Chapter Five

Following the baby shower, there was a little over a month to go before Granger's due date. By now, they had settled into a routine where every day after work, Draco came over to Hermione's flat and made her dinner. She was so tired and uncomfortable, trying to keep up the pace at the Ministry while frantically trying to get items off her desk as she prepared to take an extended maternity leave. It was stressing her out enough that she finally relented and let him help her, after months of declining his repeated offers. All of the cooking lessons she had given to Draco, when they had been in happier times, were now being put to good use — feeding Hermione while she grew their child.

In some ways, being in her apartment while cooking and eating together, talking about their respective days, felt very familiar — almost heartbreakingly so. But for the fact that he didn't dare touch her, their conversations moved back into a more natural flow, even when they weren't talking about their baby. Their feelings about each other had become the proverbial hippogriff in the room - something they never discussed. Granger's hurt was still too raw, even if she deliberately endeavoured to keep it to herself. Sometimes, Draco caught her looking at him sadly; always hurriedly looking away when she was caught.

Granger had started to loosen up a bit overall and now they constantly shared their excitement about meeting their daughter. They just never talked about what any of that meant for them. Draco didn't think it was a conversation he would ever initiate. Not until Granger gave him the go-ahead to broach the subject. She had said she would let him know if her position changed, back at Grimmauld Place when they agreed to proceed as co-parents. Hermione was thawing somewhat, despite continuing to be guarded, so Draco remained cautiously optimistic that all was not permanently lost.

Shortly after the party at the Burrow, Draco noticed that Hermione started making small noises of discomfort or wincing in pain whenever she moved around. Draco asked if she was okay, but she either said she was fine or denied making any sounds or facial expressions at all. But recently, after a few weeks of increasingly implausible denials, she started acknowledging openly that she was sore and tired all the time. All of this had been bloody obvious for weeks, even to a casual observer, but the stubborn witch had heretofore refused to acknowledge it. And Draco was not a casual observer. Draco Malfoy was, in fact, an avid observer of Hermione Granger.

They were sitting on either end of her couch after dinner, reading books. Draco was reviewing some new potions theory and Hermione was reading a novel. Which, in and of itself, was a pretty big tell that she was getting to the end of her rope — because usually, she regarded them like a dessert she could have only after she had eaten her vegetables, a weekend reward for a week's worth of hard work. But here she was with a novel, on a weekday. It was one of her favourites — Persuasion, by the Muggle author, Jane Austen. Draco had observed her re-reading that particular volume often, particularly when she was flustered about something. For Granger, it was the literary equivalent of comfort food.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wincing. Draco, watching her out of the corner of his eye, noticed immediately.

"Granger, are you okay?"

"My feet are sore. It's fine," she sighed and put the book down beside her. "Well, actually, it's not fine, but there's nothing to be done about it. Not until she's born." She absentmindedly stroked her bump, scrunching her nose in the direction of their child, clearly frustrated with her current circumstances.

"I could rub your feet," Draco said quietly, as nonchalantly as possible, without making eye contact. "If you wanted me to." He held himself as still as a statue, waiting to see her response. He really hoped that it was okay to make the offer.

Hermione froze for a moment too. He knew she was biting her lip — no need to see her face to confirm it. "Okay." She said in a small unsure voice. "If you don't mind."

Draco looked at her. She was trembling. "Put your feet up on my lap, Granger. I'll see what I can do and you can settle yourself back into reading."

That earned him an actual smile. "Thank you, Draco," she said softly.

"Anytime, Granger."

And thus started their new routine of Draco rubbing Hermione's feet on the couch, after they finished eating dinner. He let her read a book, while he worked on making her feel better. Draco was pleased that Hermione was letting him get closer to her — he viewed it as a positive sign that she was starting to trust him a little bit more with herself, as opposed to just being supportive of his future role as Cassiopeia's father. But, it also opened him up to a new and different source of torment — because Hermione could not stop moaning while he touched her.

The bloody noises Granger made when he rubbed her feet were going to drive him straight out of his mind. Merlin, she sounded exactly like she did when she came, if at a lower volume and with less intensity. After the first night he offered, sometimes she would shyly ask him, and while it was fucking killing him, but he didn't dare refuse her requests for a foot rub — for two distinct, but related, reasons.

