AN: Updating a day early because I'm sick and can't do anything else. Let me know how you like it.

Draco Malfoy came striding into the library of Malfoy Manor carrying his wife in his arms like a new bride. Tender as he was, beautiful as the pair of them were, it was not an occasion for celebration. They had just apparated home from St. Mungo's hospital after Astoria Malfoy's third visit there in the last two years, each time for the same unhappy reason.

"Nonsense, darling," Draco said. "Of course it's not that you NEED me to carry you, but that I WANT to carry you. Please be patient and let me do it. There's my good girl."

She uttered a melancholy laugh as she gave in and let her head droop against his shoulder. "I'm not hurt, Draco. Just tired and sad. And there's no pregnancy for us to protect anymore."

Draco huffed. "That's all the more reason for me to dote on you. Whatever we've lost, we've got each other, and the closer the better." He stopped in front of a large green leather chair and sat in it, still holding Astoria, arranging her in his lap, smoothing her hair as she raised both of her hands to his face.

She blinked at him as he looked down at her, smiling wanly at him, finding that familiar edge of pain still in his eyes. "I'm so terribly sorry, Draco. If I'd - "

He hushed her, his finger against her lips. "No one has anything to be sorry for but me. Some stranger found you in the street and brought you to the hospital when it should have been me. How can I ever forgive myself?"

She boosted herself to kiss the sharp line of his jaw. "Nonsense. What kind of life would we have if you trailed around after me every moment I was pregnant? All you did was go about your normal life, taking care of business as usual. You did nothing wrong."

He nodded and gathered her closer. "I can accept that if you'll accept you did nothing wrong either."

He had caught her, tricking her into forgiving herself, and she loved him for it. She pressed her forehead to his chin and nodded. "Alright, we can say neither of us did anything wrong. It just - wasn't to be."

For a moment, they held each other in silence. Astoria's feelings were rising again, threatening to spill over into another bout of crying that might last for hours. She couldn't face another one - not yet. She needed to think of something else, something good. Clearing her throat, she sat up taller, almost smiling. "How can you say it was a stranger who brought me to the hospital? It was no stranger. It was Chester."

Draco played along. "Chester, the mystery ginger in shining armor."

"Yes, he was a dear," Astoria said. "Gentlemanly and kind and honest. Oh, and strong. Almost inhumanly so. Finding him out in Muggle London was my one and only stroke of good luck that day."

Draco tossed his head, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. "Honest, is he? It isn't that I'm not grateful to whoever he was, but I do think he gave you a false name. I've asked all over and no one knows of a red-headed man near that age named Chester from Gryffindor house."

Astoria gave her head a firm shake. "I heard him say the name. I know I did, over and over again. So he's Chester to me. I don't care what anyone else calls him," she said. "And I do hope he finds out somehow that I'm safe at home in the arms of my husband again."

Draco sighed and looked past her, toward the tall, arching, diamond-paned windows. They used the library as a drawing room now. The original drawing room, where the Dark Lord and Aunt Bellatrix had held court, had been sealed up after the war, after the pair of them were dead. The chandelier was never re-suspended. The only room left darker, more empty than the drawing room was the dining room. If Draco could have blasted the dining room out of existence without destroying the entire house, he would have done so long ago.

The manor staff knew not to bother the delicate lady of the house that morning, but they had left a stack of unopened letters on the table next to the armchair where she and Draco would be sure to see it. This was the post that had arrived during the past few days, and some of it might be urgent. The sight of it made Draco sigh again. No matter how many times their attempts at new life failed, their old lives just kept going on, demanding attention for boring, mundane, but somehow important things. The thought of a future full of nothing but more and more unopened letters felt heavy for him, but he couldn't let Astoria see it.

He pushed on, glancing up at the clock. "They'll have lunch ready soon. Are you well enough to eat?"

Astoria hummed. "Famished, actually," she said.

He managed to smile sincerely. "Well that's good news."

She kissed his cheek and floated out of his arms to stand on her own. "Yes, I need to gather some strength for next time."

Draco sprung to his feet. "Next time? It's far too soon to be thinking about next time. Give yourself a chance to get well, darling. Take a year or two, if you like. Recover physically and emotionally as well. These past two years have been so traumatic. And we're young enough that there's no rush. Let the postwar baby boom bang on without us."

