Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams

Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles

From the poem "A Cradle Song" by William Blake

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Chapter 11: Babe

Hermione didn't know whether she should be laughing lightheartedly at her situation, or crying in disconsolation. She just knew that she needed to plod along the hallway, pausing every few minutes to take deep breaths during her contractions.

She glanced at Draco, who seemed to be afflicted with some sort of nervous twitch. His right cheek was quivering uncontrollably and his eyes were darting frantically about the hallway, as if the answers to the question, "Where do babies come from?" could be found painted on the walls.

He was muttering to himself and Hermione distinctly heard him threatening Eldorf of Gwynedd's continued existence, in a rather colourful, if not crude way.

"Language, Draco," she admonished him. He just rolled his eyes with a huff.

The ridiculous picture they were presenting struck Hermione, as she took stock of the group that had gathered behind them. Every house-elf in the castle, sixty-four in total, was standing rock still, each with an expectant expression on its face.

And they all clutched individual candles, making the hallway look like a Giant House-Elf Birthday Cake.

They'd been following Draco and Hermione, at a respectful distance, as they'd paced up and down the long hallway for the past ten minutes. Hermione had insisted that walking was the correct thing to do while in the early stages of labour.

Well, maybe not 'walking', exactly . . . it was really more closely related to 'waddling'.

Draco seemed to momentarily bring himself out of his daze long enough to address the throng.

"Shouldn't you all be doing something right now?" he snarled at the house-elves. "Like 'bustling'? I thought house-elves always 'bustled' in times of stress." He crossed his arms disdainfully. "We have standards here in the Royal Household, and 'elf-bustling' is one of them! Now get moving!"

He sneered contemptuously at them.

Hermione was oddly comforted by that sneer, but was plagued with the thought that he was really sneering because he didn't know what else to do.

Flukey looked at Draco with an air of quiet martyrdom. "Master," he said soothingly. "There is nothing to worry about. We are house-elves!" he said, stating the ridiculously obvious. "We knows all about birthing babies." He pulled out an older female house-elf from the crowd. "Bernadette here has delivered seventeen elf babies in the last year alone!" he crowed.

Draco apparently couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What kind of a name is Bernadette for a house-elf?" he inquired incredulously. "Shouldn't you be called, Minky? Or maybe Snarky? How about Pookey? That's a good name for a house-elf!"

Bernadette drew herself up proudly. "Certainly not! I'm French!" she said, as if that explained everything.

"But of course," muttered Draco sarcastically. Turning to Hermione he said, "You see? Everything is under control! The house-elves will take over now. I'll just go back to bed and finish that delicious dream I was having. Erm . . . owl me when you're a mother and I'll be sure to present you with a lovely parting gift."

He started off towards his bedroom, but Hermione pulled him back by the collar of his pyjamas.

"You were not having a delicious dream," said Hermione, indignantly. "You were dreaming about your mum . . . and salad. And you're not abandoning me, you cowardly prat!"

"But Hermione," he whinged.

Suddenly Hermione doubled over in pain again. She clenched Draco by the scruff of his neck as her contraction took over. "Aaaaaaah," she yelled in his ear. Then she began breathing through the contraction. It sounded like she was saying, "Hee hee hooo! Hee hee hooo!"

Draco stared at her in dumb wonder. "Hee hee hooo," he said in bewilderment. "Is that some sort of secret birthing spell? Hee hee hoo? You're forgetting that we can't do magic here!"

Hermione allowed the contraction to pass before muttering to her self quietly, "Good Lord, he really is useless."

Draco looked at her in exasperation. "I told you that already," he said. "But I'll stick around until things start to get nasty and messy, and then I'm out of here."

Bernadette apparently took that as her cue. Bowing low to Draco she said, "Bernadette will see to everything, sir. Just show me where the Mistress laid her eggs."

"Eggs?" said Draco, incredulously. "Hermione, did you lay some eggs again and forget to tell me?"

"Of course not!" snapped Hermione. "I was just going to mention that the house-elves would be as useless as you are. Honestly Draco! You've lived around them all your life. Didn't you know that they hatch from eggs?"

Draco was momentarily intrigued. "Do they now? I thought they just sort of 'showed up'. That's what it seemed like anyway. One day you're sneaking into the kitchen, the next, you're tripping over a baby house-elf."