First, he genuinely hated to see her in distress. Hermione was not pretending to be sore and tired. She was sore and tired. And she was sore and tired because her body was making their baby. A foot rub was the least he could do, almost literally. Secondly, he got to touch her and she made those fucking sounds. He knew he was a glutton for punishment, but when it came to the state of Hermione's arches, Draco Malfoy had no limits on how long he would rub her feet.

Her sounds, which she didn't even seem to be aware she was making, became what he thought about after he got home, as he furiously wanked off in the shower back in his own flat — feeling both relieved and slightly guilty after the deed was done. He wasn't going to share this information with Granger, obviously. But he couldn't help himself.

Those fucking sounds continued to haunt him, even as he tried to sleep.

xXx

As they got to three weeks before Granger's due date, they both started to get progressively more anxious about the impending labour and delivery. Hermione was experiencing 'false labour,' which meant she had what were described as "painless contractions' with increasing frequency. She had let him feel her stomach once while it was happening and Draco didn't understand how the rigid, flexing he felt could be considered 'false.'

"Well, they just aren't supposed to be painful. No one said they were going to be comfortable," Hermione had explained this to Draco while breathing through one of these Braxton-Hicks contractions, as she called them, "It's the Muggle term for these. Named after the male Muggle doctor who 'discovered them' — as though women hadn't been experiencing them since forever, before some man decided to stick his name on it." She had rolled her eyes, her words dripping with derision.

It was a strangely liminal time to live in. Draco started staying later and later in Granger's flat in the evenings, for fear she'd go into labour after he left, once she was alone for the night. He was extremely worried about the prospect of Hermione going into labour when she was by herself. What if she was unable to summon help for some reason? Hermione seemed anxious about being alone as well, apparently sharing his concerns even if neither had actually given voice to them.

One night, she fell asleep on the couch next to him, her head drifting over to rest on his shoulder. Sighing in contentment, he let himself lean his head slightly on top of hers while continuing to read for another hour or so. Eventually, Draco drifted off himself. When it was well after midnight, Granger woke up after a few hours of sleep, her movements waking him up. She looked at him bleary-eyed as she rose and shuffled her way to the bathroom. "Draco, it's so late. Just go back to sleep on the couch."

Draco's heart leapt at the invitation, even as he stretched and yawned. "Alright, Granger. You want me to make you breakfast in the morning?"

She snorted, as she opened the bathroom door. "I certainly won't say 'no' to food."

The next morning was a Saturday, so he let her sleep until the very un-Granger-like hour of 9 am, before he woke her up with the smell of pancakes and sausages. Hermione consumed them ravenously, moaning as she took the first bite. "Oh my God, Draco — this is so good. Thank you so much."

Draco shivered when she used the Muggle expression, which, fortunately for him, went unnoticed by Granger. Very rarely, Hermione would use an overtly Muggle expression here or there. She had changed her speech patterns to assimilate into the Wizarding World and she rarely deviated back to her original roots. The most common exception had been when they were together, intimately. Draco used to take it as a sign she was about to come — the more incoherent and Muggle she sounded, the closer she was. Thanks to prior conditioning, that expression coming from her had actually made his cock twitch. He adjusted himself discreetly, as Granger practically inhaled a sausage, imagery which was not helping matters. Better nip that in the bud, he thought. He didn't think Granger seeing him get half-hard in her kitchen first thing in the morning would help maintain the detente they had worked so diligently to achieve.

Hermione was oblivious to his train of thought, as she demolished her pancakes with a speed reminiscent of the sodding Weasel. "I was thinking, do you want to put a bed in Cassie's room, for you to stay in for the next bit? I think we're both nervous that it's going to happen at night and we'll rest easier if you are close by, and the couch is not the most comfortable and you'll have no privacy sleeping there. If you want — it's okay if you don't, obviously. I can always send you a patronus, if my water breaks at 2 a.m, or whatever." Hermione was trying to sound breezy and casual, but it was clear she was nervous about proposing this to him.

"I would rather stay," Draco said quickly, before Hermione overthought her offer and rescinded it. "With all the books in the living room, I think I can fit a twin bed in there by the wall, opposite the crib," he said dryly.

"Will that be big enough for you to be comfortable? Because even pregnant, I'm still smaller than you. Maybe I can sleep in there and you can have my bed?"

