Hermione's first month on Draco's team at Oxford had been interesting, to say the least. Draco heard no end of jokes from his colleagues ("You were gone for six months and you come back married to an expert in Ancient Runes? And she likes you? ") but Hermione fit in well. It was much easier for Hermione to adapt to an environment where every day was spent with noses in books, discussing translations, than it had been for Draco at the beginning of his career. She was affable and adaptable. And annoyingly correct . All the time.

It's not that Draco minded that she was voracious - if anything it gave him flashbacks to their shared youth, colored by nostalgia and by how much he loved her, but she frequently pointed out when he was… incorrect. He could no longer pretend like he had any expertise in linguistics when his wife was so gifted in decoding the structure of antiquated spells. It was a good challenge-while he was still a skilled curse-breaker, Hermione understood form in a way he had yet to grasp. His team was impressed with her, too, especially his assistant, Jones-so much so that they gave control over one of their most recent identifications to Hermione.

It was a scroll which had been discovered in the Mediterranean Sea by a muggle fisherman, sealed within a cylinder made of clay. The fact that the scroll was undisturbed, despite being found underwater, made them certain it was of magical origins. Draco had at least determined it wasn't cursed, so touching it wouldn't do them harm. He had the scroll unfurled on his desk, corners weighed down under a sheet of acid-free plastic.

Hermione reached over his shoulder and traced the characters with her nail. "What did you say you think this is, Draco? Eastern European?" She squinted her eyes.

"Thracian," he sighed.

"No, it couldn't possibly be Thracian." She leaned over, forcing Draco to scoot off his chair to make way for her. He rubbed her arm affectionately, even if he was annoyed. She sat and held up a small magnifying glass. "Thracian may not be widely documented, but the documents we do have resemble Greek symbols. This is more similar to Egyptian cuneiform, but not as illustrative. Do you think the university has access to any sources about Middle Eastern symbols?"

"I can ask. The Linguistics faculty has been reluctant to lend me anything from their personal library but I do know at least two of their researchers are studying ancient Middle Eastern culture."

"What if I asked?" She batted her eyes at him. "Remember what Jones said? I'm charming ."

"You're something." He leaned against the table, smirking. "The way you're squinting at that scroll looks painful… are you sure you don't need eyeglasses?"

"That's my concentration face."

"You stick your tongue out when you concentrate. That is the face of a struggling woman."

She waved her wand. "Do you want to walk like a struggling man?"

He crooked a brow. "Are you threatening me, Lady Malfoy?"

"I don't need to threaten you. I'm investigating a discovery you haven't been able to decipher," she said, poking him in the chest with the tip of her wand. "I'm already winning."

"Huh." He grasped her shoulders, squeezing them warmly. "Blindingly smart wife with a competitive streak-who knew?"

"You tried to get Snape to change my potions grade fifth year so you'd be top of the class."

"Wha-how did you know that?"

"I didn't, it was a lucky guess," she grinned. "But since you've admitted it… help me reach out to the Linguistics department? I'm lacking in my knowledge of Middle Eastern symbology. If this is what I think it is, we will need a key."

Draco reached above her head for several texts. "In the meantime, here's what little I've got on the subject." He set them on the table. "I'll pop over to Linguistics and bend Professor Stein's ear. Want anything while I'm out?"

"Tea?"

"Tea it is." Draco gave her a peck on the cheek and left her alone.

Hermione pressed her chin to her palm and sighed. There was no way there was a connection with the text to Thrace, but there were many other possibilities for the text's origins. A stir of excitement bubbled in her chest.

So this was what it felt like not to have all the answers… It was a great big puzzle. A career of puzzles which needed solving, which required the nuance of human experience and a bit of empathy. And encyclopedic knowledge of ancient language, or access to the resources. Hermione traced one of the characters with a finger. Her stomach gurgled.

"Stein is amenable to helping us," Draco said, returning to the office. "Though he'll need more specifics on what you're looking for before he makes his recommendations." From his intonation, Hermione gathered that Stein had likely been reluctant to provide such help. But it was good news anyhow.