Ignoring him, Hermione addressed Bernadette. "No offence," she said to the elf. "But I don't think you're going to be much help. We don't lay eggs. Our babies come from here," she said, pointing to her swollen belly. "And they're born through a little opening down here that gets really stretched—"

"Hermione!" barked Draco, in horror. "Now is not the time for a lecture in human reproduction! Merlin, woman! You're upsetting my stomach."

Hermione gave him a smirk worthy of Severus Snape. "Serves you right, Malfoy. After all, you did try to abandon me to my fate."

Draco returned her smirk. "I would never have done that and you know it." Looking around at the house-elves, he muttered, "Well these creatures have to be good for something."

Lippy, the Snape house-elf, stepped forward with a suggestion. "Her Ladyship needs to settle in a room. She must have a place to birth the wee baby."

Draco nodded in affirmation, while Hermione murmured, "I wish they'd just call me 'Hermione'." "Splendid idea!" he said. The house-elves continued to look at him expectantly. "Well?" he huffed. "What are you waiting for? Get moving and prepare a room! You know . . . fetch stuff!"

Flukey's facial expression was fretful. "Master forgets that house-elves is used to powerful magic. We don't know what to do without it. We're waiting for Master to tell us what Mistress needs."

Draco lifted a questioning eyebrow, which prompted Lippy to explain. "We don't know where anything is, sir. We just conjure things and they appear. We don't know how to 'fetch.' "

"Oh for the love of Morgana!" muttered Draco. He gave Hermione a questioning look.

"Right," she said. "Erm, lets see . . . if I'm going to have a baby, I suppose I should have her in the guest bedroom. No point in messing up the royal boudoir with all that blood and other such fluids."

Draco's face turned pale.

Grinning maliciously, she ticked off her fingers as she continued with the list. "We'll need plenty of towels and we'll also need to sterilize some type of cutting utensil, so we'll need to boil some water over the fire. You're going to have to cut the umbilical cord, you know."

Draco's face went from pale to a funny shade of green.

"Unfortunately, we have no pain potions here, so I'll probably be screaming in agony the whole time."

Draco began to shudder. "You're not helping my nerves, Hermione. One more comment like that and I swear I'll be flying out of here without a broom." Hermione just smiled blandly at him.

"It's too bad the Royal Healer is not scheduled to move into the castle until next week," Draco commented. "We had a really hard time finding someone, which was quite surprising. It's quite a cushy job." He looked from Hermione to the house-elves. "Between the all of us, we should be able to figure something out." He crinkled his brow in concentration as he began to pace, sixty-four house-elves stepping in unison behind him.

Stopping suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "I know! There must be a mediwitch somewhere close by! We're not the only humans in Gwynedd . . . Flukey!" he called.

"Yes, Master."

"Flukey, please go down to the village and fetch the mediwitch."

Flukey looked at him in confusion. "But sir . . . there is no mediwitch in the village. Pukey was just reminding me of such."

"Pukey?"

"My brother."

"But of course," snarled Draco. Hermione started giggling, thinking that 'Flukey, Pukey and Bernadette' sounded like a Muggle punk band.

"The poor girl is hysterical," said Draco, patting her on the back.

"I am not hysterical," she corrected. "I'm quite calm." As if to prove it, she addressed the Head House-Elf calmly. "Flukey, what happened to the village mediwitch? I'd been told that there was one nearby, and in fact had been planning to visit her soon."

Flukey began to gesture wildly. "We used to have one, Ladyship. But she just ran off with Old Man Dynfallt, much to the relief of his wife. We don't know why she took such a shine to the old man. He had a huge, warty nose . . . although you know what they says about big noses."

Hermione inwardly groaned. First, she'd forgotten how gossipy house-elves were. If she didn't redirect the conversation soon, they'd be hearing about every resident of Camlann village and beyond.

And secondly, she did indeed know all about what they say about men with big noses. She'd married a big . . . nose, after all.

Bending down as far as her large abdomen would permit, she addressed The Head House-Elf gently. "Flukey, there must be a mediwitch somewhere in Wales. Is there a nearby wizarding town with a healer?"

The little elf nodded his head earnestly.

"Yes, Mistress. That would be the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Mistress."

Hermione and Draco stared at him, speechless, until Draco sputtered, "That is not a word, you silly elf."