Draco was offended that she even offered. "I'm not kicking a pregnant witch — especially one pregnant with my own child — out of her bed, Granger. I cannot believe you'd even suggest it."

"I'd be fine. My biggest concern is how far I have to walk to get to the bathroom, the roughly six or seven hundred times a night I need to do that. And both rooms are about the same distance from the toilet." She made a dismissive gesture, as if it wasn't a big deal either way.

"Absolutely not Granger. Not another word on that. I will get a bed that works well enough and I will camp out in Cassie's room for as long as you need me."

Hermione sighed, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. "It might not be a bad idea to plan for you to stay for the first few weeks. I understand it's the most intense as far as taking care of a newborn and as you are taking six weeks leave anyway, maybe you should just spend it here?"

Draco was loving every minute of this conversation so far, and he fought to keep the pure elation he was feeling from showing too much on his face. "I think it's a smart idea. And you will be recovering as well. I'd like to be here, if you'd let me."

"Okay. Get yourself a bed, bring over whatever else you think you'll need, and let's play it by ear. We'll see what it's like after she's born and re-evaluate as needed."

It was already the best weekend Draco had in a long time.

xXx

Two weeks before her actual due date, Hermione started her maternity leave— finally conceding that she was too uncomfortable to maintain even the pretence of working. This left her at home, with no work to distract herself from either her physical ailments or the seemingly endless wait. Consequently, Granger was driving herself absolutely spare. They had agreed Draco would keep working right up until Cassiopeia arrived, to preserve the entirety of his six weeks' leave for when they thought they would need it the most. Despite the sensible nature of the plan, it left him unavailable to keep her company during the workweek.

Fortunately, Granger's friends came through in the pinch, with a rotating cast coming daily to make sure that Hermione wasn't left alone while Draco was at the Apothecary. It was sweet, if he was being honest, the way the Gryffindors (and Andromeda) rallied around her — they made a schedule and everything, with many of them arranging to take days off to help out. It was going well, although there was the occasional awkwardness between a house-guest and Draco when he arrived and whomever was there for the day left. But most of Hermione's people seemed to accept that Draco was going to be a fixture in her life. Everyone was doing their best, Draco included. He had smiled at and made small talk with more Gryffindors than he was entirely comfortable with.

It was going relatively well, until about a week into Granger's leave, when Witch Weekly published an in-depth piece on Astoria Greengrass. The date of her cancelled wedding ceremony with Draco had come and gone, and to mark it Astoria had arranged to have a piece about herself published. The cover story detailed how she had moved back to France after she had been spurned by Draco. Apparently, she was also trying her hand at fashion design. As far as Draco was concerned, the article still leaned too much on the fictitious idea that Astoria was a jilted lover; but otherwise, it didn't mention Draco too much, and it only indirectly mentioned Hermione and their forthcoming baby. On advice from Harry and Ginny, Draco didn't mention it to Hermione. The three agreed that it might be best not to upset Granger, who was so close to delivery and already tense. But Ron came over with a copy to show it to her anyway, when it was his day to be on Granger watch. He waited until Draco returned at the end of the day, to show it to her though— acting like he had just remembered. The fucking prat.

Granger looked at the cover, sniffed dismissively, and incinerated the magazine without reading it. "It doesn't matter. She's not in our lives. Hopefully she can just go live hers." Hermione sounded a little bitter, but not as much as Draco would have expected.

"I'm sorry there was more press, Granger. She doesn't mention you really at all, or the baby. It only comes up indirectly, but I'm sorry." Draco said quietly, not making eye contact with Ron, who was standing next to Hermione, looking at Draco with exaggerated disappointment, as though he was hoping Granger would take her cues from the Weasel's bloody performative reaction.

"It's fine, Draco. And it's not your fault. You aren't responsible for what someone else chooses to do. Look, I don't want to make friends with Astoria, but I do have sympathy for her — at least, to a point. She was doing exactly what she was raised to do, after all. And while she may not have loved you, the rug was pulled out from underneath her in a pretty big way."

By Draco went without saying, but Ron made an effort of looking at him even more pointedly, transparently hoping that Hermione would pick up on it.

