the time comes," she replied, lowering her offending hand to her flat abdomen. Maybe it was ever so slightly swollen, but probably not.

"How far along are you now?" I asked out of politeness. I didn't really care.

"Two months. I've still a ways to go, unlike you. I hear you're due any day now."

"They promised this would be over by now. 'Preeclampsia leads to premature births,' they said. I prayed every night for two weeks during the worst of it, for this Potter spawn to come out already, but no, she's as stubborn as her dad. Wouldn't budge."

"But you're doing alright now, aren't you? You're breathing alright?" she asked.

I nodded. "She moved. It felt like a Quaffle that had just spent months sitting on my bladder and crushing my lungs, decided to shift over completely to my bladder. It hasn't stopped feeling like I need to relieve myself since, but I can breathe again. Overall, I think I prefer this."

"You certainly look well."

"And you look a bit green around the gills," I observed.

"Morning sickness. When will it ever end?"

"Doesn't completely fade until you've some new form of misery to take your mind from it."

She smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." She sipped her tea. "I was wondering if you might show me your nursery later? Harry tells me it's like a beautiful golden wonderland in there. I could use some ideas for mine."

"I'm not getting up to tickle your fancy and help you rip off my nursery. Although, it doesn't surprise me that Potter's a bit colorblind. I've been wondering; his poor tastes, you know."

"Colorblind?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"The nursery is Daffodil yellow, not gold."

"Oh."

"But, if I feel like it when this meeting is over, I might floo upstairs. You could see it then."

"That would be great! Do you floo everywhere now? Even from room to room inside the house?"

"No, only from floor to floor. Potter's idea," I explained.

"It's no wonder with a house like this one with five floors, an attic, and a basement."

"Yes," I sipped my tea, knowing I'd regret it. I already felt like I had to pee and now I'd have to get up in a minute to waddle to the loo.

"Listen Draco, I'd like it if we could try to be friends, for Harry's sake," she announced, sitting up with her hands in her lap, all properly.

"What do you think we're doing?" I asked sarcastically, lifting my teacup as proof.

"Yes, this is a good start. Really be friends," she said with an amount of enthusiasm that she normally associated with her books. "Harry loves you, which makes you important to me. It would be good if we could be friends."

"I will admit that you did get him into counseling, although why you didn't do that long ago, is beyond me. It's like you were all just leading a mental patient into the war, like a lamb to slaughter."

She looked down at her hands and fiddled with her napkin in her lap. "Well I did suspect he had a problem, a saving people thing. But we were just kids and I'd grown up with him like that. It took stepping back and looking at him with a new perspective, with your perspective, to see it. There was no reason for him to rush into that burning building without checking to see if anyone was in there! And that bombing in Kent; he should've waited for Ron! There's no excuse for entering a dangerous situation without your partner. And then there was that case up north? When he pushed Ron out of the way to take a curse for him. I was glad Ron was alright, but Harry was in hospital for a week when it should've been Ron. That trade made no sense, because the curse was the same no matter who took it. I did say something to him then, I swear I tried, but he brushed me off. 'I'm fine, Hermione. Stop worrying, Hermione. I'm not trying to get myself killed, Hermione.'"

"So you did see it," I concluded.

"Yes, I did. But I didn't want to see it, so I let him brush my concern aside. You're good for him that way: you wouldn't let it be brushed aside. You didn't even see it firsthand, but you knew."

"I knew."

"How did you know?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I've known since we were in school. Every incident in the papers just added one more piece of evidence to the stack."

"Well I'm glad you said something. You refused to go along with him risking his life and now he's getting help. That's why I think you're so good for him. Ron doesn't see it, of course; he's never seen it. You mustn't judge him too harshly, because he's not good with the emotional stuff. He just saw you changing Harry's life and got mad. He couldn't see that you were trying to save Harry's life."

"He's a moron."

"Give him time; he's coming around. I think he's starting to see how happy Harry is with you and his new job. He lost Harry as a partner and he blamed you for that, but now I think he's starting to see the change in Harry from the therapy. It's really making a difference. Harry is starting to care about himself."

"It's about time."

"Well yes, it is. I think the thing that really made Harry want to change was something you said. He said you asked him if he loved himself; I assume when he asked you to marry him," she started and I didn't correct her. "He said you told him that as long as he didn't love himself, you couldn't be together, so he had to learn to love himself. I don't think he would've ever put any importance on his own self-worth if you hadn't said that to him."

I nodded. "A Malfoy has to love himself. He's making progress, but he's not there yet."

"So there won't be a last minute wedding before your baby is born?" she asked.

"No." I groaned. "Please don't bring that up. I get enough of it from my mother. Even my father is on my case. 'I know he is a sub-optimal spousal choice, Draco, but you already made your choice to lie with him. Now you must do the proper thing for your child, suck it up, and spend your life tied to the moron.'"

"Your father sounds charming." A half smile let me know she was joking.

I snorted with laughter. "Yeah, charming. That's the word." I didn't bother mentioning that my father had been livid to find out that I'd wedeled Potter into counseling. He'd wanted me to marry Potter right away and let Potter make me a widower inside of five years. Then I'd be free to marry a more appropriate spouse and this child wouldn't be born a bastard.

Granger started laughing too. We laughed until my head starting hurting and I was out of breath. I had to lie down on the sofa and asked Granger to leave then, without showing her my nursery. That was probably for the best, because she and Weasley had the combined artistic talent of a gnome; they might copy my work for their own spawn. They probably wouldn't even think it was stealing.

Author's Note: The baby is coming next chapter. What do you all want them to have? A boy or a girl?