"Yes sir, it is," said Flukey indignantly, as sixty-three house-elves nodded their heads in agreement. "It's the nearest town with a mediwitch. But the locals call it Llanfair." He leaned closely to Draco and putting his hand to his mouth, he said conspiratorially, "It's a holy place."

Draco just shook his head. "The Welsh are insane," he pronounced with certainty.

Hermione ignored him. "Llanfair is not far from here," she said with relief. We'll just send an owl." She regarded Draco with a reassuring smile. "You see? I told you all would be well." She hooked her hand in the crook of Draco's arm. "Now take me to my bed, Draco."

Draco gave her his best sexy drawl. "Hermione! What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting I have my baby girl while making an oozy, bloody mess on your nice clean sheets."

She watched in satisfaction as Draco turned that wonderful shade of putrid green again.

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For the most part, the building housing the Ministry of Magic was really quite logical with regard to its layout and most folks had no trouble finding whatever Department they were looking for. However, every now and then, winding one's way through the Ministry was a lot like trying to catch a snake by its tail. Just when you thought you were close to your destination, another hallway would appear, or another doorway would magically reveal itself, making the process much more complicated then it probably needed to be.

Or at least, that's the way it seemed to Severus Snape.

As he made his way through Level Five, which housed the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Severus steeled himself for the meeting that was yet to come. In the words of old Argus Filch, Snape most certainly had to keep his wits about him, as many of the Heads of the Ancient Houses seemed to have their own agenda with regard to the future Prince of Avalon.

He was going to need to be supremely alert, when dealing with this wily crowd.

Severus resisted the urge to snarl. There was nobody around to appreciate it, in any event. He'd had a terrible half-sleep, not unlike those during the Dark Times, and he'd thrashed around in bed all night. His dreams were plagued with the sound of a little voice, both known and unknown to him and he couldn't quite make out what the childlike voice was saying. And Hermione . . . damn the little minx, but she'd insisted upon staying the night at Camlann Castle, against his better wishes. She'd said that she didn't want him "hovering about" and told him quite frankly that she wouldn't be ready to leave until this evening.

His scowl deepened even further and he was hard pressed not to feel sorry for himself. He was supposed to be the man of the manor but a few more months of this and he'd be thoroughly henpecked, he was quite sure. She only seemed to take his advice when it was convenient; otherwise, it was "Sod off, Severus." It was the one bone of contention in their young marriage. A small part of him was still fearful, after all these months, that his life was just a dream and something horrible was going to happen if he didn't keep a watchful eye. Perhaps he'd experience one of the three Big D's: death, divorce, or desertion, and find himself all alone again. To say that Severus Snape was having a hard time settling into a happy life was an understatement. Hermione kept telling him to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, she wasn't around right now and that notion only served to piss him off again.

He couldn't help the thought that crept into his head: "A pureblood wife would never act this way. She'd just take orders dutifully." But a dutiful wife was a boring wife and Hermione was never boring. Pigheaded and fearless, yes . . . boring, no.

Besides, Molly Weasley was a pureblood and look at what poor Arthur had to contend with.

Walking stiffly through a set of double doors, he was greeted by the Heads of the Ancient Houses, arrayed along either side of a very long, dark mahogany table. At the head of the table stood Albus Dumbledore, head of the most Noble and Ancient House of Dumbledore.

Severus contemplated the fates of the Houses as he looked to each member, standing upon his entry. Many of the former Heads of Houses were either dead or in prison and in their stead were other family members, those who'd been wise enough to stay out of the fray in the Second War. The McNairs were represented by Richnard, younger brother of Walden McNair, who'd committed suicide in Azkaban after spending two years in the company of Dementors. Decimated by war and madness, the LeStranges were also represented, although Rebastan and Rodolphus were long since dead and Bellatrix had been slain years before, by Harry Potter. A lesser cousin was now the current Head of the House. Rookwoods, Notts, Crabbes, Parkinsons and Averys . . . they were all represented before the Council. There had to be at least fifty Heads of the Ancient Houses present, all told.