"If she's going to be in the press at all, it's going to come up, even if it's just a blurb at the beginning. It happened to her, and unfortunately, it's what she's known for. We can't expect Astoria to avoid the press for the rest of her life, just because it would be easier on us. As long as she doesn't talk about me or Cassiopeia, I don't care what she does, nor do I wish her ill. And, if she does talk about my daughter, ever, well it wouldn't be the first time I put someone in a jar over bad press." Hermione's eyes narrowed on the last sentence, her face becoming hard, her curls sparking again.

Ron yelped as he was hit by a spark. "I don't think Astoria's an animagus, 'Mione."

Hermione scoffed. "Doesn't matter to the jar."

xXx

When Draco returned to Granger's flat after work the next day, Mrs. Weasley was on designated Granger-support duty. The red-haired witch had brought with her an absolutely enormous quantity of food, which she told Draco to keep under a stasis charm, to save for when they got home after the baby was born. She called him 'dear' while doing so, which made Draco blush slightly and feel warm inside, which he hoped wasn't noticeable.

"Now, once the baby has arrived, if either of you needs help, I am only a floo call away."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I will let Granger — er, Hermione — know that." Draco was touched by the offer. It would be very nice to have an expert on hand when they needed assistance. And with the notable exception of Ron, Draco liked the Weasley siblings well enough. 6/7 wasn't a bad track record.

"I've already told Hermione that, dear. Now I'm telling you, Draco Malfoy, that. If it's the middle of the night and Hermione's sleeping and you need help, please know that you can call me. The first baby is always the most intimidating." The older witch was looking at him very intently and kindly, her expression conveying deep sincerity.

Draco swallowed, and blinked back the tears that were threatening to form in his eyes. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Truly, I appreciate it."

"Of course, dear. And you can call me Molly, if you'd like." The witch smiled at him in such a maternal fashion that Draco froze for a moment, before replying.

"Can I work my way up to it?" Draco asked hesitantly. He was feeling a touch overwhelmed.

Molly Weasley laughed, gave him a few more instructions about the food, asked him to say goodbye to Hermione for her, and then returned to the Burrow through the floo connection. About fifteen minutes later, Hermione rose from her nap and found Draco sitting at the desk in the living room, working on a letter for his co-workers, explaining what he had been doing and what would need to be done in his absence. He kept updating it, every few days, as the baby took her time deciding when she would arrive.

"Is Molly gone?"

"Yes, she just left. And she left us enough food to feed all of Hogwarts."

"I don't think Molly knows how to cook small amounts of food." Hermione mused. "It will be nice to have, once the baby is born, though. Don't you think?"

"Yes, it will."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder as she moved past him, giving him a small pat on her way to the kitchen to start raiding some of that food, presumably. Draco's heart leapt at the small touch.

It was a good day.

xXx

It had not been a good day.

It had not been a good week.

Granger was late. Granger was eight days late. Granger was so fucking mad about being eight days late, that she was letting anyone and everyone know about it.

Every single day past her due date, Hermione got more and more irritable. If Draco had thought that Hermione Granger disliked being late for events, it was nothing compared to how much Hermione Granger hated being late for her own daughter's birth.

"Bah! I cannot take this anymore!" she screamed in frustration, on the eighth day after her due date had come and gone, with no sign of Mini-Granger. She had been shifting uncomfortably on the couch for about an hour, not being able to settle comfortably in any position — not anymore. In the hours since he had come home from the Apothecary, she hadn't made any progress with her book. Ordinarily, she'd be halfway through it by now, but she'd only gone through a few pages, flipping back and forth in increasing agitation.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Granger?"

"Can you induce labour?" she hissed, throwing her book across the room. That got Draco's attention.

Granger would never hurt a book.

"The Healer told you that you just needed to wait." He tried to sound soothing, without sounding condescending. He wasn't sure he'd managed it. She glared at him.

"Oh, what does she know?" Hermione snapped. "I've looked into Muggle methods for this. They say walking around can help, but I don't feel up for it because I'm chronically exhausted! I haven't slept well in forever. I wake up 900 times a night to pee. My back is fucking killing me. And the baby is sitting right on top of my bladder, with her feet inside my rib cage, pushing out from the inside. Which is extremely uncomfortable! Although, for what it's worth, she seems really fucking strong. And, I just want to meet her and I'm tired of waiting. I'm just so, so tired."

