The cliffhanger from the last week must have kept you on your toes. I won't linger here, then.
Thanks to my beta, highlyintelligentblonde, as always.
MotekElm: Here's some more!
magicalalice: Wow! Stopped in the middle of an episode - I'm flattered! I've never been called a 'literary goddess' before but I will definitely take it!
Qween87: I am so, so glad it did not disappoint. I poured my heart into this chapter and its lovely to see it worked!
MAGIUSTHEELDER: I mean, I was dreading on your behalf as well.
Shinee's Hypeman: Well, that might have been a smart idea. But then, there would be no story ;)
ZoeyOlivia: Draco did NOT get hit by the knife. Your wait is over!
mhcalamas: Do you need a hankie? I can try to find one for you.
mollsballs: Exactly! It's a hell of a way to find out, that's for sure, but things might have been very different otherwise.
Bloodred 321: Look at that! An update! Thanks for enjoying my story 3
ProfessorMuggle: I am so glad you decided to give my little story a chance. So, so glad you're enjoying reading and I hope you continue to read and review!
Horses8: Nah, you're not a sap! Wanting things to turn out okay just makes you human.
Calimocho: You're welcome! Thanks for taking the time to say thank you!
Kyonomiko: It was DEFINITELY emotionally draining to read and for sure to write. I had to take a big breather after writing this one. I actually wrote my much more light-hearted soon-to-be-published GoGo fest piece as soon as I finished writing this.
addictedtoloveandfanfiction: It was difficult to get through, but you made it!
Daniel: I know, right?
SpuffyCarrie: She hasn't gone into labor yet, I swear!
Guests: You cried! You worried! You were speechless! You liked Ron more than Draco! I thank you all for reviewing!
All at once, the world came rushing back in a whirl of grey sky and soft sand. Salty air filled his lungs and stung his torn-up face and hands. His arms were still wrapped around Potter's bicep, squeezing tight enough that he was likely cutting off the other man's circulation. Draco released Potter and fell backwards onto the sand, knocking the wind out of him when he hit the ground.
Where were they? Blinking carefully, the world came into focus through the darkness of early morning as he took in his surroundings. They had landed by the sea, that much was clear. He could hear the crash of waves nearby. If he squinted, he could see that just beyond the beach sat a cottage. They were safe.
Draco couldn't believe they had made it out of the Manor alive. He and Potter and… oh Merlin.
Hermione. The baby.
Ignoring the pain from the glass shards embedded in his skin, Draco jumped up and whipped around. Where exactly had they landed? Where was Hermione? Why couldn't he see her? Had she been taken elsewhere? The salty air got caught in his throat as he tried to breathe, and he spluttered and coughed.
Fighting through the spasms, he cried out, falling onto all fours. He would crawl to her if he had to. "Hermione!" he called, his voice raspy. "Hermione!"
Draco turned back around to interrogate Potter, but the sodding fool was clutching the elf to his chest and… was he crying? Looking a little closer, he saw that Dobby had a dagger sticking out of his chest… the very same dagger that Bellatrix had used to carve up Hermione's wrist.
Draco's stomach lurched at the thought, and he fell to his knees and vomited in a patch of beach grass. Afraid to wipe his mouth for fear of cutting himself further, he fell backwards into a sitting position, keeping his hands suspended in front of him.
If Potter was incapacitated with grief for the house elf, he would need to find someone. Was Hermione even here? Perhaps she was in the cottage. He could only pray…
And then, as though those prayers had been answers, figures emerged from the front door of the house: two redheads. Weasleys. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and tried to pull himself to his feet.
When the Weasley brothers got closer to the water's edge, they split off – the younger brother sought out Potter while Bill walked in his direction. He began speaking as he approached.
"Come on, Draco. Let's get you clea–"
"Where's Hermione?" Draco demanded. He hardly recognized his own voice, which had become thick with emotion.
Bill's face softened considerably at his words.
"She's inside. Fleur and Luna are tending to her."