Severus noticed a young wizard he'd heard of in passing, by the name of Stefan Harcourte, who was seated next to Dumbledore. Stefan's twin brother, Sloane, was the current new Potions Master at Hogwarts, hand-chosen by Severus himself. Stefan had worked in the Ministry for years as an Unspeakable and was very highly thought of in Ancient House circles. Despite the seriousness of his occupation, he had a twinkle in his eye to rival that of Dumbledore, although he was only in his early thirties. The first time she'd laid eyes on him at a Ministry function, Hermione had pronounced him "quite the looker", with his sandy blond hair and deep hazel eyes. Despite his wife's admiration, Severus grudgingly couldn't bring himself to dislike the young man. Indeed, Albus had also spoken very highly of him.

His eyes came to rest on Narcissa Malfoy, the only female representative of the bunch. Because Draco was still in seclusion before his coronation, she was taking his place temporarily before the Council. She looked a bit flushed, but still carried an aura of coolness that had been her trademark all her life. He noted that to her left was seated Sirius Black, the last heir to the House of Black and to her right was Emile Zabini, representing the House of Zabini. She looked supremely uncomfortable, but Severus figured this was due to being seated next to her cousin, with whom she hadn't spoken to for many, many years. He noticed Zabini whispering in her ear and her flush deepened.

Also seated at the table was Eldorf, as representative to the House of Gwynedd. The little wizard was perched on pile of books so he could see over the table, but despite his diminutive size, he had a dignity about him that was hard to miss.

However, the most notable member of the Council was its newest and one whose presence had not gone down well with many of the Houses. Harry Potter was seated on the other side of his godfather, representing the House of Potter. Severus had to suppress a chuckle at the memory of the outraged shouting over that little Dumbledore stunt. During a previous meeting, Albus had presented an ancient parchment to the members, which had clearly stated in Section 1033, subparagraph 44b, sentences 18-21, that should, in the event of the death of a Head of House, no pureblood heir be found, then the oldest half-blood member of the House would be allowed to take up the mantle of Head of House. The Potters were an old pureblood family and everyone had thought that with the death of James, their standing in the Ancient Houses had been revoked. After all, Harry Potter was the son of a Muggle-born witch. But old Albus had outsmarted all of them, insuring that Harry would have a say in the future governing of the wizarding world. The Headmaster had pointed out that this was only fitting, given Harry's participation in the Fall of Voldemort.

Besides, Draco had officially chosen Potter as his Minister of Defense. And as part of his duties, Potter was also to head up the Secret Guard, whose primary function would be the safety and security of the Prince of Avalon. It was only right that he be present at this final meeting of the Houses, before Draco was crowned.

As Severus seated himself on the other side of Albus, the Headmaster called the meeting to order.

"Gentlemen . . . Lady," Albus nodded to Narcissa. "This is to be the last meeting of the Ancient Houses, before the coronation of Draco Caius Ignatius Albion Dardanus Horatio Marcus Octavius Malfoy of Avalon."

Severus saw Harry Potter rolling his eyes, but luckily nobody else seemed to notice.

Albus continued. "This is really just a formality as we have been pounding out an agreement between the Ministry and Ancient Houses that would transfer some aspects of governing power to the Prince of Avalon. The foremost function of the new monarchy will be as a liaison between Great Britain and the governments of other countries. His Majesty's main function will be to insure the defense of this kingdom, as well as to maintain peaceful relationships with other governments. Hopefully."

"Ah, and there is the heart of the matter, is it not?" called out Emile Zabini.

"You wish to speak, sir?" asked Albus politely.

Emile stood up and taking a deep breath, he said, "We have been debating Lord Malfoy's role in the new government for many months, but we have been skirting around an issue that has been troubling me for a long time now."

Beside him, Narcissa frowned, and Severus was struck by the look of loathing that she gave Zabini. This surprised him because it was an open secret that the two had carried on an affair many years ago, but had developed a friendship of sorts, after their passion had finally cooled. Narcissa had always spoken affectionately of Emile, but to look at her now, one would think that she wanted to plunge a dagger into his back.

Oblivious to her glare, Zabini continued, "While I know that we have chosen wisely with regard to our new monarch, the fact of the matter is that he's very young and, well . . . to put it bluntly, he seems to lack the serious nature needed to govern effectively." A murmur rose through the crowd and Emile raised a placating hand. "Now, now," he said. "I'm not saying that he'll always be this way. After all, he's very young. I envision him growing into his role, maturing, becoming more effective in his leadership as he gets older. I think, that until that time comes, we should appoint a guardian for him. Someone who can keep him focused . . . someone who understands the true working of government and who can counsel him in times of decision-making. If His Majesty is to be in charge of our defense, he needs to be taken seriously by other governments."