"Excellent!" She smiled. Draco set a cup of tea beside her and gave her a sweet kiss on the temple. He was always doing that when they were working alone; when their colleagues were around, he kept his hands and his lips to himself. But in his office-their office-he rewarded her for her presence with subconscious acts of love. Like bringing her tea, kissing her constantly, and seeking help from a professor she knew for a fact had butted heads with him on numerous occasions. He was much more open with his affections in general. Little soft touches in the morning when they first woke up, especially. He was always reaching out to her for purchase. It was her favorite thing about how they'd grown since moving to Oxford.

Hermione grasped the cuff of his jumper and he curled his fingers into her palm. "Draco, you have found evidence of Egyptian spells and curses written in hieroglyphs, right? That's common."

"Oh yes," he said. "There's a long tradition of wizards in the high courts of Egypt, and lucky for us, it is well documented."

"I'd like to compare some of those texts to this one before I make any assertions about where it comes from."

"I have some other text for you to analyse in the meantime, my love. You haven't been reading the Prophet lately, have you?"

"...no? We've been a bit preoccupied, Draco. I barely find time to eat, let alone read a tabloid."

"Well… you should." Hermione looked up as he set the Daily Prophet before her. She unfurled the paper to see a truly mystifying sight, circled in red ink, in the midst of the third page. There was no photograph, but the font was larger than the surrounding print:

MALFOY, WHO?

It is a coup, beloved readers-we have been made aware of a New Year's Eve date between one member of the Golden Trio and the long-engaged heiress to the Malfoy fortune… that's right! Ron Weasley and Pansy Parkinson attended a private dinner at the Parkinson residence to ring in the new year. Sources say Miss Parkinson has broken her engagement to our recently featured lip-locked bad boy, Draco Malfoy, so it's game on for former Gryffindor Keeper, Ron Weasley! We only hope to catch a glimpse of the couple together in the near future.

Hermione blinked. "Huh." She folded the paper. "This is from two weeks ago. Why am I only seeing this now?"

He blushed. "I waited to show you until I could reach out to Blaise-he's the only one who will still speak to me from those days-and he confirmed it. Weasley was there. They came and left together and looked quite familiar ." Draco cleared his throat. He squeezed her shoulder.

"That means… he confronted me and..." She frowned. "Went to her."

"Apparently Pansy has been trying to get his attention since we were featured in the Prophet."

"But she hasn't tried to contact you?"

"No. I haven't spoken to her since I broke the contract."

"That's so… frustrating isn't the word. It's…"

"Annoying? Under-handed?" Draco offered. "Just the sort of thing we've come to expect from the youngest Weasley son?"

"Yes, well. It slaps of revenge , but against whom I can't be certain. It's not like you or I harbor any feelings for either party…" Her eyes flicked to him for reassurance and he heartily nodded. "Maybe they actually like one another? That would be… odd." Hermione looked at her hand, which bore her wedding ring. Her eyes got wide and she looked at him with a queer smile on her face. "My darling husband, who I love so much…"

"Yes-I think that's me?" He looked at her skeptically.

"What would you say to… finishing this passive-aggressive competition before it really ramps up?"

Draco sat on the edge of the desk, scratching his cheek. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"What if we offer Rita a shot at our story?"

"I don't know if I want the whole world to know what we went through-"

She stood, putting her hands on his shoulders."Our version of the truth. We'll give her a peek at the husband and wife duo studying ancient curses, and how we balance home vs. work life."

"...Have we figured out how to balance them?"

She shrugged. "We don't take our work home with us and we leave all of our personal arguments at home."

Draco scoffed, curling his fingers into her hips. "Don't take our- Last night we debated whether or not the Celts believed in resurrection spells until two am, and this morning you brought up the fact that Crookshanks coughed a hairball into my slippers during our staff meeting . Thank goodness you didn't tell them about the infernal cat jumping onto the bed while we-"

She put a finger to his lips. "See? It's about balance." Hermione smiled innocently.

Draco sighed. "Fine. But we get to write the copy and hire the photographer."