Astoria had gone to stand between the library's shadowy dark walnut bookcases. As Draco spoke, she had mounted a ladder to reach the older volumes kept out of reach of idle visitors. Draco rushed to the foot of it, spotting her as she climbed.

"I know how I want to heal myself," she said, unlocking the glass doors covering the topmost shelf. "And don't worry, Draco. It won't be by having you get me pregnant again, same as always. Conceiving is the easy part for us. It's not until later that it goes wrong. So for the next time, we'll use a magical intervention." She settled on a volume so thick she needed both hands to budge it off its shelf. It was the only book of its kind left in Britain, and it was finally time for them to use it.

Draco took it from her so she could climb down the ladder. His eyebrows rose as he recognized it. The book wasn't written in English or in Latin. No, it was older, wilder than that. It was written in an ancient Celtic, in runes. Years had passed since he last studied runes but he didn't need to remember much about translation to know which book it was. This was the book to which he owed his own life, his mother's book of fertility magic.

It was Harry who let his brother-in-law Charlie into Grimmauld Place. He'd worked overtime and earned himself a day off from the Aurors' office, and Harry was spending it waiting on a now heavily pregnant Ginny.

"Thanks so much for coming," he told Charlie in the vestibule. Charlie hadn't been in the house since the postwar remodel and was a little dumbfounded to see it so clean, and so quiet without Walberga Black's portrait screaming in the hall. "I offered to take Ginny to the midwife, but some days she just can't face going anywhere."

Charlie hummed. His little sister sounded not unlike a gravid dragon. "Cheer up, Harry. Won't be long now then."

Harry nodded. "I certainly hope not."

Charlie came into the drawing room where Ginny lay on her side on the sofa. She pushed herself upright at the sight of him. "You've got the spell?" she said by way of greeting.

He tapped his forehead. "Yes. Memorized it. All we need is a wand."

"Please just do it then," she said, her voice higher than usual, as if she was trying not to cry. "Something's wrong, Charlie. Wee Mr. Potter used to be so active but I've hardly felt anything from him in days now."

Harry sat beside her, rubbing the dome of her belly. "He seems alright to me, love. He's probably just running out of room to move around in there. Makes it harder for him to get those kicks and flips off."

"I'd bet anything Harry's right," Charlie agreed. "I'm sure I read as much in that book of Percy's. Didn't he give you a copy? Wizard's What to Expect?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged guilty looks. They had indeed been given a book, but neither of them was much of a reader.

Charlie shook his head, laughing not unkindly as he produced his wand. "Right. Well, nevermind that. One perfectly healthy Weasley grandchild heartbeat, coming up." He said it to reassure himself as much as his sister, trying to keep the phantom sensation of Esther's grip on his hand in St. Mungo's urgent care out of his mind.

But there was nothing to worry about. A moment later, the golden orb had formed over Ginny's abdomen and it was ticking merrily away with the little Potter baby's heartbeat. "Listen to that," Charlie said. "Strong and steady but not too fast. It means he's big and healthy."

Ginny was so relieved she was overcome, grabbing a handful of Harry's shirt and heaving a silent sob into his shoulder. Harry dropped a kiss on the top of her head, whispering comfort to her.

"Thanks, Charlie," he said out loud. "That's way better than anything we'd find in Percy's book."

Charlie clucked his tongue. "Tell me again once you've actually read it. And don't ever speak ill of that book. I have my suspicions that the "Wizard" in Wizard's What to Expect might be a pseudonym for Percy and Audrey working together."

Ginny raised her face, scoffing as she wiped her tears. "Percy as an author? That explains why it's unreadably boring."

Hermione was in a noon hour seminar so it wasn't difficult for the Potters to coax Charlie to stay for lunch. As usual with Charlie, the conversation wound its way back to dragons, and from there to their current, frustrated research on the opal-eye dragon tears that might help Hermione's parents recover their memories.

"So Hermione won't be going back to Malfoy Manor to fetch any books," Charlie explained. "But if they'll agree to it, she will be meeting up with someone from the Malfoy household to borrow some. And this is where I need your thoughts, Harry. What if Malfoy himself turns up to hand over the book? Can I trust him to behave? I mean, what are the odds of things going badly? I'm trying to decide if I should insist I come along."