The murmuring became louder until finally Sirius Black rose, his face seemingly suffused in fury. "What are you proposing Zabini? Are you proposing that someone take on his duties until which time you or you little minions see fit to allow the boy his rightful place as monarch? Just what kind of game are you playing at?"

Severus was truly surprised to see Black reacting so strongly to Zabini's obvious attempt to weaken Draco's power. Black had never been an enthusiastic supporter of the monarchy before today.

Something weird was definitely going on.

Zabini shook his head mockingly at Black. "No my dear, misguided, uninformed friend," he sneered. "I'm just saying that perhaps someone should be appointed as Counselor and Friend to the Prince. And I think that given that his mother has his best interests at heart, she should appoint someone who could be his confidante, someone who could guide him through the first few years of his reign."

"Ah," thought Severus. "So that's his game. I wonder if he's already arranged all this with Narcissa. He obviously wants the job." The plain anger on Narcissa's face, however, told Severus that all of this had come as a surprise to her as well.

The muttering got louder and louder, until all hell threatened to break loose. Years of suffering the company of dunderhead students in his Potions classroom prompted Severus to stand up.

"Siiiii-lence," he thundered, with disdain.

Giving him an amused look, Albus took the lead again. "Thank you, Severus. Actually, Mr. Zabini makes a valid point. I believe that a confidante would be good for Lord Malfoy. And while Severus, here, will also be around to guide his nephew, I think it would be in the best interest of all concerned if the Royal Counselor was somebody closer to Lord Malfoy's age. Lord Gwynedd will continue to guide His Royal Highness on his expected duties, but the Prince of Avalon will need somebody experienced in Ministry government to help him as well . . . somebody who has recently gone through some of the life changes the Prince will be experiencing in the next couple of years. And since we really can't appoint a Vice Prince, so to speak, I'd suggest the title of Vice Chancellor . . . a strictly honorary title, of course. The Vice Chancellor would have no final say in the decisions made by the Prince of Avalon."

Emile was beginning to stand up again to protest, but Narcissa grabbed onto his very expensive robes and yanked him back to his chair.

Suddenly Harry Potter stood up. "I nominate Stefan Harcourte as Vice Chancellor and Counselor to the Prince of Avalon."

Stefan looked stunned, which seemingly prompted Harry to explain. "I've known Lord Harcourte for several years now. His reputation as a loyal and kindhearted person is well deserved, as is his reputation for excellence in his work. Stefan and I worked together on several projects when I was an Auror and I can tell you for certain that he is above reproach. He's a devoted husband and father and I think he'd be good for Pinhead . . . I mean Lord Malfoy. Having spent many, many hours in the company of our future Prince, I can say with certainty that he relates better to people closer to his own age, rather than, as he puts it, 'Half-dead, mouldering old aristocrats.' The glares aimed his way prompted Harry to add, "Hey! I'm only quoting his Lordship. Personally, I think you're all . . . erm . . . very young at heart."

Chuckling, Albus stood and said, "Thank you for that, Harry. I think Stefan is a fine choice. And to be fair, are there any other nominations before we go on?"

"I would like to add something to this debate," squeaked Eldorf of Gwynedd. Lifting himself precariously on his stack of books, he stood before the gathered group. "I have been instructing Lord Malfoy on his duties and obligations as the Prince of Avalon for several months now," he began. "Contrary to popular belief, Lord Malfoy is very temperamentally suited to his new role. While he hides behind a veneer of sarcasm and has a rather . . . juvenile sense of humour, I can assure you that he is very serious about his place as the Head of State. He is quick-witted, hard working and very focused on what is expected of him. He has a very keen sense of right and wrong and has the intelligence to understand the more subtle workings of government. But like Albus, here, I believe that he will need somebody with whom he can speak plainly . . . someone who can serve as Devil's Advocate, so to speak. After all, sometimes it's hardest to speak the truth to those we love. And although he'd deny it, someday he will need advice and counsel. I don't think that he can do that with me, his uncle, or even his mother. Stefan Harcourte, however, is a fine choice in my opinion. Knowing them both as I do, I believe that they will get along quite famously. I hereby second the nomination."

There was dead silence. Emile looked like he wanted to speak again, but something or someone was holding him back.