"Naturally. We'll decide how we present to the world and when. Which reminds me-" she checked her watch. "I'm late for my meeting with Helen."

"Is it four already? " Draco groaned. She had standing afternoon tea with Helen Granger on Fridays and it always wrenched her out of a productive interlude. Still, she took so much joy from getting to know her mother better, and it always set her up for a calm, restful weekend. He'd noticed how much more at ease she was, with a confidant. He tried not to be jealous; after all, the woman had given birth to Hermione, and the Grangers were the only people they knew in Oxford, aside from their colleagues. But a part of him was still getting used to the idea of… sharing her.

Hermione gave him a knowing smile and cupped his cheek. "Nearly, darling. Show the scroll to Stein? Ask him if they have any resources on cuneiform or syllabary keys in their Middle Eastern research."

"Anything for you," he sighed, resigning himself to the fact that the rest of his work day would be spent sitting across a desk from the most pedantic man ever to study linguistics, at the behest of his wife . Torture, bloody torture. He gripped her blouse tightly so he might delay her a few moments longer. Sue him-he was addicted to her, even as she drove him crazy.

Hermione caught on to his rapidly-developing foul mood. She couldn't help herself. Old habits die hard, as they say. "Poor baby. How will you survive my absence?" She wrapped both arms around his neck in as sweet and condescending a manner as she could muster.

His eyes darkened. Draco hauled her against him so fast that the act of putting an arm to her back had rucked her blouse out of the confines of her skirt band, and his fingers met bare flesh. He glared at her through heavily lidded eyes and took her lips. She gasped into his mouth at his aggression. But not out of fear. Her fingers tugged on his hair and her nails dug into his skull in fine pin pricks. Draco resituated her so she straddled his knee and her skirt vacated her upper thighs in favor of pooling around their joined legs. He trailed one finger down her neck to the top button of her blouse, flicked it open... and then released her. He sidled out from between Hermione and the desk as if nothing had happened, leaving her thoroughly rumpled and stunned. He shuffled papers on the console table on the opposite end of the room.

"You do this to me on purpose," she said faintly, hastily buttoning her top button. "First the bleeding article and the stupid… bloody lips of a demon…"

"Now we're even." His tone was colored in amusement. Once Hermione had fixed her blouse and made herself look less debauched, Draco gave her a peck on the cheek and a swat on the rear. "I think we'll weather our separation much the same. Darling ."

Hermione made a show of annoyedly gathering her coat and bag and wrapping her scarf indignantly around her throat. "So help me, you better be waiting as god made you when I get home tonight…" she grumbled.

"Toodle-oo! Love you, darling!" He waggled his fingers at her as she slammed the office door behind her. He raked a finger through his hair and chugged the entirety of her untouched cup of tea, temperature be damned. Married or not, she had always been able to utterly undo him.

And wasn't that the best thing about her?

Aside from her gusto for everything , including putting Weasley and Parkinson firmly in their places in the most calculated possible manner. She would've made an excellent Slytherin. Draco found himself chuckling.

She was still so infuriating and brilliant and sexy and probably would be for the rest of their lives, but… they had the rest of their lives to navigate a working relationship, at least, where he didn't lose focus entirely at the thought of ravishing her. At home, he was content to be always needing her. Although… he hoped that particular activity never lost its lustre, either. He would make sure of it. Even at his own peril. He unbuttoned his collar and breathed out slowly.

He had better get a move on if he was going to secure their valuable resources from the Linguistics department and have enough time to get home and fulfill her... request , so to speak. Maybe with the Kiss the Cook apron she had bought for him last week. And nothing else. Yes… that would do.

Draco hastened out of his office with the mysterious scroll under his arm in its protective cylinder. For Hermione .

