The number of lives that Dimitri Ivanov was not in the report that Robards pressed into his partner's hand. As he clenched his jaw, Draco decided that wasn't an accurate thing to say since it had been in the document at one point, but it had been blacked out before he'd seen it. It didn't matter, he knew. He didn't need to know exactly what this man had done in his time.

He didn't need to know, in an effort to make himself feel the slightest bit better about the fact he probably wouldn't live past a few more days. Neither did Potter or Weasley. He wondered what it said about them, about him, and it was far from the first time he had considered that.

His wand dug into the softness of his wrist, and Draco rocked back on his heels. Brisk air blew past them from where they stood on the ridge—the last place Ivanov had been seen after arriving in Devon. "Figures that he'd head underground," Potter commented.

Draco nodded. "He won't stay long."

The wind came again, causing a chill to slide down his spine.

The downside to working while remaining hidden was that comfy inns weren't an option. Draco would rather not spend the night listening to Ron complain that a twig stuck him in the arse, and left a cut but here he was doing exactly that. Rolling onto his side, Draco hissed, "Dab some cream on it, and shut up."

"You're both annoying." Potter groaned, and shuffled in his sleeping bag. "Ron, we did this for a bloody year, so I think you can manage for a few days."

"Did he complain just as much then? Running from the Dark Lord while fighting off the vegetation, Weasley?"

"Who the fuck says vegetation instead of grass?"

Draco rolled his eyes, not that either of them could see it. "We aren't talking about grass."

"That's—" Without looking, he knew that Ron's upper lip had curled up into a snarl. "Harry, tell him—"

"Yes, he complained just as much." Harry spoke, voice weary. "If not more."

"You bloody traitor." Before he'd finished, there was a thud. "Did you just hit me with a water bottle?"

Draco turned again, this time to face them while pulling the side of the sleeping bag up. "We might not be able to find Ivanov, but luckily he'll find us since the pair of you are obnoxiously Gryffindor."The insult seemed to land, and for a blissful handful of minutes, there was silence.

Naturally, one of them ruined it.

Ron cleared his throat. "Are either of you actually tired?"

Of course not. It was hard to sleep when every snap, or crackle in the forest surrounding them could be Ivanov. Besides, no one ever slept on these missions, even when one of them would stay awake to keep watch. To keep in line with his tone of dry sarcasm from moments earlier, Draco would have pointed this out, but the catch in Weasley's voice stopped him.

"I'm not. Potter?"

"Can't sleep."

Content where he was, Draco continued to lay on the forest floor, and stared up through the canopy made up of leaves before his gaze landed on the moon above. "Spit it out, Weasley."

"Pansy's upset. No, she's not upset. She's—" he swallowed, and Draco could hear it. "'Mione—she's upset that she's not pregnant, isn't she?"

Draco froze, not that he'd been moving very much to begin with, but he didn't draw a breath either. "Yes, it's a difficult spot for her right now. I imagine it's partially why she's working so hard."

"The potions she's taking. Does she believe they're working?"

The only sound from Potter was his breathing.

Draco wished he had a better answer. "We're not sure yet. Her next appointment is next month."

"My mum put her foot in her mouth, but she doesn't realize she's done it." Ron told them, her voice low. "She's keen on becoming a grandmother again, and apparently she's asked Pansy if she's pregnant even when I'm not there."

He liked Molly.

He did, honestly. Despite the fact that there had been decades—longer than that, really—of bad blood between their families, she'd been kind to him. However, anger rushed through him then. "Pansy took it badly, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Ron breathed. "She told me she feels like a failure. I think you know better than anyone how she keeps her feelings close, but this…"

Pansy had kept her emotions locked up since they were children, but he knew what it was like to be in the room when the box was opened, and everything poured out.

"She told me she must be the problem. You've seen the Weasley genetics firsthand, haven't you?"

Draco would have liked to say something more reassuring, but he had nothing. "There's only so much we can do, given the fact that we don't fully understand the pain it causes them." He thought of Granger, of the way he'd found her with a muggle pregnancy test in their bathroom with tears staining her cheeks. "But she has Granger. I'll put you in touch with our healer once we're home."

"Thanks, mate."

It was a nice moment, but he didn't particularly care for nice. "Don't complain about your arse again."

"Then don't give me the sleeping bag with a hole in it, you tremendous fucking wanker."

"Mmm," Draco snorted. "Tremendous is a big word for you, isn't it?"

"Not as big as my—"

Draco cast a wandless silencing charm—that would wear off the second he fell asleep—and settled down to get as much sleep as he could.

The mission ended after four days—one day longer than he'd told Granger.

It ended unexpectedly even as the result had been the same one running through all of their minds. As Friday came to a close, two hours from bleeding into Saturday, Ivanov had entered a wizarding pub with his wand drawn where two aurors sat—aurors that had not been with them.