"No further nominations?" asked the Headmaster. "Very well. All in favor of the appointment of Lord Stefan Harcourte of Rye to the post of Vice Chancellor of Great Britain and Counselor to his Royal Highness Lord Draco Malfoy of Avalon, say aye."

There was a chorus of "ayes", with a few of them seeming half-hearted. However, it was by a unanimous vote that Lord Harcourte was named the new Vice Chancellor.

Severus quickly scanned the room to get the first true reaction of the Council members. It was imperative to observe them while the selection of Lord Harcourte was fresh and before they had a chance to scheme and align themselves either for or against the young wizard . . . such was the way of politics. The reactions varied from indifference to, in the case of Emile Zabini, outright hostility.

Severus mentally filed that information away for later

After an interminable amount of time, all parties signed the legal documents, thus insuring the proper transfer of power from the Ministry to the Prince of Avalon. The only thing left was the public ceremony, but in essence, Draco Malfoy was now the monarch of wizarding Britain.

"I wonder what he's doing right now?" thought Severus fleetingly. He'd figured he'd take some time this evening to brief the Prince of Avalon on the interesting events of the meeting with the Ancient Houses.

Harry came up behind him briefly, saying, "We need to talk when you have a chance. I have a few ideas with regard to the selection process for the Secret Guard."

Severus nodded. "You may call at the manor tomorrow morning." Turning towards the door he was irritated to find that Eldorf wished to speak to him. Would he ever be free from this infernal meeting?

Eldorf of Gwynedd approached Severus with a beaming face. "I take it Lady Snape made it home in good order last night?"

Severus glared at the little wizard. "Whatever are you talking about? Lady Snape spent the night at Camlann Castle. Where the hell have you been?"

Eldorf paled visibly. "You mean she didn't leave last night? But-but . . . "

Suddenly Severus heard a child's voice calling to him. He recognized it from the weird dreams he'd been having all night. It was ridiculous, but the Potions Master found himself turning around to find the source of the voice.

He was vaguely aware of Eldorf babbling at him, something about there being no magic at Camlann Castle and had he known, he would never have left Lady Snape in such primitive conditions.

But Severus barely heard him. The voice in his head was getting louder until finally it practically screeched.

"DADDY! MUMMY NEEDS YOU! NOW!"

Severus didn't wait another second and with a pop, he Apparated directly to Gwynedd, Wales.

And Eldorf was hot on his heels, as the little wizard disappeared a half second behind Severus.

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Draco wondered if the night could get any worse. You'd think that no magic, a labouring witch and no Healers within fifty miles would be bad enough. But no . . . Draco was beginning to think he was the director in a stupid Muggle French farce.

The first five or six hours had gone well enough. It didn't seem like Arddun was in much of a hurry to be born and Hermione was able to weather the contractions with little difficulty. But things had got steadily worse when the contractions became stronger and more persistent.

For one thing, it seemed that the Royal House-Elves were embroiled in a bit of a rivalry between the English elves and the Welsh elves . . . snippy comments flew back and forth and when you added Snape-Elves into the mix . . . well! Draco ended up breaking up what promised to be an all out race riot, which had commenced with a comment from the English elves about the Welsh propensity for sheep. House-elves were not the smartest creatures on earth, but unfortunately they did know when they were being accused of weird sexual perversities. Things had gone downhill from there.

Luckily, house-elves had no hair to pull, but Draco had to keep them from poking each other's eyes out. He'd finally gotten them separated to opposite corners of the room, where each group tried to outdo each other with the things they'd "fetched" for Lord Malfoy.

Draco sighed as he surveyed the room full of towels, crowded cauldrons on the fire and enough "cutting utensils" to kill a herd of cows. Flukey had even gone so far as to fetch his favorite royal sword, passed down through generations of British monarchs since the Middle Ages.

As if!

When he'd finally resorted to yelling at them, they'd cowered in their corners, as if he was the madman. Oh the injustice of it all!

Then they'd received an owl from the mediwitch at Llanfair, who was embroiled in her own set of problems. It seemed that a busload of Muggle tourists, against the advice of the locals, had decided to explore the outskirts of town in the middle of the night and had encountered a particularly fierce werewolf. Of all the damnable luck! Muggle tourists . . . a full moon . . . werewolves . . . no magic . . . racist house-elves . . . Hermione in labour . . .