"How is she? Is she all right? Is the… is it…?" The words came tumbling out of his mouth, though he wasn't quite sure how to ask all the questions that were flying around his head. Though his lungs had begun adjusting to the salty seaside air, neither his mind nor his heart had slowed down. Both were still operating as though he was in a room filled with Death Eaters, his girlfriend writhing in pain on the ground.
His pregnant girlfriend.
Draco fought the urge to vomit again.
"I want…" he gulped, trying to force the nausea to pass, "I want to see her."
"Of course you do, mate. But like I said, she's being tended to at the moment. Fleur needs to concentrate, as the damage was quite… extensive."
All the color drained from his face as he lost the battle with his stomach again. When he had emptied its contents once more, he stayed kneeling in the sand, the bitter taste of bile coating the inside of his mouth. But that wasn't all he tasted. No. He also tasted salt.
Though he hadn't realized it, he had begun to cry. Tears were free falling down his cheeks as his breathing became more and more erratic. They stung the cuts on his face, though he scarcely cared. He also didn't care that he was crying out in the open. It did not matter that Potter and Weasley could see him, red-faced and covered in vomit-laced spittle and tears of desperation; it did not matter that they might perceive him as a weak fool. None of that mattered.
There had been a child. A child. And it was likely gone… it could be gone… and he had done nothing about it. Nothing at all. Grief rose in his chest anew.
"Hermione!" he rasped. "What have I done? What have I done?"
From the fog of his panic attack, a voice cut through. It called his name.
"Draco – Draco! Let's not panic just yet. Come on, mate. Let's get you up." He felt a set of strong arms lift him onto his feet and support his torso. "There's a good lad. Oi, Ron! Help me out!"
After a moment, Draco felt another set of arms support him toward some destination. Likely the cottage. After several steps on soft sand, he felt the terrain change to more solid ground, and then to a wooden floor. Though the moonless night still hung oppressively over them, the inside of the cottage was bathed in soft candlelight, a driftwood fire burning in the grate. He strained his ears for any sign of Hermione, but all he could make out were muffled voices coming from the floor above.
It had to be Hermione. He made to turn toward the stairs the moment he saw them, but an arm pulled him back – he wasn't sure whose.
"I want to see–" he began.
"We know," said Bill. "And you will. But first we've got to heal you up. Besides, they'll need more time. Like I said, Fleur needs to concentrate, and you'll just be a nuisance if you barge in right now."
Draco sniffed. The tears were coming slower now; some had begun to dry on his cheeks, leaving them cold and clammy. The pain he had been doing his best to ignore returned in a tidal wave, and his face and hands stung something horrible.
Someone set him down on a stool and began to draw out the glass with a wand – likely Bill. The other had begun to dab him with Murtlap essence – that one had to be the younger brother… Ron. The name sounded funny in his head, but he didn't try to switch back to 'Weasley.'
"Who brought her in?" Draco managed to ask once the stinging had subsided a bit.
"I did," responded Ron as he dabbed the Murtlap essence-soaked cloth on his chin.
"What do you know? How is she?"
Ron paused, taking a deep breath. For the first time, Draco noticed that his eyes were red rimmed. Had he been crying as well? The idea made his chest feel as though it was filled with lead.
"She's not good. She was… she was bleeding. Down there."
"I saw that. How… did you know about…?" Draco looked at Ron for a moment before closing his eyes in frustration. "What am I asking? Of course you knew. How could you not? You were only bloody alone with her and Potter for months…" his tone grew bitter as he looked into Weasley's dumb freckled face.
Was the child Hermione now carried destined to have those freckles? His stomach burned in anger.
As though he could read minds, Weasley reached out and grasped his newly healed arm, locking eyes.
"The baby's yours, Malfoy. Completely and wholly yours and hers."
Draco searched his eyes for some sort of deception or trick, but there was none to be found. Yes, there was a hit of anger and bitterness. But there was also honesty. He didn't need to use Legilimancy to confirm.