Dimitri's paranoia had doubled with them following behind each of his movements so closely, so it should have made sense how it had come to a head.

Despite being seconds behind him, those two aurors had been killed in a breath.

Landing in the pub, and confronted with the scene before them, Draco cast the killing curse as patrons scattered. The sound of a hard thud was still present in his ears as they prepared for their portkey.

"Alright?" Potter's voice remained low. "Malfoy, you couldn't have done anything to save them."

He shoved a jumper that smelled like Granger into his rucksack roughly. "I'm fine. It's not as though we knew it wasn't the most likely outcome."

While Weasley kept his back turned, still packing, his partner didn't let up. "Yeah, we assumed we might have to kill the man, but—"

"Stop."

"No, you need to listen. We've been partners long enough for me to realize when you're shouldering the blame, but there's not a thing you could have done to save those Aurors."

It wasn't true. Had their scouts been more accurate, it wouldn't have happened. Draco didn't say anything. He pressed his lips together and yanked the zipper of his bag shut. "Thanks for the pep talk, Potter. Really helpful, honestly. Perhaps Robards won't order me to visit the DMLE shrink since you've done his job already."

"You're implying there is a job for him to do."

"Piss off,"

Weasley hung to the other side of the room, portkey in hand.

Blowing out a hard breath, Harry said, "I'm just saying that you usually lash out when an assignment ends badly. It doesn't matter to me if you treat me like shite, but—"

A sharp whistle came from the other side of the room, the sound of a warning.

"I'd tread very carefully if I were you," Draco hissed. "Surely you're not implying that I'm going to be an arse to—"

"As fun as this is, I have a wife I'd like to get home to." Weasley intervened. "Malfoy, be nice to Hermione or we'll put your arse between your shoulder blades. Harry, remove your cock from your attitude, and let's go."

It should have made him laugh, but it didn't.

Robards greeted them at the Ministry with a nod. "Aurors Weasley and Malfoy, your wives are in a conference room down the corridor. Before you report to your debriefing, I suggest you see them." The break in protocol came as a surprise from the head auror. "It seems there was a mistake in what information was released to the Daily Prophet this afternoon."

Draco's bag slid off his shoulder and hit the ground. "What kind of mistake?"

"Well, the semantics aren't very important—"

"Sir—" Weasley choked. "Is that a handprint on your cheek?"

Robards swallowed, cheeks coloring slightly. "Yes, it is. The Daily Prophet released their article of the success of the mission early while also reporting that two Aurors were killed."

His stomach dropped, and the ground swayed.

"Auror Malfoy, I knew that Hermione Granger was not the witch to argue with, but she's—she has a ruthless right hook." Robards blinked. "I couldn't tell either of them that you were safe. The families of the slain Aurors haven't been identified."

Draco nodded. "Of course. I understand." Weasley was already halfway out the door by the time Draco caught up to him. He threw open each door as they rushed down the corridor, finding two rooms empty and one room being used for a seminar. "Apologies," Draco bit out, and slammed the door shut.

When he pulled the next door open, he saw Granger standing with her arms folded over her chest, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Sitting in the chair at the end of the table, her fingers curled into a tight fist, Pansy sat straight up as Weasley shoved past him.

"You're alive," Granger whispered. Her steps to him were slow, and he worried that if he moved any farther, he might scare her. "Is Harry…?"

"He's fine. It wasn't us, Hermione."

She nodded. "Robards put us in this room, and I wished that it would be anyone but you. Does that make me terrible?"

Unable to wait another moment, Draco pulled her into the curve of him while smoothing down her hair. "No," he murmured, curling his fingers into her hair. "Ivanov noticed he was being followed, and he found two Aurors in a pub. We were there seconds after, but it was too late."

Granger stretched up, and wound her arms around his neck. "You didn't arrest him, did you?"

"No, we didn't." Over the top of her head, he could see Weasley on knelt in front of Pansy, his arms around her waist as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I killed him."

She gripped him even tighter.

Weasley bit into his bagel and crossed one leg over the other. "So, you have to meet with the psychiatrist before Robards will release back into the field?" There was no reason for him to be there, other than to possibly annoy Draco. "Did you know that you've had to visit him more than I ever have?"

"You haven't killed as many people as I have." Draco ground out. "You also have an Order of Merlin, First Class and I have the Dark Mark."

It should have killed his optimism, but Draco's luck wasn't that kind to him. "Don't say it like that. For fuck's sake, you've only have three visits because of, well, this. Plus the others where you—"

"Why are you here?"

Weasley's cheeks reddened. "I have to tell you something you're not going to like. In fact, you're going to overreact, so I reckoned if I got a good enough rise out of you, it wouldn't seem so bad."