It took a week for them to settle on the proper wording for their story offering for the Daily Prophet; Hermione could easily mimic the conspiratorial tone the rag favored, but Draco insisted that through it all, they come out sounding respectable. She had agreed. The angle was 'A Tour of the Malfoy-Granger Home'; a photographer had been selected to photograph their cottage (after dutiful help staging the interior from Helen, and an aggressive attack painting the outside shutters and trim at Mark's behest), and then several portraits were taken of them together. Hermione had taken care to write captions for each included photograph (several of which featured their joined hands and wedding rings), and instructions on where they were to be printed within the contents of the article. It was a fluff piece, which made no mention of their prior appearance in the tabloid nor their hasty marriage, nor the length of their relationship. Only what they allowed that the world could know.

Also included was a letter of conditions for Rita Skeeter-how she was allowed to print it and any other information about them from that point forward. She had heartily agreed to its printing and had requested one main edit, for the sake of 'gripping her readers', which, after a stern visit from Draco, became a small tweak.

The printing of the story was also contingent upon Draco and Hermione not being mentioned in any article unless it was first subjected to their revision-and never again in the rumors or gossip stories on which the Prophet thrived. It was a solid end to what had been a most frustrating string of untruths. Draco had never been so relieved to secure that intimacy. He only hoped Hermione would see fit to make such a deal with Witch Weekly and put an end to the numerous articles about his zodiac and what it said about the size of his numerous valuable parts.

Three days later, their piece appeared on the second page of the Daily Prophet (there had been a foiled Gringotts break-in which took front page precedence) and bled onto the third, stopping above an advertisement for Zonko's joke shop.

It read thusly:

LOVE NEST EXCLUSIVE! [ Rita's one allowed edit]

By Rita Skeeter

This month, the Prophet was honored to be invited into the humble abode of not one but TWO of our most favorite Ministry Darlings! That's right-Lord and Lady Malfoy, themselves! The cottage (if one can call such a fetching five-bedroom manor a cottage) sits on a street lined with cherry blossoms, which is only the beginning of its charms. Our reporter was welcomed into the coziest den (pictured below), lined in bookshelves positively spilling with tomes. It should come as no great surprise to our readers that the couple has such a well-stocked library-after all, they are two of the most important researchers in the field of ancient runes. We sat down with the couple to discuss what it's like to work together and navigate their marriage!

[inset photo: Hermione Granger, Lady Malfoy, seated beside her husband Draco, Lord Malfoy, in front of their grand tiled fireplace in the den.]

RS: We're honored to be invited into your home!

Hermione Granger: We've hardly had time to receive visitors so this is a treat for us.

RS: Busy, are we?

Draco Malfoy: Yes, we've been buried in research for a new find out of Syria. Hermione has been translating a long-dead cuneiform-

HG: That's pictograms, not unlike Egyptian Hieroglyphs.

DM: Yes, quite.

RS: What's it like working together?

DM: Honestly? It's a dream.

HG: We've been able to find such incredible things together-imagine being able to share the most amazing finds of your career with your partner. We're so lucky.

DM: Our styles are very compatible.

RS: Oh really? So, who does what?

HG: Draco's specialty is curse-breaking and spell coding, so his job is to figure out the end goal of the text in the extant artifact, and then locate the end result.

DM: And Hermione's specialty is linguistics and runes, so she translates the forms so that together, we can break the curse or charm and render the artifact anodyne.

HG: Our whole goal is to understand ancient civilizations of spellcraft, and therefore demystify the lines of magic which run through our magical society in contemporary terms.

DM: It sounds stuffy, but we spend a lot of time staring at funny runes. [laughs]

RS: Do you ever get on each other's nerves?

HG: [laughs] Of course! Nobody annoys me like him.

DM: She means that lovingly.

HG: I do. There's nobody I'd rather be annoyed by.

DM: It's mutual, darling.

RS: How do you balance your work and home life? It must be exhausting to be together all the time!

HG: We have our own spaces-I have my little parlor, where I read my novels and do little projects for the house. And we have friends nearby, who help us stay grounded.

DM: I cook a lot, too. And tend to the garden. The important thing is to maintain our own identities in our home space.

[inset photo: Draco, sleeves rolled up, beside his greenhouse which boasts many tropical flowers and fruit plants]

HG: We do that pretty well!

DM: I agree. We don't take our work home with us, which makes a big difference.

RS: Really? You don't talk about work at home, ever?

