Yellow-green firelight flashed through the library of Malfoy Manor as half-dressed Charlie Weasley arrived just before sunrise to find his wife sitting on the floor in the arms of the first boy to ever have kissed her. Charlie was still off balance from the force with which he'd thrown himself through the Floo, but Draco Malfoy's wits were level, keen, and quick. In an instant, Draco was yanking Hermione to her feet and hopping away from her.

"Oh look, Madam Weasley," he was saying as he sprung behind the armchair, holding the back of it with both hands, trying to look casual but ready to use it as a barrier should anyone come at him. "It's your husband, up early to come study with you."

Hermione was indeed looking at Charlie but, with the low blood pressure from her pregnancy she was light-headed from getting up so quickly. It left her wobbling on her feet next to the reading table.

Charlie might have been slightly off kilter when he arrived, but those years of playing as a competitive seeker weren't for nothing. His vision had taken in the entire scene of the library before Malfoy managed to break himself and Hermione apart. Charlie had seen them together. But what he saw now was his pregnant wife standing alone, looking like she might faint. All other concerns were secondary to that, and he was bounding across the room, sliding over the surface of the table to stand beside her, steadying her. Only when he was holding onto her himself, one arm around her waist, the other supporting her shoulders, did he divert his attention to glare across the room at Malfoy.

"What is the matter with you?" he bawled at Draco. "If you're going to be pawing at my wife, at least be careful about it."

Hermione braced herself against Charlie's bare arms and chest. "I'm alright. We were just - " She paused to take a deep breath through her nose, still woozy.

Draco was very foolishly opening his mouth to speak for himself. Fortunately for him, before he could say anything, Astoria flung the library door open. Her dressing gown and night clothes were just as angelic and floaty as the rest of her wardrobe, but she brought no serenity into the room, only more chaos, driving the already pounding emotional tempo even higher.

She folded her arms, clucked her tongue and said, "Well if it isn't the Weasleys, back in my library already. You're looking well, Charlie," she said, blinking slowly, making no attempt to hide how much she admired him as he stood shirtless in the centre of the room. "And you, Hermione."

Astoria may have been looking at Charlie, but her behaviour was pointed at her own husband. Draco rose to it immediately, darting out from behind the safety of the armchair, shrugging off his thick, lavish dressing gown and advancing on Charlie.

"Don't catch cold in this chilly old place now, Weasley," he said in a falsely jovial way, draping the robe over Charlie's shoulders like a bad valet.

"Get off me, I'm not wearing that. It reeks of daffodils and cats," Charlie said, shrugging it to the floor.

Draco huffed in frustration. "It's eau de narcissus and kneazle musk," he said, stooping to pick the dressing gown up off the ground himself, trying to no avail to get it to stay in place over Charlie's broad, smooth shoulders. "It's a fine French cologne, and a quality garment, Weasley. Help yourself to it."

"Come now, Draco, you heard him," Astoria said, drawling, imitating her husband's usual manner of speech, highlighting how agitated he was sounding now. "Clearly Charlie is fit and strong enough to withstand the draught from our heritage window panes. He's more than welcome to make himself comfortable here, in whatever state of dress."

Draco said nothing. He grit his teeth and grappled for Charlie's wrist, trying to cram it down the empty sleeve.

Charlie jerked his hand out of Draco's grip, recoiling far enough that it looked like he might finally be winding up to throw Malfoy across the room. Draco hopped back a step, his hands sprung at the elbows, ready to defend himself. Whether the husbands were faking their fighting poses or not, Hermione lunged between them anyway, snatching the dressing gown away from Draco.

"You, stop it," she told him. "And you, Charlie - just put it on."

He frowned. "There's no need. We're leaving. And the quicker the better," he said, his tone dark as he took her arm and turned toward the Floo.

"Hang on, Weasley," Draco called after them. "If you leave like this, in the middle of a truly unfortunate misunderstanding, it'll be a terrible waste."

Charlie only paused at the Floo when he felt Hermione hanging back. She closed her eyes, drawing another deep breath. "Charlie, he's right."

With his eyes focused on his bare feet, Charlie was scowling, but his voice was quiet, calm. "That may well be. And we will talk about all that's gone on here tonight. But not to his smug little face. Please, let's go before - "

"Honestly, Weasley," Draco tried again. "For the past hour, Hermione and I have been working on building trust between each other. It was hard work too, good work. Don't make it be for nothing by storming off now."