Draco tapped his fingers against his knee.

"Krum was in England while we were gone." He said it all in one breath, and waited for Draco's reaction. "You've got that look on your face. Look, you and I both know it's nothing. Hermione hasn't thought of him once since coming home with you, and from what Pansy said, it sounds like he just wanted to meet for tea."

He had a difficult time believing that Viktor Krum would settle for only tea with his wife. "Granger hasn't mentioned it."

"Well, she did think you were dead last night, and you can't blame her if it slipped her mind. You're both rubbish at communicating, and I felt I should have let her tell you in her own time." Ron groaned to himself. "Then I thought that I would want to know if I were you."

He nodded. "Thank you for telling me. I'll ask her about it later."

"Don't overreact, yeah? It's nothing."

Draco was home before her. Twenty minutes after he put the kettle on, Granger entered their kitchen and shrugged out of her jacket. He meant to broach the subject tactfully, but Potter had been irritatingly right. He did lash out at the ones he cared about.

"Krum was here."

Her head snapped up, curls moving with it and she stared at him. "Pardon?"

"Krum—Viktor, whatever it is you call him. He was here while I was in Devon, wasn't he?"

Granger gripped the back of the chair, and her eyes narrowed. "By here, do you mean—"

"I mean here," he snapped.

Hurt flashed across her face, and anger didn't follow. Granger's knuckles turned white as she clenched the back of the chair. "No, Draco. He wasn't here, but Krum was in the country while you were away. I know Pansy didn't tell you, so I'll assume it was Ron."

The kettle whistled behind him. "He did, but I wish I hadn't had to hear about it from him rather than you."

She hummed. "Did you wait for Ron to tell you how I told Viktor in no uncertain terms that I wasn't interested in seeing him in any capacity out of respect for my husband? Or did he neglect to mention that part of it?" Granger breezed past him, and pulled a drawer open before pressing a piece of parchment into his hand. "Read it. That's the letter he sent me the second night you were gone, and the letter I replied with. He sent it back without a response."

"Clearly he wanted something more than a bit of conversation then." Draco growled under his breath. He reached for her.

She pulled just out of his touch, and he didn't blame her. "I can't believe you don't trust me. I've never given you a reason not to."

"Nice jab, Granger."

The corners of her lips dipped. "That wasn't what I meant." Granger shook her head. "I'm going to bed. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you immediately. I hadn't given it any more thought, but you…" She trailed off, and left him in the middle of the kitchen.

It was a step up from the time he caused her to storm out of the flat, but not by much.

"Fuck me," he mumbled.

He slept on the sofa, choosing not to join her in the bedroom. As Draco saw it, the chances were slim that she wanted to see him, and it would be better to give her space. At the time, it'd felt like the best option.

In the morning however, Draco had changed his mind. It played through his mind again that he'd accused her of lying to him, of meeting her ex-boyfriend when Granger would never do that. And if she had, he thought, nothing would have come of it anyway.

Draco groaned as he shifted on the sofa, throwing an arm across his face as sunlight cut through the room. Warmth spread over him, down his forearm to the tip of his fingers. Crooks had curled up on his chest at some point, a soft mass of fur, and he could already see tufts of orange fur that clung to his shirt. "I'm leaving you at a groomer's."

Crooks sank sharp nails into Draco's chest, and cracked one eye open.

The flat was empty. There was no sound of the Granger's coffee machine, or the kettle, or the turning of pages from the kitchen table. Propping himself up, Draco's eyes swept over the room and he saw her bag was gone from the hook near the Floo, and from where he rested, he could see an empty vial poking out from the top of the rubbish bin at the edge of the kitchen. It dawned on him slowly, and then all at once.

Cursing under his breath, Draco left Crooks to sleep on the sofa as he rushed toward the bedroom, while still undressing. Granger's appointment at St. Mungos was today, and he'd forgotten. If he was lucky, he might arrive before the healer did, but a rushed tempus told him that luck wasn't on his side today.

Granger straightened as he entered the room, eyes widening slightly as he allowed the door to click shut behind him. "You have every rightt o be furious," Draco began, winded from the run there, his cheeks flushed. "I know that, and I respect that. I've missed one appointment before though, and I have no intention of missing another, no matter how angry you are."

"Draco—"

"If you want, I'll sit in that chair—in the corner even, if you like—and I won't say a single word, but please—"

She patted the space beside him on the bed. "I'd like for you to sit beside me, please."

His mouth snapped shut. "What?"

"I asked you to sit down." Granger nodded toward the empty space. "It's true that I'm frustrated, but we'll talk about it once we get home, and we'll work it out. We always do."

He leaned against the bed, and watched her hand raise to cup his cheek. "I don't deserve you."