She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "I've also heard eating spicy food, or having sex can induce labour," she muttered, her nose scrunched up in her irritation.

Draco froze. Then he cleared his throat and willed his voice to sound neutral. "Spicy foods and what?"

"Sex. Apparently the act of sex, or having an orgasm can sometimes induce labour if you're close to it already." Granger emphatically shrugged and waved a hand in the air. "So I've read."

Draco found the sudden silence in the wake of that remark, very loud.

"Granger, are you asking me —?" he started speaking, not sure if it was something he should seek clarity on, so much as he was just supposed to listen to Granger vent.

"It's just —" Hermione rubbed her eyes, before throwing her hands out to her side in defeat. " — it's just that I'm so tired of being pregnant. And, I've quite missed sex. And you smell so good, all the time. Not that I feel capable of doing anything like — well, that — at the moment. It just — I'm just so frustrated – on every level, I just want – I" Granger was more frazzled and overwhelmed than Draco had ever seen her before.

He took a breath, not sure how he should respond to this, but he knew she needed something from him. "Granger, I really – "

"Draco, I shouldn't have said anything, please. I'm just not doing very well with this." And with that, she burst into tears.

Draco felt his heart drop in the face of her sobs. "Can I give you a hug, without it seeming like I'm hitting on you?"

She laughed a bit, through her tears, only sounding slightly hysterical. "I suppose it depends on the hug, but you can try." The last word was more of a sob. She was unravelling a bit, that much was clear.

Draco crossed the room quickly and held her. It was harder to pull her close than he remembered it being, what with their daughter literally coming in between them. "It's okay, Hermione. The Healer said they will induce in another three days, if you don't go into labour beforehand. It will be over soon, I promise." He tried to rub her back in a way he hoped was soothing, without seeming like he was making a move.

"Every hour feels like a day to me, Draco." She sniffled into his chest. He rubbed her back some more. "I might actually break here. And I've had some pretty tough times, you know, historically. I wasn't prepared for how much the waiting would affect me."

"Can I take you on a walk?" He asked, casting his mind back to the non-sex options for inducing labour she had mentioned. "Get you some spicy food?"

"I have near-constant heartburn already. So that's out. And I don't really want to walk. I'm almost done with standing right now, if I'm being honest."

"Let me know what you'd like me to do, Granger. And I'll do it." Draco took a step back to look at her, and tried to keep his face and voice supportive, but neutral.

Hermione bit her lip, still sniffling, before taking a deep breath. "Draco, I think I want to —" she cut off suddenly, inhaling and grabbing her stomach. Her face twisted in pain. "Ow. Fuck!" She stretched out the swear word quite a bit, as she tried to breathe through a contraction that didn't look particularly false.

Draco was initially concerned, but then he felt a shiver of anticipation go up his spine. "Granger, is this it?"

After a moment, her face cleared of its pained expression and she grinned at him. "Well, that was definitely a real contraction. I guess we'll see if I have another one and start timing them?"

In a way, Draco was grateful for the timing of this interruption. He wanted to get this process started as well — watching Granger be so uncomfortable and unhappy was not enjoyable. And now, he would never have to definitively answer if he was the kind of man who would have taken her up on a request to shag her into starting labour. He'd like to think he'd say no, but if she was very insistent –- eh, let's just say that Draco would prefer to live with the illusion that he definitely would have nobly refused Granger's advances, without having to actually test his resolve.

It took an hour for Hermione's contractions to reach three minutes apart, which was when the Healer had told them they should leave for the hospital. Draco grabbed their go-bag and helped Hermione into the fireplace. Since the first one, every few minutes she had to stop, breathe and just live with the pain of the contractions. Her adrenaline rush was making her giddy and excited in between the pains, but everything came to a stop once a contraction started. Then there was nothing to do but breathe and endure.

Draco was starting to feel terrified.

Like Granger, in the moments between contractions, Draco was full of nervous anticipation. It was very thrilling to think that they were about to meet their girl. But Draco was afraid of the process they — or, he supposed, more correctly, Hermione — had to go through to get her. Draco worked really hard to keep his fear off of his face and out of his voice. Hermione needed his unqualified support today, and fuck if he wasn't going to give it to her. To both of them, really.

Draco reached out for her hand, trying to project an air of confidence and ease he did not feel. "Ready, Granger?"

