Recap:

"What did you mean then?" It was hard to keep her voice steady with the rush of emotions.

"I don't care what made him refuse Voldemort! All that matters is that he did! And I don't care if he has secrets and skeletons in his closet because…because…" She took a deep, shaky breath. "Because I think I love him…"

Chapter 19: Acceptance

It was hard to determine the mood of the house the following morning. Melantha rushed in to wake Ron, Harry, and Ginny, her eyes bright and a smile etched on her face. Hermione, who didn't appear until well after breakfast, was sullen and distant, her mood rubbing off on Melantha whenever they made eye contact, though the older woman would always quickly recover and return to the festive cheer.

Halfway through dinner Hermione jumped from the table, covering her face in her hands, and hurried from the dining room without explanation. Harry and the others turned to Melantha for answers, but all she could say was, "Give her space," and the subject was closed.

At around ten o'clock they began to turn in (minus Hermione who was already holed up in her room), due to the fact that they were leaving early the next day. Harry and Ginny were the first to go, wishing Melantha a final Happy Birthday before leaving arm-in-arm for bed. Melantha retired a short while after, leaving Ron alone in the den, his head swimming with thoughts. He wanted so badly to just go upstairs and talk with Hermione, to let her know that he was on her side, that she could be with Malfoy if that's what she really wanted. Because, over the past few weeks, he'd come to realize just how right her words had been in Hogsmeade. What did it matter, in the long run, that she loved Draco Malfoy? Sure he was awful to him and Harry and most other students at Hogwarts, but if he was good to Hermione and their son then what business was it of his and Harry's?

He smiled softly to himself, his eyes fixed on the still-raging fire. He sure had matured recently; if Hermione would hear him out then she would definitely agree, thinking first that he was ill, of course.

And there was another reason he wanted to talk to Hermione in private. There was something he'd been meaning to tell her, something that he hadn't even told Harry yet. He was waiting for that moment when she would allow this private conversation. He prayed it would happen soon, however, because he didn't know how much longer he could keep it a secret. He'd learned his lesson the hard way that secrets were definitely not the way to go.

"Ron."

He jumped so high that his butt actually left the floor.

"Hermione?" he said, standing up, concern painted on his face. "What are you doing up? I thought you were asleep." But there was no mistaking that he was glad she'd come down. Now was the chance he'd been waiting for.

"I was," she said, glancing at the fire. "But when the others went up to bed I heard them moving around in the halls. And then I realized that I was hungry."

"So what brings you to this part of the house?"

"I saw the fire," she said with a shrug, then took his hand. "Come on. Let's get a midnight snack."

After refusing the house elves aid (which caused a small uproar, from both the elves and Ron), Hermione fixed her and Ron towering sandwiches. They munched on them in near-silence, saying nothing that constituted as conversation. Until, nearly done with his delicious meal, Ron spoke:

"I need to tell you something, 'Mione."

She looked up and nodded him on, her mouth full.

"I…Last week I asked out Lavender," he said quickly, then proceeded to gulp the rest of his milk, giving himself an instant stomach ache. Though he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't there before.

To his surprise, she smiled.

"I was wondering when I'd hear about that."

"You mean you knew?"

"Of course I knew," she laughed, patting his hand that was still clutching the empty glass. "Lavender could hardly keep from beaming all week. I knew it was a matter of time before you'd tell me."

"I…" But he had nothing more to say on the matter. "Hermione, there's something else I want to discuss with you."

At this her face went pale and she retracted her hand. He caught it at the last second, however, enveloping it in both of his.

"If it's about my behavior—"

"No. You're obviously not ready to talk about that. I just wanted to let you know something…I…wish you the best with Draco—but if he ever mistreats you he'll be a sorry—"

"Oh Ron!" she cried, flinging herself at him. Her tears instantly soaked his shoulder.

"Hermione? What is it?"

"I screwed up! I-I…Draco told me something, a secret," she said, her voice hurried and nearly unrecognizable. "And then I told him that I didn't care about his secret, and before I could say any more he came to the conclusion that I…that I was trying to say that—"

"You didn't love him?"

She nodded into the crook of his neck, her heartbroken sobs churning his stomach. No matter how determined he was to see Hermione happy—no matter who she was with—it still caused him great discomfort to openly acknowledge that it was Draco who made her feel such things.