Granger gave a small smile. "Don't be ridiculous. You've always had a jealous streak. Really, it came as no surprise to me, Draco." Her hand found his, and she threaded their fingers together. "I would have told you, but it slipped my mind since I thought you had been killed. I really think you can't fully blame me, but from now on, I'll let you know anytime an ex-boyfriend pops up."

"You don't need to do that." Draco wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "I trust you, and I overreacted."

"Yes, you did." Hermione nodded.

"I'm sorry, Granger. The things I implied—"

She cleared her throat, and shook her head. "Next time, can we just agree to talk things through before jumping to conclusions? Arguing is exhausting, and I hate sleeping without you."

"Yeah," Draco's lips brushed hers. He would swear that it was Granger to lean into him while curling her fingers in his robes. He'd only barely begun to kiss her properly when the door swung open.

"Pardon me," a healer interrupted them, amusement heavy in their voice. "Shall I give you a few moments?"

Granger had gone red to the roots of her hair.

It was funny how seemingly unrelated incidents could suddenly tie together.

On Sunday afternoon, Draco went into Diagon Alley to pick up treacle tarts for Hermione, something she didn't normally eat but had demanded that morning. He'd thought it odd, his mind already going to the most likely—or most hopeful—reason before stepping into the busy street with his hands tucked into his robes. He'd passed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and waved to George when the man had called out to him.

He'd picked up a toy a child dropped.

It had been a perfectly normal day where he would meet Granger at the Burrow for a Sunday dinner, treacle tarts in hand.

Draco probably should have known that it was anything but normal after bumping into Astoria outside the shop. Her eyes had dropped to the bag in his hand, a sneer already forming on her face as she said, "For your wife? A witch should watch her figure."

He watched his wife's figure plenty, thank you.

"Astoria," he said. "I would say it's nice to see you, but I'd rather not lie." Draco clenched his jaw, and tightened his grip on the bag. "I'd meant to stop by at the end of the week, after the last request so thank you for saving me the trip."

She laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound.

That had been all. Nothing terrible had happened, beyond the insult to Granger which he'd left out. In fact, Draco's day had returned to what it was supposed to be immediately after. He'd gone home to Hermione where she backed him to the kitchen table while thanking him between kisses for the treacle tarts, and while unbuttoning his shirt. They had been late to the Burrow, and she'd been careful to keep her hair down to hide the love bites at the base of her throat.

On Tuesday, the door to his shared office banged open and Potter tossed the Prophet onto his desk. It skidded across, sending parchment flying in several directions. "Potter, what are—" The words lodged in his throat as the headline stared at him, written in bold letters as a photograph moved below it. "Astoria's pregnant?"

"Apparently. This ran today, but Skeeter put the best spin on it she could. I have a hard time believing Astoria didn't have anything to do with it."

Maybe that was the case, but it didn't matter. What mattered was this photograph of Draco running into Astoria in Diagon Alley two days before, and the quote in the article of how he'd planned to stop by later in the week, but she'd save him a trip. Merlin, it sounded terrible.

"No one is going to buy this rubbish." Potter shrugged. "I figured you'd want to know anyway. Are you going to see Hermione?"

With a terse nod, Draco rushed toward the door.

"Oh, thank you, Harry. You really have my best interests at heart. Honestly, the best bloody partner I could ever have—"

"Fuck off!" Draco called over his shoulder.

"Have you seen today's Prophet?" Draco blurted, one step into the room.

Granger glanced over her shoulder, and held a finger to her lips. "If you wake him, I swear to God…" She laid the sleeping baby in the crib nearest to her, and led him from the room. "Are you yelling about Astoria?"

He blinked. "So, you've seen it. Granger, I didn't mean to see her, and Skeeter's just as foul as she's ever been."

To his surprise, she laughed. "I know that. You told me about her when you came home. Or, you tried but we were rather preoccupied with my appreciation of treacle tarts."

Draco snorted loudly, and grimaced when she shushed him. "I thought you might be upset, but rationally it makes more sense that you're not."

"Of course not," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's probably her latest attempt to ruin your relationship. Astoria thinks if she can't have you, no one should. I don't really mind that though, since I got you, and she's painting herself as a petty witch every time she casts a spotlight on herself. Now, surely you didn't leave the Ministry just for this."

"I decided to take a longer break," Draco said as though the decision hadn't been made right then. "Do you have enough time for me to take you to lunch?"

Granger hooked her arm through his. "You have impeccable timing. It just so happens that I do. Though, I think I'd rather go to our flat to eat."

"You're a wicked witch," he rapsed, leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "You have no intention of eating at all."

Side-Apparition landed them in the bedroom, and she laughed as he crawled between her thighs.