DM: Well… we don't take the hard stuff home. Anything which requires heavy thinking with our team is worked on at our office. Our home is our safe space.

[inset photo: Green wingback chair, chenille blanket draped over the back. Crookshanks the cat inhabits the seat of the chair.]

HG: We've spent enough time in our life weathering heavy things.

DM: [takes his wife's hand] Yes we have.

[inset photo: Draco and Hermione's clasped hands and wedding rings]

RS: Dare I say you seem quite content with this arrangement?

HG: I think I can speak for both of us and say we are.

DM: Yes. Very much so.

HG: When you love a person so fully… their presence is anything but burdensome.

DM: That's not to say we don't get on each other's nerves, as we said! But we have a different language. There's things I don't have to *say* to Hermione-she intuits my meaning. That's priceless in our line of work.

RS: You seem to really love one another.

DM: It's going to sound corny, but… you don't understand what it's like until you find the person. Everything you've ever heard about what it's like pales in comparison to the real thing.

HG: [lays her head on Draco's shoulder] You have a crush on me, that's embarrassing!

DM: Let's keep it between us.

HG: I won't tell if you won't.

[Inset photo: Draco and Hermione beside their most recent artifact find, an ancient Sumerian water purification blessing]

RS: Is there anything you want people to know about you?

DM: We're quite ordinary. Hermione doesn't like to wear matching socks-

HG: That's confidential!

DM: But otherwise, we're like anybody.

HG: Pretty normal.

Draco and Hermione's home is cozy; the cottage interior has us reminded of a quiet Jane Austen novel, with small corners with comfortable chairs, fit for wiling away an hour or two in contemplation. There's not much in the way of frivolity, but the personal pieces hold dear meaning. A print in the kitchen has a copy of their wedding vows. A pillow in their guest room bears a striking cross-stitched resemblance to their feline companion. Their dressing gowns have matching monograms. But, as one might expect, everything is purposeful in the home shared by Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

And so, with that… Draco and Hermione bid farewell to any whiff of scandal about their relationship from any sources. All objections were put to rest. A week later, Pansy Parkinson showed up unannounced on their doorstep with the deed to Malfoy Manor and a bottle of champagne. Draco accepted the deed from his former fiancee, but no words were exchanged. She gave him a curt nod, and offered Hermione one when she came to the door to see what was keeping him from dinner. Then, Pansy left. They never heard from her again. Pansy and Ron never appeared together in the Prophet again, either.

Draco didn't give any thought to reinhabiting the Manor-after one last visit with Ermina, they donated the Manor to the Ministry's historic trust and had done with it. Draco saved one portrait-an old one of him with his mother. Hermione hung it in the cottage library.

The scroll they had been researching with the help of the Oxford Linguistics department turned out to be an ancient Sumerian inventory record from a medi-witch; it was by no means a cursed item, but it was certainly a thorough list of ingredients for healing, which was still a worthy find. More projects rolled in, and with Hermione's help, other departments within the Oxford system began to open themselves up to the idea of helping the Department of Ancient Artifacts, as they were known. Even the tightest-lipped professors softened to Hermione's professionalism, and learned to tolerate Draco, which was a start.

Eventually… by the end of summer, Ron sent a terse apology letter addressed only to Draco. It was good enough for Hermione. Ron was allowed to rejoin Weasley family gatherings. He always brought a different date.

By October, Hermione and Draco had settled into their Oxford life so comfortably that it wasn't unheard of for them to host a book club on a thursday evening with their neighbors, or find Hermione bringing scones to a colleague on their birthday. Everything was as it should be.

Except one day, a week from Halloween, when Draco found Hermione standing inside the white picket gate leading to their front door. Just… standing there. Frozen.

He had been cooking dinner and waiting for her to return home from her Friday evening tea with Helen, when he had spied her out the open kitchen window. Hermione sniffled and looked up in panic. He clicked the burners on the stove to OFF and bolted outside. "Love? Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded slightly and allowed Draco to lead her inside. He patted her hand as she sniffled again, sitting at the kitchen table. He knelt at her feet.