"Trust?" Astoria interrupted. "That's one of the three pillars of intimacy required between the casters of Gravida Sympatico. Draco, did you convince Hermione to help us?"

"Did he?" Charlie said, his voice finally rising.

"No!" Hermione answered. "Let's all stop snipping at each other and sit down and explain ourselves rationally and - oh, for stars sake, Charlie, you've got to cover up. I'll be tearing Madam Malfoy's eyes out if she licks her lips over your torso one more time."

Astoria screamed a laugh. "Me? Which Hogwarts slag was caught alone here in the dead of night with MY husband?"

"Hogwarts WHAT?" Hermione said.

All at once, the men were talking over the women, each of them trying to cajole his own wife into not fighting. They didn't mind shoving and shouting among themselves but for some reason, neither of them could bear it between their wives. In the interest of peace, Charlie even slipped the dressing gown on, though he didn't tie it closed.

"Alright!" he said, calling for order. "I'm dressed and I'm listening. Say your bit about trust, Malfoy. And then we're going home. I'm actually in a bit of a rush, if you hadn't noticed."

Knowing it was the best he'd get, Draco accepted it. "Right. It's like Astoria says," he began, racing through his explanation. "Hermione was here reading about the Gravida Sympatico spell and she came to the requirements about intimacy among four casters and she had questions. It was trust - she got stuck on the pillar of trust."

Charlie huffed. "Consider me stuck and all."

Hermione took it up. "Of course you are, Charlie. But to see if we were at all capable of developing any trust, I let Draco ask me a question - a difficult one, about the most heartbreaking thing that's ever happened to me short of losing my parents."

Charlie pressed his temples with his fingers. "Heartbreak? You talked to him about Ronnie?"

She swallowed. It was too soon after her breakdown in front of Draco, her intense emotions still too fresh. Her chin was quivering, her voice trembling. "Yes."

Charlie let go of his head but looked no less puzzled. "I thought you said he hates Ron."

"Oh, I do," Draco burst. "Now more than ever."

Astoria threaded her arm through his, hushing him, curious to hear the rest.

"The fact that Draco hates Ron was exactly the point," Hermione said. "The whole country knows Ronald left me for Gabrielle Delacour. But think about it, Charlie. The details of how Ronald and Gabrielle came together, no one knows them but Bill and Fleur and me. Fleur went and told me everything. She confessed it like I was a priest, as if I could absolve them. She meant well, but it was a horrible burden to lay on me. And I've carried it myself all this time."

Charlie sighed, each of his hands brushing her hair behind her ears. "There's no need for that. Burden me. There isn't anything you can't tell me. You know that."

"That is lovely, and I believe you when you say it," she said, her hands on his face, her palms rasping over the morning stubble on his cheeks. "But I've held back anyway, because I don't want to hurt you by telling you disappointing things about someone you love. That feels horrible, and I don't want you to suffer with it."

"Can't hurt me though," Draco said.

Astoria hushed him again.

"Right," Hermione said, not looking away from Charlie in spite of the interruption. "In piling it all on Draco, I unburdened myself but I also made myself vulnerable. He could have exploited that, but he did nothing of the kind. In the end, he was brilliant. And that's why I think I may be able to finally trust him."

Charlie took her by both of her hands, bowing his head to rest his forehead against hers, narrowing his field of vision to just her upturned face. He wasn't interested in Draco, only in her. "Love, Ron and Gabrielle - what did they do to you?"

Her eyes were misting over, a sob mounting. He saw it and smothered it against his chest between the lapels of Draco's dressing gown, holding her close. "Nevermind it right now. We can leave it," he said, speaking softly against the crown of her head. "Don't be sad any more tonight. No need to rehearse it all a second time just because I asked."

Her breath hitched as she told him, "Thank you."

It was a moment of great tenderness. That was plain to see. Tenderness - another pillar of intimacy among the casters of a Gravida Sympatico spell. And maybe that was how the Malfoys, standing not far from the Weasleys in their library, sensed their tenderness in ways beyond merely seeing it.