"I love him, Ron," she whimpered, her hands clutching him so tightly that it was almost painful. "I don't know how or why, only that I do…I tried for so long to deny it…And when I tried to tell him he stormed off!"

"It's not over," Ron said thickly, his tongue seeming to have grown two sizes. "There's still time—"

"I am three months away from having this baby!" she snapped, drawing back as though he was attempting to strike her. "What if he won't talk to me until then, Ron!"

"But—"

"Voldemort is after us!" she gasped, exhausted. Ron's heart leapt, and not only at the name. With some careful coaxing, after the initial shock wore off, he was able to get the gist of the story from Hermione before she passed out, drained, in his arms. He carried her upstairs to her room, not remembering a time he'd had so much on his plate.

It was inevitable that Ron would tell Harry and Ginny what he'd learned the night before. After all, they would want to protect her just as much as he did. He pulled them aside just after breakfast, while Hermione and Melantha were deep in a solemn conversation near the carriage. They immediately wanted to speak with her themselves, of course, but, with an iron will, he forced them to hear him out. Hermione was in a right state and had been ever since she learned she was pregnant—and more seriously when she learned the father. When and if they approached her on the subject they would have to be careful not to upset her even further. Who knew what she'd do when finally pushed over the edge? She was already nearing the perilous drop day by day as it was.

"There's something else," Ron said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. Hermione and Melantha looked no where near ready to near their secret conversation. "Last night she told me…she loves him." He hung his head as if this were all his fault, then gave a half-hearted gesture that said he was out of words on that account. Surely his brain had nearly burned out the night before with thought.

"And I thought he loved her," Harry said, not masking his disgust. Ron might have been alright with it, but Malfoy was still Malfoy. The slimy git hadn't shown Harry anywhere near a reason to trust him, especially with Hermione.

"They had a row."

Harry scoffed at this, indicating that it was expected. Ron, however, frowned at his best friend.

"What?"

"She was right, you know." At this time it was he who had an amount of anger behind his would-be calm voice.

"Right about what?"

Ginny had thankfully chosen to stay out of the conversation. Could she have seen the tension that had been building all this time? Ron thought that surely that was the reason for her silence and lack of aid to both her brother and boyfriend.

"Us," he sighed, looking over his shoulder again. Now it appeared that the girls' conversation had taken an ill turn and would end quite a bit sooner than he'd hoped. "We held her back with Krum. We protect her like she's a child. No wonder she needed up with Malfoy in the first place!" His ears were growing red and Harry felt an unwelcome pinch in his gut. "We've been pushing her to this for seven years! And now there's no undoing it!"

"I'm not the only one to blame!" Harry spat heatedly, his green eyes blazing.

"I said we," Ron seethed. "But I seem to be the only one willing to try to make up for it! You're still stewing it over while You-Know-Who is out there with it in his head that he needs to kill Melantha, Malfoy, and their son!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry cried in rage before he could stop himself. They all knew that the reason for this outburst had a lot more to do with their row than they could see at the surface. Harry was angry and had been for so many years. He needed something to grasp onto, some part of the argument to say he'd won. And Voldemort had always been that thing. Though now, as he stood glaring daggers at his best friend, he knew those days were over. He was being childish and clingy and it needed to stop. "How…How do we fix things?"

"We accept Malfoy," Ron said simply, though there was a distinct quiver behind his voice. He didn't like it any better than Harry did. "And we protect them."

"How? I thought she was going into hiding. I thought Dumbledore—"

"As of now, yes. But don't you think Dumbledore is the first person V-Voldemort would expect being their secret-keeper?"

"Well yeah—"

"Yours and Malfoy's hatred of one another is as legendary as Voldemort himself!" The glint in his eye told them that he thought what'd he'd said should have a great impact. They only stared at him blankly, Ginny as silent as before. "We need to persuade Hermione and Malfoy to have you be their secret-keeper!"

A great blanket of understanding fell over them, but it was stitched with uncertainty. And before Ron could elaborate, Hermione and Melantha began to walk in their direction.

Draco stared down at his half-packed trunk and realized that what he was doing was useless. Why did he need extra clothes where he was going? Why anything at all? If he knew Voldemort—and he was sure he did—then he wouldn't need to worry about any such trivial things.

He knew what he was doing was not what she would want. What either of them would want. But it was the right thing, the noble thing. Anything else would be cowardly, and, though he was in Slytherin, he was no coward. When the time came to do what was right, he chose the right path, not the easy one. Hadn't that been how he staved being a Death Eater before? Surely a weaker wizard would have held out their arm in obedience and accepted the Dark Mark.