"What is it, Hermione?" He rubbed her knees. She silently pointed to her bag, which he had deposited on the coatrack by it's long leather strap. Draco raised an eyebrow but obeyed the gesture, retrieving the bag. He handed it over.

"So. Um." She opened the flap. "Remember when I went to see Helen two weeks ago on a Wednesday instead of a Friday?"

"Because she was busy that Friday," he finished.

Hermione shook her head. "She wasn't. I was ."

"Were you?" He traced soothing circles on her kneecap like he knew she liked when she was panicking.

"Do you remember how I haven't been on the pill because I was getting sick from it, and I kept putting off switching because we were so busy… but then we kept having sex because-"

"Because I cannot keep my hands off of you," Draco finished, sitting on his knees.

"Yes, well… I went to the doctor that day, and again today to confirm it."

"Hermione, what are you trying to tell me?" His breath caught in his throat. From the front pocket of her purse, Hermione produced an envelope. She handed it over to Draco. He flipped open the top of the envelope and peered inside. Draco immediately sat back on his heels and swiped a hand up his face. His eyes were wet. He looked like he might explode with joy. "Am I going to be a dad?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded. "I'm eight weeks along."

Draco grasped her face in his hands, even as he held the ultrasound photo of an indistinguishable bean-like fetus between his fingers. "Were you afraid I wouldn't be happy?"

"No," she peeped. "But… What if something happens to me? What if something happens to our baby?" She folded into herself and he caught her, head cradled in the crook of his shoulder. "What if I am gross?"

"Darling, nothing will happen to either of you. I'll make sure of that." He stroked her hair. "And you're going to be the most adorable pregnant woman ever."

"What if I throw up all the time?" she sobbed.

"Even then," he laughed. "I will hand you saltine crackers and water and rub your back. We can do this, Hermione!" He coaxed her out of his comforting hold and kissed her cheeks where her frightened tears fell. "We're going to have a baby. We made a baby!" He hugged her around the waist and willed her to take some of his joy.

"I couldn't do this with anyone but y-you," she hiccoughed.

"I should hope not," he teased. He pulled back from her enough to level with her gaze. "What do you need?"

"Reassurance. That I'll be alright, that nothing will happen to our baby."

"You're right, and you have it."

"If it's a girl, we are NOT painting our baby's room pink ."

"No child of ours will have a pink bedroom!" He exclaimed with mock-seriousness.

"I'm serious, Draco! I want something neutral. Like green."

"...Are you sure you weren't meant for Slytherin?"

"And we're not naming our child after a bloody constellation!"

Draco let out a great big chortle of a laugh. "Fine, fine! No star child for us." He kissed her forehead. "Whatever we decide, it will be what's right for us and our baby. Not anyone else. Just us."

"Is Ermina around? I need to ask her opinion on paint colors-"

"Okay, take a deep breath. Ermina is in bed, you know how she likes to get an early morning start. Love, it's going to be alright!"

Hermione let out a long, slow breath that she had apparently been holding for weeks. "I know it's too soon to have a baby, but-"

"I think we've learned by now that nothing is ever too early for us." Draco helped Hermione to her feet. "Come on, love. You deserve to relax in a warm bath." He stuck the ultrasound photo to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a bunch of grapes. Then, Draco took his wife by the hand.

He led her into their loo. Hermione sniffled to herself, curling into her own arms, clutching tightly to her elbows, while Draco knelt beside the bathtub and set it to fill. He coaxed her feet out of her little suede flats and massaged her ankles, which had been a bit swollen all day. She shrugged out of her cardigan when he bid it, and unzipped her dress. She shivered when she was bared to him, but he rubbed her arms and helped her step into the bubbly water, which he had supplemented with lavender bath salts b. Draco rolled a towel and placed it behind her neck as she sank into the water. He left her alone for a few minutes and came back with a cup of tea and a pillow. The pillow went behind his back as he sat against the side of the tub. The teacup was placed beside him within her reach.

"Just… talk to me?" Hermione asked softly. "Help me calm down."