The anger fell away, only to be replaced by a more existential dread and sadness. His eyes glassed over and he leaned back on the wall. He wasn't sure how to process this news. Should he be happy? His child was growing inside Hermione, and the implications of that were far too complex to process right now; his mind was too overwhelmed by the memories of Hermione's screams.
"Oi! Malfoy. Don't go disappearing on us. We need you here. When Hermione wakes up, you better step the fuck up and stay by her side. Baby…" Ron grimaced and swallowed hard… "or no baby."
All the blood drained from Draco's face. The tightness in his chest returned, his heart rate speeding up once more.
A noise from above stopped everything – footsteps. Hurried footsteps. Draco's breath hitched in his throat as a solemn-faced Luna stuck her head around the corner of the staircase.
"Bill? Fleur wants you."
Bill nodded and stood, tucking his wand into his holster as he walked toward the stairs.
Draco stood as well, his eyes following Bill as he turned the corner and disappeared to the second story. His footsteps could be heard down the hallway, a door opening and then shutting.
"You… erm… all right, Malfoy?"
Draco scowled at him. "Do I bloody look like I'm all right?"
"Well… no."
"Then why the hell are you asking?"
"Because… well… because it's what Hermione would want, isn't it? She loves you, Malfoy. She told me. And just to put all our cards on the table, I… I love her." He paused for a moment.
In another time, Draco might have hit Weasley for saying that. He would have hit any bloke who expressed interest in his girlfriend. But he didn't have the will to fight with Weasley. Not now, anyway.
Weasley continued, "I love her, and that means protecting her and being there for her when she needs it, even if she won't ever love me back. I've come to terms with that, Malfoy, but only if it means you're ready to be there for her. She's been through so much these past few months – and not just what you saw tonight."
As though he wasn't already beating himself up enough…
"What's your point, Weasley?"
"My point is–" he paused and took a breath. "My point is that the only way Hermione is going to pull through this is if you're by her side. No chickening out. No running away. If the baby doesn't make it, she's going to need you to lift her up again. And if it does? You're going to be a dad, man. It's like I just said, you'll need to step the fuck up. She needs you either way."
A dad. Fuck.
He wasn't sure why, but he felt somewhat comforted by Ron Weasley's words. He was right, of course. He had to pull himself together before he barged into her room. The last image he had in his mind of her – bleeding, broken, held up with a dagger to her throat – needed to be tucked aside to process later. Right now he needed to be fully present and ready to meet her needs.
"Yeah," he mumbled, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his thighs. "You're right. I need to pull myself together. You three were the last people I expected to see at the Manor, and I think I'm still trying to catch up mentally."
Ron's eyebrows furrowed, his tone growing suspicious. "Yeah, why were you at Malfoy Manor? We left you at the Burrow with my family. We were actually on our way back there when we got caught – Hermione was going to sit down and talk to you about the baby. Why the hell would you go back there? I swear," Ron's voice turned dark, his eyes blazing, "if you did something to betray my family's or Hermione's trust I'll–"
"It's nothing like that. I never wanted to be back there. I just… made a stupid decision."
Ron snorted and Draco snarled at him.
"I was worried about Hermione, all right? Christmas Day I got a really bad feeling and it wouldn't leave me alone. I had been sitting on my arse for months doing nothing and the guilt was eating me alive."
He hadn't admitted this out loud to anyone before, and the words that had been playing in his mind over and over again came spilling out. "I wrote your family a note and left with the intention of trying to find you lot. Which, in retrospect was stupid, as no one could find you. So how could I have? In any case, I ran into snatchers not even five minutes after leaving and they brought me back to the Manor. I had to lie to the Dark Lord to avoid being killed, but I was thrown in the cellar and tortured anyway."
"But you weren't in the cellar anymore when we got there," Ron pointed out, the suspicion still clearly present in his voice.
"No, I wasn't. As it turns out, I was able use Occlumency thoroughly enough that the Dark Lord miraculously believed my lie and allowed me to return to his ranks instead of killing me. A small mercy, truly." Draco sneered at this.
"You… you kept working for him?" Weasley looked disgusted at the notion.