The palms of Draco's hands vibrated slightly, as if he was holding Hermione again himself. Astoria passed her hand over the top of her head, where it was growing warm, as if someone was breathing against it. Draco pulled her closer, unlinking their elbows to hold her beneath his arm. She turned her face toward him, nuzzling his shoulder through his black silk pajamas. Draco pressed his closed mouth to her hairline, so grateful she didn't mind the scent of narcissus and kneazle musk.

Finally, behind Hermione's back, Draco shook himself, and raised one hand like a timid schoolboy. "If I may make a suggestion," he said. "There's no need to ask Hermione to retell it at all. We have a Pensieve here, at the back of this very library. I can draw out the scene between us earlier tonight and you can see it for yourself, Weasley. Astoria can too, if she likes."

Hermione tipped her face out of Charlie's chest. "You see, Charlie? Draco was such a gentleman with me that he wants to show it off in a Pensieve now. Seeing it might be a good idea, if it helps build some trust between you and him."

Charlie turned her around, holding her back against his front, sinking his chin into her shoulder as they addressed the Malfoys. He wasn't quite through with punishing Malfoy for snuggling his wife just yet. "You've got a Pensieve here, have you Malfoy? Of course you do. Tell us about it. Give us the specs."

Even though he was speechless, Draco's mouth fell slightly open. He turned to Astoria. "Specs? What can he - ?"

"Oh!" Astoria said. "No, you don't need specs to use it, Charlie. Just the naked eye will do."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, peeved at Astoria's choice of words. "He doesn't mean spectacles, Astoria darling," she said. "He means specifications."

The Malfoys shrugged at each other again.

Charlie laughed into Hermione's hair. "How old is your Pensieve? Who made it? Out of what kind of material? Can it accommodate more than one viewer at a time - "

"Right," Draco said. "Since you're asking, it's made of Cretan marble, chiseled by ancient Etruscan witchcraft, the name of the sculptor lost to time, as is the interpretation of the engravings which run the full circumference of its outer rim - "

"That's enough," Charlie said, cradling Hermione, swaying slightly back and forth. "I might have stuck my head in a Pensieve that'd been housed in a haunted manor for centuries, absorbing stars know what kind of dark magic, but only if it didn't also have some ancient and unreadable inscription on it. Too many unknowns for me. Sounds like a good way to get myself cursed and wind up needing someone else to oh-so conveniently stand in as a father to my child."

Astoria gasped. "No, Charlie. We would never."

"Oh, I trust you wouldn't, Astoria. But you told us yourself that this house and the things within it use whatever magic is here to get him," Charlie jerked his chin in Draco's direction, "exactly what he wants. So I'm declining your kind offer to use it."

Draco pulled at his own hair. "How are we ever going to trust each other if you keep this up, Weasley? You need to understand, we did nothing - "

"Stop teasing him, Charlie," Hermione interrupted. "I'll show him the memory of our talk, Draco. Don't worry. What he hasn't told you is that we have a Pensieve of our own."

Draco's hands dropped out of his hair. "You've got a Pensieve?" he marveled. "In the house inherited from a pair of amnesiac Muggle dentists in suburban London, you've got a fully operational Pensieve?"

Hermione groaned as she stepped out of Charlie's hold, moving toward the Floo again. "Yes, Malfoy. You're not the only one with nice things."

"That's not what I mean," he said, though it was. "I mean - where did you get it? On the continent? There are only a handful in all of Britain."

"We got it where people like us get anything in a society where greedy little dragons like yourself hoard wealth. I made it for us," Charlie grinned, squeezing Hermione's hand. "It was a wedding present to my spectacular young wife."

Draco and Astoria were both gaping at him again.

"He called me a dragon," Draco said.

"He cut a Penseive out of stone with his own hands," Astoria said.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Let's go, Charlie. The gap in the trust between Madam Malfoy and myself is growing larger by the moment."

Astoria startled. "Is it?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione said. "Stop worshipping my husband and think of some way we can close our trust gap, darling. Otherwise you can consider this project is still stuck on the pillar of trust."

"Excellent idea," Draco said, waving his hand so the armchair elongated into a sofa. "Let's all sit down and think of a trust test for our girls. There was that game you were talking about, Hermione. The one from school. Didn't I say it would be fun for all four of us?"

Charlie flicked a sympathetic look at Astoria, as if he was sorry to be abandoning her but was going to do it anyway. "I'm afraid not, Malfoy. I meant what I said earlier about being in a rush. We really do need to leave. I didn't actually wake up and come charging in here without a reason."