"I can do that. Um… well, my mother had a difficult time getting pregnant," Draco started. "My father was not affectionate, and they weren't often intimate-"

"Is regaling me with your parents' sexual history supposed to help me relax?" Hermione snorted.

Draco laughed. "I'll get to the point, I promise."

"Fine, but the less detail about your father's sexual proclivities, the better."

"That's fair. So, it took awhile for my mother to get pregnant, and so when she finally did, she was scared about something happening to compromise what might have been her only chance to have a child. My father was unsympathetic. She was constantly ill, poor woman, and the only person there for her was Ermina. By her third trimester, my father was always away from home-I don't think I have to tell you with whom he was embroiled at that time."

"I can guess."

"Yes. The way things were going, she was worried her child would become some sort of… instrument for my father's misdeeds." Draco looked at his hands. His fingers worried the knotwork on his wedding ring. "And as you know, I sort of did."

"Draco," Hermione soothed.

"It's alright." Draco turned to her and smiled. He leaned on his elbow. "The time came to deliver me, so mother and Ermina went off to St. Mungo's. I was safely born after… twenty three hours of labor." He cringed. "You know how I like to make an entrance!"

"Oh Merlin," Hermione laughed. She sat forward and touched his cheek. "My love, I know you're trying to help but this isn't making me less nervous or worried!"

"I'm getting there," he said, grabbing her hand. He rubbed her wet skin. "My mother made two unbreakable vows in my lifetime. Both of them were to protect me. I think you know about the one she made with Snape."

"Mhm."

"The first one was with Ermina on the day I was born, asserting that Ermina would protect me even if something happened to mum. Even if she had to protect me against my father. I don't know if I would've made it out of childhood if it weren't for that house elf in the other room." Draco kissed her knuckles and a wave of realization washed over Hermione's face. She got teary. "I survived thanks to a mother who loves me, and thanks to Ermina. Between myself and her , you will have everything you need. Even if I have to make an unbreakable vow with Ermina to protect you. Which I would do, but I don't think it will be necessary. Does that ease your anxiety at all?"

Hermione looked him up and down and shook her head in awe. "I'm so thankful we have Ermina. And you're going to make a good dad."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm going to try my hardest."

Hermione sank into the water up to her chin and closed her eyes in utter relief. Draco laughed and left her to her own devices, but not before fetching her a pair of pyjamas which he had charmed to be nice and warm.

After a nice dinner of reheated stew, and staring at the ultrasound photo together for a while, Draco tucked Hermione into bed. He lit his favorite candle on his side table, the one that smelled like lilacs, and cracked open the book they had been reading nightly. Hermione snuggled into his side.

"I want to ask Mark and Helen if they'll be honorary grandparents. In lieu of them being able to actually know that I'm having their blood grandchild," Hermione said. She smoothed the quilt where it was draped over her stomach. "And when the baby is born, I hope that your mother can be there."

Draco laid his head against her hair. Her messy bun tickled his nose. "Considering that the birthing ward is one floor above the hospice ward, I think that's highly doable. And Ermina is going to be so elated to have a baby to dote on; when do you want to tell her?"

"In the morning," Hermione yawned. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

Draco was quiet for a moment. He sniffled a bit. "I never thought I would have a child until you, so I don't know. What are you hoping for?"

"I just hope that our baby looks like a little carbon copy of you."

He laughed. "Oh no… Hermione, our child must have your glorious hair!"

"Fine, fine. My curls but your blonde."

"Agreed." Draco chuckled, and then sighed happily.

They said nothing more about it-in truth, the fact that Hermione was pregnant felt like the culmination of each of their dreams and intentions. Against everything… here they were. In their little cottage, in their bed, in a loving marriage… with a baby on the way. They were the Granger-Malfoy's, a little family.

And suddenly, it sort of felt like nothing else had mattered until now. No amount of turmoil from the past could diminish what they had.

Crookshanks curled up at the end of their bed. Draco blew out the candle. "Love you," he whispered into his wife's glorious, unruly hair.

Author's note: And they lived Happily Ever After! Thank you so much for reading. 3