He went to his wardrobe and pulled out the only thing, other than his wand, that he would need. His traveling cloak. He didn't know how far he would have to go, but surely he would be found before long. There would be punishments, of course, and a long road to trust. But he would endure it. He had to. For them.

With one last glance at the room he'd called home for the past seven years, Draco slipped on his cloak and made for the door.

It was only a matter of time now. And then, because of his sacrifice, they would be safe.

She had tears in her eyes, her big chocolate eyes. He wanted to hold her, to console her, but that was never part of the deal. In fact, him just being there right then was never supposed to be. He was breaking his own rules in seeking her out, high up in the Astronomy Tower. But now that he was there he was glad he'd come. No matter how much he'd have to punish himself for it later.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice steady as she tried to regain the upper hand.

He chuckled softly and advanced towards her. She backed up, her hand out.

"Go away," she said, her voice now close to a whimper. "I don't want to see you again. Ever."

"Why are you crying?" It was certainly more of a demand than anything else. What was it about her vulnerability that made his blood boil? Sure he'd refused his parents and the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean he wasn't himself. Evil was imbedded into his very soul. The sight of one crying, scared girl would not change that. Not Draco Malfoy.

"None of your business," she managed to push out, her hand clutching the windowsill for support. Would he stop her if she jumped?

"I don't remember doing anything to you." And that was the truth. He'd kept very clear of her for the past few days, obliging her request. Well, her threat. She was a powerful witch, after all. But he could only stay away for so long. "Who has taken my place in torturing you?"

"I said go away," she seethed. And now she was angry. Fear and sadness were washed away and she was struggling with this new emotion, so sure that the sadness was supposed to stay.

"Are you going to off yourself?" Shouldn't it have bothered him that such a statement didn't bother him? Shouldn't he care some ounce for her after all that had happened? Well, to be fair, he didn't wish to see her cry. And her absence would undoubtedly cause something of a ripple in his life.

"No," she said in her cold little voice, trying to intimidate him. "But I haven't put it completely out of mind to off you."

Again he laughed, and this time he took a seat on the windowsill she was leaning against. She jumped back as fast as if he'd called her a mudblood, her back rigid and her glare set. She wasn't going to back down and surrender in her pain; not this time. He was very much disappointed. His first reaction upon seeing her crying in the tower was instant lust.

"What do you want from me?" she asked in all seriousness, ignoring his sniggering only feet away.

"Another good shag," he said honestly. What point was there in lying to her? She knew him for what he was, what he'd always been. She had known there would be nothing further from the beginning. She had known— "You weren't crying over me were you?" It had only just occurred to him that he could have something to do with this.

"Not really."

"Granger, I thought we—"

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and unintentionally perking her breasts. He smirked, undeterred by her anger. "I could care less about you or what happened between us you stupid ferret." His face reddened at her nickname for him. And what he loathed more than its use was that it actually worked the way she always planned it to.

"Then what does 'not really' mean?"

"It means that yes, it has something to do with you, but no, I'm not crying over you."

"Then what—"

"I'm pregnant, Malfoy."

Draco shuddered awake, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. He sat up, nearly colliding with the low hanging branch before him. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. Or, more importantly, why he was there. He was lying on his cloak, deep in some forest far from Hogwarts. But his location and his intentions were now the furthest things from his mind.

How could he have ever been so cold to her? Yes, the occasion jab or insult, a little teasing. But to be out and out cruel? How had he ever come to her love?

He knew now that their coming together in the first place had been nothing more than carnal need. She sought comfort, he sought release. And the consequences were now full on top of them. But then they'd actually been together, as lovers. They'd loved each other and some cruel twist of fate had separated.

With an angry grunt, he climbed to his feet, affixed his cloak, then continued on the path he'd chosen, vowing once and for all to get her out of his head.

Ahhh! Where are you going Draco! How could you leave Hermione like this! Get your head out of your ass!...Don't worry people, it's my love of angst acting up. I'll sort this all out :)

REVIEW!

P.S. Thank you to who pointed out to me that Thanksgiving is not celebrated in England. A big duh! I'm such a moron sometimes, I swear I don't know how I manage everyday tasks…Anyway, I fixed the problem in the previous chapter, making their visit instead about Melantha's birthday.