She sent him a tremulous grin. "Ready, Draco," she said, nervously.

He threw down the floo power and shouted out "St. Mungos!"

xXx

Draco Malfoy had a lot of painful experiences in his past. There had been some schoolboy disappointments, of course. Those were trivial and he didn't dwell on those, no matter how much he might have thought his world was ending at the time. He knew now that Potter getting that exception in first year to play Quidditch didn't take anything away from Draco, even if it had felt like a personal attack at the time. And for the most part, especially before Hogwarts, Draco had experienced an idyllic childhood. Or at least, as idyllic a childhood as one could have with remote and detached parents, who also had extremely high standards for him to meet — lest they mete out consequences for his failures, whether real or perceived. But it had felt safe and in his ignorance, he thought he was happy.

And then Voldemort returned. And any illusions of safety and happiness were ripped from him. For years he lived in a crucible of terror as his father, the man he had once idolized entirely and believed to be invulnerable, became reduced to a crawling, obsequious wreck in the face of that monster; as his mother was forced to endure Voldemort's chaotic whims in her own house, under constant threat of torture or death; as Aunt Bellatrix entered his life and then became more and more unhinged towards everyone, including (and sometimes especially) the three Malfoys; as Hermione was tortured by the same mad witch, before his eyes as he watched helpless to intervene and unable to look away. And then, after the war, his time with Hermione had clued him in as to how hollow his early benchmark of 'happiness' had actually been. And then, predictably, he fucked that up too — hurting her and himself, to appease people who really didn't have his best interests at heart at all.

Draco Malfoy knew fear, just as he knew pain. Far more so than anything or anyone else, fear had been Draco's most constant companion and adversary over the past half-decade. It was a surprise, when he discovered that he had never known fearas intense as the fear he felt watching Hermione endure contraction after contraction, as she prepared to bring their daughter into the world.

He knew that Granger was in the right place — that the Healers at St. Mungos could, and would, provide them both with the best possible care. He knew that giving birth was not an uncommon thing — this was how everyone got here after all. He knew — more than most — that Hermione Jean Granger was the strongest fucking witch on the planet. Possibly of all time. He, most unfortunately, knew that she could endure significant pain and come out stronger. All of this he knew, but none of it could convince his rapidly beating heart to feel anything except unrelenting fear that he would lose them both and be powerless to stop it. The helplessness he felt — the utter uselessness he felt — for the first few hours of watching Granger withstand increasingly painful and frequent contractions, along with the effort of pretending it was not affecting him, nearly broke him. He occluded as much as he could, trying to maintain a mask of calm for her benefit.

"Granger, do you want to squeeze my hand?" Draco asked hesitantly, his voice very neutral but pleasant, after the Healer performed another diagnostic spell, assessing Hermione's progress.

"God, yes. But I didn't want to ask." She gripped his offered hand tightly and squeezed painfully through her next contraction.

Draco smiled slightly when her grip loosened but did not release. "Please ask me for anything you want, at least until this is done. Whatever you think of, no matter how strange or small." He looked down at his brave witch. "You are doing so good, Granger, so good." Well, this was a different context than he normally would say those words, a thought he quickly banished. He was close enough to an overt spiral already. Keep it together, Draco, he told himself sternly.

They kept holding hands, as Granger breathed through contractions and they kept holding hands during the rest periods in between. She would stop talking to him, sometimes mid-word, when she was experiencing a contraction. But otherwise, Draco kept up a steady stream of inane chatter to keep her distracted and Granger participated in the conversation as much as she was able. After another hour, during a rest period, she looked at him intently. "How are you holding up?"

Draco was surprised by her question. "I'm fine, Granger. You are doing all the work here."

"You are occluding a lot." She said, her voice without judgment. "Which is fine. Whatever you need to do. But I know you only do that when you are upset."

Draco felt his occlumency walls threaten to crack at Granger's attention to his emotional state in this moment, but mercifully they held. "I can't help you and deal with my own emotions at the same time, Granger. It's fine."

"It's okay to be scared. This is scary — we're going to be parents soon. Also, I have to push a person out of me. That's intimidating." She stopped talking to squeeze his hand and breathe some more. The Healer performed another assessment charm. The contraction passed and Hermione looked back up at Draco. "Thank you, for being here with me. I know this isn't easy for you either."