Harry took a deep breath, his misgivings about Malfoy coming so easily he hardly knew where to start. So Ginny took it over. Charlie had never met Draco Malfoy so she began with the basics. "The striking thing about Malfoy," she said, "is his intensity. He's either mocking someone, or hexing them, or hitting them - or snogging them."

"By the stars, Ginny," Harry groaned.

"Honestly," she went on. "He's intense even with people he likes. His wife, for instance, when we were there a few months ago, he seemed always on the verge of kissing the daylights out of her. It used to be the same with Harry - "

"Will you please stop?"

"No, really," she said. "Sometimes when Malfoy and Harry would go at each other in school, you'd get the sense he would just as soon snog Harry as duel him. I've seen it in other pairs of people too. Like, remember how Ron used to be about Viktor Krum? Same thing. It's all just intensity, and it can go either way."

Charlie sat listening, his eyebrows raised.

Harry was having none of it. "Oh, come on. Malfoy was like that with other people too."

Ginny scoffed. "Like who?"

"Like Hermione," Harry said. "He was always having a go at her. And even though he claimed to be disgusted by her blood status there was still - the intensity."

Ginny shook her head. "Hush, Harry. Look, you've gone and upset Charlie."

Harry remembered himself and startled, though Charlie looked much more amused by talk of Malfoy's intensity than threatened by it. Harry still stammered, "I-I'm sure it's passed. He can't still be like that as an adult."

Charlie was laughing, shaking his head. "He sounds more like a comic book villain than anything. Kind of a joke, is he?"

Ginny huffed. "Oh no. Malfoy takes himself extremely seriously."

Harry was desperate to be through talking about him. "The point is that Charlie needn't worry about him trying to hurt Hermione," Harry said with an air of finality. "The worst Malfoy has ever done to Hermione was do nothing when she needed help. Other than that, he once accidentally hit her with a hex meant for me. And they cleared that up in the infirmary right away. There was a lot of name calling and chasing over the years, but nothing spectacular has ever really happened between them. Oh, except the most resounding slap on the face I've ever seen. You'll love this, Charlie. Hermione hit Malfoy in defense of a Hippogriff his family was trying to have liquidated. It was brilliant. She sent him running for cover like a scared ferret."

Charlie was laughing again. "Yes, she couldn't help but mention that. My girl...And watch how you talk about ferrets, Harry. They're quite remarkable, full of surprises. Though now I think of it, yes, definitely intense."

"Right," Harry said, still trying to wrap up all the unpleasant talk of Malfoy. "So now that the war is long over, and Malfoy's been rehabilitated, or what have you, he should be able to hand Hermione a book without any - any - "

"Intensity," Ginny finished.

Charlie rolled his shoulders. "Whatever happened when you were kids at school, if the spoiled little blighter has all of his intensity focused on his own wife now, then it sounds like we have nothing to worry about anymore, doesn't it Gin?"

She yawned, wanting her afternoon nap badly enough to agree to anything. "Yes. You're right, Charlie. Nothing for us to worry about at all."

- Christmas Day, 1994, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -

Draco Malfoy was in the courtyard gulping deep breaths of fresh air. He had just handed off his date, Pansy Parkinson, to the girl he did not yet know was his future sister-in-law, Daphne Greengrass. Daphne was leading her back to their room after Pansy had spiked her own drink and been sick on his shoes on the dancefloor.

Professor Snape had swooped in to scourgify Draco's shoes and order him in a hiss not to leave until Potter did. Draco had obeyed until just now, after seeing Granger scream the boys up the stairs before running off on her own near tears.

Truth be told, the sound of Granger's voice raised in anger pricked at the skin on the back of his neck. Ever since she had struck him in the face at the end of last year, and he had let it go, scampering away like a coward, her presence, especially her angry presence, hung over him, like shame itself in a bushy brown wig. Only tonight, shame looked very different, wearing a pretty blue dress and prancing around on the arm of a world class quidditch player, the Bulgarian Bonbon himself.

What did she have to be mad about tonight? Was it Weasley? Why didn't the pair of them just snog and get it over with? Sickening as it would be, it would lessen the drama and make Granger easier to ignore and forget.