Hermione stood back, alarmed. "A reason?"

There were the beginnings of a genuine smile about Charlie for the first time since he'd arrived at the manor. "Yes, a great reason. Namely a huge silver stag galloping through our bedroom, banging on about babies."

Hermione jumped, gripping his arm. "Harry? Harry sent word about the baby?"

Charlie couldn't help but grin at her. "Yes, Auntie Hermione. That he did."

She was near tears again, her voice high and breathy. "Little James is born? Another Potter in the world, at long last?"

Charlie pecked a kiss on her forehead. "Yes. Harry's beside himself with joy and gathering everyone at Grimmauld. I reckon after all this fuss, we'll be the last ones there."

She was in a great hurry to leave, grabbing a fistful of Floo powder out of the dish on the mantle as Charlie took off Draco's dressing gown and laid it on the table. They would go home so he could change, and then they'd be off to Harry and Ginny's. All that was left to do here was take their leave of the Malfoys.

The Malfoys - they were standing in the opulence of their soon-to-be quiet and nearly empty manor, both of them looking suddenly tired, beaten. Astoria's usual roses-and-cream complexion was as pallid as Draco's. His glinting silver eyes were now a flat, listless grey. Neither of them said a word to persuade the Weasleys to stay, as if all of their hope was exhausted.

The new silence was heavy, a sombre contrast to the usual bright banter between them. Grains of Floo powder sifted onto the hearth from between Hermione's clenched fingers. "We'll be back," she said.

Astoria stood rigid as a china doll, as if she'd shatter if she moved or spoke. Draco managed to nod, once again watching helpless as what he wanted most turned away from him and went to Potter.

With a flash, Charlie and Hermione left them.

It was early morning but Grimmauld Place was bustling with noise and people when Charlie and Hermione came through the Floo. As the smoke cleared, they saw Harry Potter standing in the centre of the room cradling a tiny bundle.

"Look at our Harry holding the ickle thing," George crowed. "You're a natural, me a solid week to stop holding baby Freddie like a quaffle."

"Actually, there's nothing wrong with a quaffle hold for infants," Percy explained with a confidence that surprised everyone but Charlie. "In fact, it can be quite therapeutic for a baby in the throes of colic - "

"Hermione!" Harry burst at the sight of her, cutting Percy's lecture short. "Come meet James."

She was already crying, her palm pressed to her sternum, holding back a sob of joy as she approached. Weasleys stepped out of her way and she looked into the folds of the hand-knitted blanket wrapped around her new nephew.

"Isn't he something?" Ron said. "This family's never had one with hair like that."

"He's gorgeous," Molly said, swooping in to pull the warm little bundle out of Harry's arms, nestling it into Hermione's. "He looks just like one of mine."

"Yeah, if one of yours was wearing a massive wig of black hair," Ron finished.

Molly swatted at Ron. "You'll never find a wig like that anywhere. Feel it, Hermione," Molly was saying. "This beautiful baby hair, it's the silkiest thing you've ever touched."

She was right. James Sirius Potter was perfect. A little squashed from being born only a few hours earlier, but in every way Harry's son and somehow equally Ginny's. His hair was quite a novelty among the Weasleys, who were otherwise all born bald as eggs. He was tiny enough to hold in one arm and Hermione raised a hand to ruffle Harry's mop of black hair. "I can't tell you how happy I am for you," she began.

"Then don't. Please," Harry said, a laugh in his voice. "Don't work yourself up and start crying."

"Yeah, it could start a chain reaction," Ron agreed, bending an arm around Gabrielle's waist.

"And something tells me Harry's going to have plenty of crying in the near future," George intoned.

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Nonsense, baby James is sleeping like an angel, even through all your noise."

George looked up at the ceiling. "Who said anything about baby James crying?"

Angelina elbowed him lightly in the stomach. "Let Ginny cry all she wants. It's part of the process. Your job is to not make it about yourself."

"Oh no, is Ginny alright?" Hermione asked. "Did she get hurt?"

"Well, childbirth - it, erm - it is what it is. But she was brilliant," Harry beamed. "It was a positively athletic performance."

"Yeah, it's too bad there's no professional league for birthing children, eh Mum? You'd have been an all-star," George said.

Molly ignored him, bending over baby James again, sniffing at his soft, round cheeks.