Draco rolled his eyes and let some more of his own emotions shine through from behind the shield of his occlumency. "Nowhere else I'd rather be." He smirked at her and got a small grin in return.

"Okay, it's just about time to start pushing. I'm going to go grab the medi-witch and we'll start with your next contraction." The Healer left in search of her colleague.

For a moment, it was just the two of them in the room. Draco was still holding her hand. Hermione looked at him, with fear showing in her eyes for the first time that day. "What if I can't do this?" she whispered, in a small, uncertain voice.

"You can. And you will. We'll see if the Healer can grade you on your performance. Aim for an Exceptional, yeah?"

"Exceptional?" she scoffed, smiling at his transparent attempt at distraction, but also seeming to regain some of her courage. "If there's a grade, I'm going to go for an Outstanding. Obviously."

There's my girl, Draco thought. "Of course, Granger, my mistake," he said with a smirk.

xXx

A little over an hour later, Draco Malfoy was looking down at the small, squished face of his sleeping newborn daughter, who was contentedly resting in the crook of his right arm, while his free hand fussed with her blankets.

"She's perfect, Hermione," he said, with tears in his eyes. Hermione lay back on her pillows, exhausted and happy. It had been an hour of pushing. Hermione had refused charms to block the pain for the entirety of her labour, but relented about a half an hour after she had been pushing without making any progress — and even then only after the Healer told her that the pain was exacerbating her fatigue and was making it harder on the baby. It had been the right approach to change Granger's mind. The initial pitch was that she was making too hard on herself, which didn't dissuade Hermione 'too bloody much' Granger in the slightest. But saying it was more difficult for the baby had gotten quick agreement from the stubborn witch.

"You have two more minutes, and then it's my turn."

"I know. I can share." But only with you, he thought wryly. Malfoys historically were not big sharers. Draco may have distanced himself from his former House as much as possible, but he suspected that he would always feel possessive of that which was most precious to him.

The somewhat surly medi-witch returned with paperwork that needed to be completed, for registering Cassie's birth with the Ministry of Magic. "Now Ms. Granger. What is the baby's name, for our records?"

"Cassiopeia Jean Granger."

"And, you are unmarried."

"Correct." She narrowed her eyes at the witch, her irritation at the question made plain.

"And the father is?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy." Hermione looked at the medi-witch intently, words like steel, while pointing at Draco, who was still cradling Cassiopeia in his arms. "The same man who had been here with me for the last 12 hours. See, he's standing over there, holding his daughter?"

The medi-witch sniffed. "I see. I will submit these papers to the Ministry on your behalf."

"I don't think so. Please give those to Draco and he will make sure everything is appropriately filed." Hermione plastered a pleasant smile on her pale, wan face, but her eyes were hard. Draco was glad she had intervened. He didn't trust the woman either.

The medi-witch handed the parchment to Draco, muttered something about Death Eaters that Granger clearly didn't hear, before flouncing out of the room in a huff. Hermione rolled her eyes at the witch's back.

"Why did she think you were here?" Granger asked, voice dripping with scorn. Granger had good instincts about that medi-witch — something about the departed woman had clearly raised her hackles, even before it became clear she was no fan of Draco.

Draco looked at Granger, who even after just delivering their baby, was still prepared to defend him from real or perceived slights, and his heart swelled with love for them both. "For my good looks and charm, obviously." Hermione snorted, and held out her arms.

"My turn," she said, eagerly. Draco walked over to the bed and made the complicated maneuver to transfer Cassie into Granger's arms. Hermione looked down at their girl, touching her sleeping face, before bringing her close enough to smell the top of her head. Cassiopeia had some faint wisps of blonde hair, which Draco desperately hoped would turn out to be curls. They would have to wait for her to grow more hair before they would know for sure. Granger sighed, in happiness and relief. Draco leaned over and kissed Hermione on the top of her head.

"You did so well, Hermione. I will be forever in awe of you." More so, actually, as Draco had been in awe of Hermione for quite some time.

She gave him a tired smile, and tilted her head in his direction. "Outstanding?"

"Outstanding," he agreed, without hesitation. Hermione shivered and gave him a smile, before bringing Cassie into the crook of her arm, and closing her eyes, finally able to rest.