The fact that it was Granger's night had made it an aggravating one, and Draco was relieved it was finally over. He turned on his heel, grinding the gravel on the pathway beneath his sole, and headed toward the castle, making for the dungeons to sleep.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. That odd, seldom-heard sane voice of his was speaking to him inside his head. Was he really mad at Granger, or was it just homesickness? Maybe he hadn't been as ready as he thought he was to pass his first Christmas away from his parents - away from his mother.

They collided, both walking at too brisk a pace. He had rounded the end of a massive hedge lit with fairy lights and there she was. In the dim glow he could see her, bloody Granger in her party dress, no bonbon in sight.

"Get out of the way, Malfoy," she said, bracing herself against his chest to stop from walking into him.

He panicked. The pitch and volume of her angry voice, the rough contact with her hands - it all thrust his emotions back to when she'd struck him in the face last year. It was as if it had just happened, only this time, he wasn't running away. "Don't you dare raise your hands to me," he said in a low, clipped voice, closing his hands over her wrists.

"Let go of me," she said. "Believe me, the last person here I want my hands on is you."

He kept hold of her. "Oh, that's right. You've already got your hits in with me. In fact, I still owe you a slap back, don't I? You're lucky I'm a gentleman who would never hit a girl."

She shouted a laugh, no longer twisting away from him but leaning into his face. "Gentleman? As if you haven't had plenty of revenge on me. You sent me to the infirmary with that tooth hex."

"That was meant for Potter. If you weren't so infernally nosy it would have missed you completely, and you know it," he said.

She swore, something he'd never heard from her before. She truly was having a bad night. He was glad for it.

"Go ahead then, Malfoy," she said. "Everything is already ruined tonight. Go ahead and slap me. Have done with it, once and for all. And then for the rest of my life, LEAVE ME ALONE."

"I told you, I don't hit girls," he said, prolonging his taunting now he saw how wound up she was.

"Well I won't let you hex me again. That leaves no other way for you to get even, so just forget it and let me GO." Her pulse beat fast in her wrists, beneath his fingertips as he held onto her.

He was getting more reckless, pulling her closer, whispering, his face never closer to hers than it was right now. "There's one other thing I do to girls who lay their hands on me. But it's no use doing that to you as a penalty. You might like it."

She knew exactly what he meant. She didn't back down, but stood on her toes, her heels coming out of her shoes to crowd his sneering face. "Oh, so you're threatening me with a kiss from that filthy mouth of yours?"

"You wish, Granger."

She glanced down at his hands, bursting into laughter. "You're terrified. Look at you shaking. Mind you don't faint dead away."

"I most certainly will not," he said, his grip firmer.

"Yeah? Well go on then, Malfoy. Prove your bravery. Try it. Try it and find out there is nothing YOU could ever do to make ME like THAT with YOU."

"Oh no?"

"No. You'll never prove it. First, because you're vile. And second, because you're a loathsome coward - "

She fell silent when Malfoy dragged his lips over hers from top to bottom. No one had ever done anything like that to her before and she gasped as his movement nudged her mouth slightly open, the wetness of her upper lip transferring to his, warm and slick.

Was this it?

Malfoy had retreated enough for her to see the fairy lights reflected in his eyes, impish. She wasn't sure if he was smirking at her or not.

"You call that a kiss?" she said. "I knew you couldn't - "

He brought his mouth to hers again, this time in what was undoubtedly a kiss. She didn't know what to do.

This entire night was so unreal already. Viktor's fawning was embarrassing. Ron must have been right about their date being a ploy to get to Harry. And everyone could see it, of course. Everyone must be laughing at her.

Oh, Ron. That idiot, ruining everything. She fancied him enough to hate him for it. She had for months now. She adored and hated Ronald Weasley, and she was closing her eyes and opening her mouth to Draco Malfoy as he plunged deeper into kissing her.

It wasn't a hard, punishing, forceful kiss. Once it began, it wasn't about revenge but about stealing comfort from each other in their mutual but separate pain. It was slow and careful, as if Draco really did want to get her to like it in spite of herself. She didn't care. Why couldn't she have something nice for herself tonight, even if it came from someone not nice at all?