"Blimey, Mum, don't eat him," Ron said.

"I should go up and see Ginny," Hermione said, slipping James into Gabrielle's arms without looking her in the face.

"Nah, better wait until Audrey's finished with her," Percy said. "She's up there giving Ginny post-natal massage charms. They've been proven to speed recovery by up to two weeks."

"How did Audrey get to be an expert on childbirth after just one go?" George asked. "It's like she's got that Wizards What to Expect book memorized or something. Did you all read it? Our assigned text from Percy, with the mysterious, anonymous authors - "

Charlie exaggerated a cough. "Bit smoky in here, isn't it Mum? Dad's started getting breakfast on, has he?"

Molly jumped, standing up straight, away from the baby, sniffing hard at the air instead. "I warned him not to bring that Muggle toaster along. Arthur!"

Astoria collapsed on the armchair Draco had transformed into a sofa. She let herself fall into the cushions, her face hidden from Draco. He laid a hand on her back as it began to convulse with her tears.

"You heard them, darling," he said as he stroked her shoulder blades. "They said they'd be back."

She made no reply except the muffled hiccough of a sob.

"And they didn't leave lightly," he pressed. "It took flaming Potter whipping up an entire newborn human being to lure them away. There's no way we could compete with that. They had to go."

His reasoning just made her cries more intense.

Through with speaking to her back, Draco gathered her up and pulled her into his lap. She kept her face tucked against his shoulder as he smoothed her hair, kissing her forehead and hushing her. "You really need to see that memory of my chat with Hermione," he said. "We made excellent progress tonight. We've never been closer to finding a match for the Gravida Sympatico spell. The Weasleys - they're fussy and fastidious but I think they're nearly there."

"I hate that we need them," she said, her voice wet and bitter. "I hate begging and wheedling, trying to get what every Weasley comes upon so easily. It isn't fair - "

"No, it isn't fair," Draco agreed, whispering over her bawling. "And it's not your fault."

"I don't want to need anyone," she said. "Only you."

He held her tighter, finding her chin with his fingers and tipping it upward. They didn't say they loved each other very often, but he did it now, whispering it into her face in the instant before he kissed her. It was brief and sweet, enough to calm her, enough to let him hold her quietly as her tears washed themselves out and her breathing returned to normal.

To signal she was finished for now, Astoria raised her face and kissed him again. She had meant for it to be affectionate, grateful, but there was something else between them this morning. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the Weasley's tenderness still amplifying their own. Whatever it was, she didn't let Draco end the kiss as he backed away. She followed him, sitting up straight, still connected to him. She rose onto her knees on the sofa, her face at his height and then higher, straddling his lap and kissing him hard from above.

Draco gasped and broke the kiss with a crack. "Careful, darling," he said. It had been weeks since they'd been together like this, not since before Charlie had found her and taken her to the hospital. Draco's patience with waiting for her to recover was holding, but it was raw. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take before he'd have to leave her here and cool off in the shower.

"It's alright," she said, kissing him again, her fingers walking their way inside the shirt of his pajamas.

His breath caught at her touch on his stomach, finally more intimate than friendly after so many days. Without thinking, his spine arched, bringing her fingers closer, touching more of his skin. He breathed her name, his mouth against her throat as she tipped her head.

She sighed and plunged her arms beneath his shirt, pushing it upward. Even with the scar from his school days, he was so lovely, lean and pale against his black clothing. Her hands curved over his chest as he kissed down her neck toward her shoulder.

"Please," she said.

The last of his patience dissolved at the word. He needed no more urging, grabbing at her and rolling on top of her on the sofa, her knees parting beneath him. Draco was reaching for his wand, about to cast a contraception charm when her fingers closed around his wrist.

"Don't," she said.

He shook his head. "We have to. It's only been one cycle since…"

"I know. It's enough," she said. She shifted beneath him, only slightly, but expertly. She knew his body so well.

He hissed, clenching his eyes closed. "Astoria…"

Her hands slid over his chest again, moving under his arms, clamped around his back and pulling him closer. "I want this, Draco. Now. I want you, and whatever else there is for me."

She was so sweet, the pallor of her cheeks replaced with the flush of desire for him, her eyes wide. He'd missed her so much, until he ached inside and out. When she moved against him again, his wand clattered to the floor, both his hands reaching for her, and there in the library, they were together again.