"It's a conspiracy," Draco thought, morosely.

Needless to say, the Llanfair mediwitch had her hands full with transforming Muggles and trying to keep them quarantined. There would be no help from her tonight.

Hermione had taken the news stoically, but she'd been unable to hide the crease of worry from her face. That was, when she wasn't grunting in pain or yelling at him for his incompetence. Honestly! You'd think she'd cut him some slack, considering that he'd never been this close to a witch in labour before.

The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back was when she'd given him her latest "request."

"I'm not looking down there and that's final!" he said in horror. He was contemplating joining the elves in the corner of the room.

She had the gall to sneer at him. "What? Is ickle Draco afraid of an ickle baby?" she snarled. Good Lord, but having a baby sure made a woman grumpy!

"No," he said sarcastically. "Ickle Draco is afraid that whatever he sees down there will put him off women for the REST OF HIS ICKLE LIFE!"

Then Hermione resorted to begging. "Draco, please! Just check to see if I'm crowning. I have to know where the baby is."

Draco drew himself up with dignity. "I'm the only one crowning around here," he said haughtily. "That's all you need to know."

To his dismay, Hermione started bawling. "I w-w-want S-s-severus!" she wailed. "I want my h-h-husband." Her lower lip quivered and to his horror, her nose was starting to snot up. Then she let out a shriek to wake the dead.

"Ohhh! I can't hold off anymore! I have to push! Oh Gods! It hurts! Please Draco! I need you!"

Frightened out of his wits, Draco was moved to compassion. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said in this best "soothing" voice. "Of course, I'll do anything you want. Within reason of course." Baby or no baby, he had his limits.

Hermione had scooted up in the bed and was now clutching at the headboard. She drew her knees up and began bearing down. "Draco, it feels like the baby is ready. You have to catch her. I know you don't want to look, but you're just going to have to suck it up and deliver Arddun!"

Draco tried to keep the terrified tremor out of his voice. "What do you need me to do?"

Hermione gestured to a spot in front of her. "Come over here and position yourself between my legs," she ordered.

"Well, that's one thing I know how to do," was his cheeky thought.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to lift the sheet and have a peek. She could come at any moment."

Taking a deep breath, Draco began to move the sheet when he heard the door fly open behind him followed by the most welcome voice in the world.

"Remove yourself from between my wife's legs, if you want to see your next birthday."

Draco almost cried in relief. "Oh Gods! Severus! Quick, Arddun's coming and she's not waiting for anything!"

Severus shoved Draco off the bed and Draco was oh so happy to be shoved.

Hermione began to bawl in earnest. "I'm sorry Severus! This is all my fault and I know you must be so angry with me . . . "

"Not now, my love. We can talk about this later." Draco was barely able to turn his head away as Severus lifted the sheet. "She's right here, Hermione. Just one more big push. Come on, darling! I know you can do it."

If Draco hadn't been so squicked, he would have sniggered at hearing the fierce Potions Master calling his wife, "darling".

Severus pulled out his wand and muttered a sterilizing charm around both himself and Hermione. Noticing Draco's obvious question he said, "I Apparated with Eldorf. The last thing I saw as I was bounding up the stairs was the magic being turned back on again. I'm sure Eldorf will be joining us as soon as things are put in order."

Suddenly they were both distracted by the ungodly sound coming from Hermione.

"UuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHH!"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. That was the longest and loudest in a long line of Hermione Yells. This had to be it. He looked over the house-elves, who'd apparently forgotten their animosity in the face of the "beauty" of childbirth. They were twittering in anticipation.

He looked back over at Severus in time to see his uncle pulling what appeared to be a large, purple ball of custard from between Hermione's legs. A purple custard ball with thick black hair, to be precise.

"Draco!" Severus bellowed. "Come here and take the baby, we're not done!"

Draco couldn't' figure out what more needed to be done, until he noticed several things. For one, the custard ball seemed to be attached to Hermione. Draco may have been a bit thick about babies, but he did know that babies were not attached to their mothers on any type of a permanent basis. Secondly, the attachment looked suspiciously like the Slytherin House mascot and for a moment, he thought Hermione had given birth to a very long, very ugly snake. He stared at it, dumbfounded.