She wanted to feel beautiful, and desirable. She wanted to be kissed by someone who would never tell anyone - someone who kissed her because he desperately wanted to reach her. It didn't matter why.

Draco could tell she had no experience and his hands were no longer gripping her wrists but placed on her face, curving over her jaws, his fingers long enough to be trailing onto her throat. He was leading her, tilting her head into a better angle. Typical Granger, she wanted to learn and held her mouth open and pliant, so inexplicably receptive to him.

He was wanted. It was something so different from homesickness for a family life that he could never truly go back to. Everything at home was changing, getting darker, ruined by forces slipping out of his parents' control. He wanted connection, softness, and here it was, in the least likely of places.

He broke away for just an instant, repositioning in case her neck was tiring. But Hermione found herself no longer passive, her mouth chasing after his, finding it and sealing herself back to him. Stars help her, she liked it.

She knew he did too. A quick learner, he didn't need to guide her face anymore. Her hair was tumbling out of her up-do as his fingers ran through it, as if he was shaking it loose and wild, the way she usually wore it. Her hands were inside his dress robes, smoothing his white waistcoat, his heart pounding against her palm. Her fingers found the end of his fancy tie and she held it tight, like a lead keeping him close and quiet.

Inside the Great Hall, the swelling, romantic chords of the final song of the night were sounding. The ball was nearly over. Viktor would be looking for her to see her home. Hermione let go of Draco's tie. Her breath was fast and shallow as she backed away.

His hands fell to the small of her back, his touch hot through the silky fabric of her dress. He held her but his eyes stayed closed, as if he couldn't bear to face her. She spun away before he opened them.

"Coming, Viktor!" she sang, as if answering his call, though none had come. As she stomped away from Malfoy, she swiped her hand over her mouth, exaggerating the motion so he'd be sure to see it, even at a distance.

The situation needed fixing. She would find her proper date and dance with him until the music stopped. He would walk her upstairs to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, and in the candlelight of the quiet corridor, she would overwrite her first kiss. If anyone ever needed to know, she would tell them her first kiss was certainly not with horrible Draco Malfoy in a fit of self pity. No, it came at the end of a perfectly romantic evening with Viktor Krum, Durmstrang champion, elite athlete, international bonbon.

Draco sat at the desk in the library of Malfoy manor, the stack of letters now open beside him, folding and refolding one letter in particular. "It's too perfect," he said to his wife.

Astoria slammed her book of ancient fertility magic shut. "It's a gift from the stars," she said, plucking the letter out of his fingers. "We've got to take it. Hermione Granger needs to meet us herself to borrow a book. And," she said, tossing Monday's Daily Prophet at him, open to the page four gossip section, "and it turns out she is currently pregnant and married to someone named," Astoria checked the article again, "Charlie Wesley. That would be the Devon Weasleys, wouldn't it? I'm not bothered by notions of blood purity, but the family is known to be good old stock. Extremely hardy and fertile, by all accounts. Weren't you telling me Potter has their daughter in a family way already?"

Draco grumbled into his hands. "Yes, but the Weasleys - they're coarse. You clearly don't know them. They're a bit too old for you."

"Yes, but if this Charlie bloke has managed to marry Heroine Granger, he's clearly a fine enough specimen," she reasoned.

Draco shuddered. "Again, you don't know that. Granger's taste in men - it's a bit off. Rash and bad." He dragged one hand over his mouth and chin. "And she won't come here anyway. She says as much in her owl. She asks for a neutral meeting place. Neutral - like she assumes we're still at war. No, we won't be able to get them to trust us."

Astoria stepped behind the desk and cradled Draco's head. "Leave it to me, darling. I'll arrange it. I don't suppose they'll be at the Hogwarts Alumni Benefit Quidditch Match, will they?"

Draco hummed. "It's possible. All the Weasleys I ever knew played quidditch. This Charlie might be on the flaming roster for Gryffindor, especially with the seeker spot left open. They say neither Potter nor his wife will be playing. Something about being on high alert, waiting for their unholy spawn to be born any day now."

Astoria petted Draco's hair. "Perfect, all so perfect. I'll make some inquiries, and we'll meet Charlie and Hermione Weasley at the match. At long last," she said, "something is meant to be."