"It's an umbilical cord, you idiot," snapped Severus. He'd already wrapped the baby in a towel and handed the bundle to Draco. "Lippy! I need a piece of thread to tie off the cord!"

"How is it you know what to do?" muttered Draco, half in awe, half in irritation.

"Unlike some of us, I occasionally read a book that doesn't have pictures in it."

Snarky bastard.

Draco looked down at the baby helplessly. "Good Lord!" he thought. "That is one ugly baby! Poor Severus and Hermione . . . stuck with a purple slimy baby. I'll have to be strong for them." To make matters worse, the baby let out a screech, which apparently began a chain reaction of screeches. The sound was appalling.

With the house-elves looking on, he cooed falsely, "Ooooh! Look at the beautiful baby." He was very proud of how he suppressed his shudder.

"Don't be daft," snapped Severus. "She's a horrifying mess. Once we get her cleaned up, she'll look human, I promise."

Draco let out a relieved breath. "I knew that," he said feebly.

Everything else seemed to happen very quickly. Severus was able to detach the baby from Hermione and while Draco held Arddun, Lippy muttered a cleansing charm over the baby. Sitting on a chair next to the bed, Draco finally got a true glimpse of the little tyke.

She wasn't so bad looking. Her hair was thick and black as midnight and her skin had gone from deep purple to a more normal appearing pink. He'd expected to see a large beak-like nose, but it only looked like a little button.

Maybe she isn't Severus' baby after all.

Hermione called to Draco from behind her husband. "Please bring her here, Draco. I want to see her."

"You can look at her," instructed Severus, "But I still need to deliver the placenta. You can hold her when we're done."

Draco held the baby up for Hermione to see, and to his dismay, the new mother began to cry. The nose-snotting thing was starting to happen again and Draco felt compelled to comfort her.

"Don't cry, Hermione. She's not as ugly as she was when she was first born. I'm sure she'll get better-looking as time goes on," he said.

To his surprise, Hermione started laughing. "I think she's the most beautiful baby ever born," she said as she giggled and cried at the same time. "I can't wait to hold her."

Arddun squirmed in his arms and seemed to want to open her eyes. However, they appeared to be rather swollen and Draco hoped that was just a temporary condition. Suddenly her face changed and he recognized the expression from other girls he'd seen looking his way.

"Hey! She's smiling at me!" he crowed. "Well, aren't you just a big flirt!" he said affectionately.

Hermione laughed. "She's not smiling, silly boy! Maybe she's just passing wind or something."

Draco seriously doubted that. People did not smile while passing wind, unless they were barmy like his old Uncle Basil, who had a tendency to grin at the most inappropriate times. He stared at Arddun, star struck. He could have sworn that she was snuggling into him.

Suddenly the thought came from nowhere: I want one.

Before he could contemplate that surprising sentence, Severus snatched the baby from his arms. Feeling bereft, Draco followed them with his eyes. He felt like an intruder upon the scene of domestic tranquility, as Severus handed the bundle over to a weeping Hermione.

As long has he lived he would never forget the beautiful tableau they presented. Severus had his arm around his wife and was leaning close to her, staring at his child as if she were made of gold and diamonds. Hermione's hair was a bushy mess, but Draco had to admit that she still looked beautiful. Disheveled, but beautiful, now that her snotty nose had dried up. However, it was Severus who struck him the most. His uncle's facial expression was indescribable, as Draco had never seen it upon his countenance before.

Joy. Bliss. Peace.

Hermione was alternating between cooing at the baby and kissing her husband. Watching them made his throat tighten up and Draco had to look away.

"I want one," Draco thought again. "I want a baby with Ginny."

He wanted to experience this in the worst kind of way. He was more determined than ever to make Ginny Weasley his wife. The first thing he wanted to do after they were married was to start a family. That shouldn't be too hard, given the Weasley talent for procreation.

"Are you alright over there?" called Hermione.

"Oh yes," answered Draco. "I'm just lovely. And thank God that's over! My feet are killing me."

The last thing Draco saw before being hit by a flying pillow was the Potions Master laughing uproariously. He'd never heard his uncle laugh like that before. Draco felt that longing again, stronger than ever.

I want one.

To be continued . . .

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Author's note: Thanks for your patience, as these chapters do seem to take me a long time to write. I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed, it makes all the hard work worth it. And of course, thanks to my lovely beta, Elizabeth.