"Yes, well, I was safer alive and in one spot than on the run and labeled a traitor, wasn't I?"
Ron swallowed. "Did you… did you have to–?"
"I didn't kill anyone if that's what you're asking."
Ron paused. "Did you…?" He licked his lips, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling, where Hermione lay, damaged, potentially beyond repair.
Draco's stomach tied in knots. He knew what Weasley was asking and hated himself from the moment the words exited his lips.
"I had to keep my cover, otherwise I would have been killed. So yes, I did torture. And I hate myself for it. If it makes you feel better, I can picture all their faces every time I try to sleep." He reached for his wand, normally in his pocket, and found it to be absent.
That's right. Potter had taken it from him.
Good. He'd rather forget about that wand and get a new one without a history of torture and attempted murder.
"But why'd you do it, Malfoy? If you hated every second, why stay?"
Draco felt his jaw tense with anger. "Didn't I tell you that he would have killed me?"
"Is that why you just stood there and did nothing while Hermione was being fucking tortured?"
Ron had gone dangerously quiet as he asked the one question Draco dreaded to answer.
"Bellatrix and the Dark Lord would have killed us all. I had no choice."
"Bullshit."
Draco felt his heart pounding in his ears. Didn't this red-headed fucker know how much he already hated himself for not doing more? Didn't he realize that he had done all he could in the moment? That they would have all been dead if he had so much as tilted his head the wrong way?
He lowered his tone to a near growl. "You think I don't know how tonight would have unfolded if I had charged ahead? Do you have any idea how many people I've seen tortured and killed in that very room? Do you know what happened to the ones who tried to fight back? To those who tried to escape?"
"But at least they died fighting for what was right!" Weasley interrupted.
"They still died, didn't they? We wouldn't be here – Hermione wouldn't be here if I had charged ahead like a fool instead of using Legilimency."
"Instead of–? What?"
"Legilimency. You heard me, Weasley. It was all I could think of in the moment. Get inside her head. Find something – anything good to focus on."
Draco could practically see the cogs turning in Weasley's head as he tried to process what he had just said. When Weasley continued to furrow his brow, his eyes darting back and forth in confusion, Draco plowed on.
"I've already said it. If I charged ahead with some sort of heroic rescue, Bellatrix would have stupefied or even killed me. There's no doubt about that. What you did, running in there, was absolutely the right thing to do. But I know Bellatrix. I know how she works. She likes to… play." Draco grimaced at his own word choice. "Torture with her is always drawn out. Her victims often go mad before she stops."
He saw a flash of some sort of recognition in Weasley's eyes. Finally, progress. He continued.
"I couldn't be obvious about helping, but if I was careful enough, I could help without her realizing. I could keep Hermione from losing herself. So I dug into her memories and found her something happy to concentrate on. And it fucking worked. When I came back from fetching that goblin, she had the stupidest, bravest, most Gryffindorish look on her face you can possibly imagine. Looked my aunt right in the eye like it was a dare. A fucking dare."
Wealsey let out a breath, shaking his head. "What memory did you find?"
"The baby. She thought of a lot of things, but the happiest memory I found was the baby. That's how I…how I…" Draco trailed off.
"That's how you found out, isn't it?"
"That and the glamour. It held on for a long time."
"Glamour?" Ron tilted his head.
"On her stomach." Draco explained. "She didn't look pregnant when you arrived."
Ron's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah. Brilliant bit of magic. Four spells layered on top of one another. Shield, disillusionment, notice-me-not, and weightlessness."
Draco's eyebrows shot up as scenes from early that night replayed in his head. Her convulsing. Her screaming. His heart rate increased as the sound echoed in his head. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, mostly to himself. "She managed to hold all four charms for that long?"
"Eh?" Weasley leaned forward.
"Hermione, she… she kept those charms up almost the entire time she was tortured. They only flickered twice as it was happening and faded completely when the chandelier fell."
Draco knew what that meant, and so it seemed, did Weasley.
"You mean she willed the charms to stay cast that long? Her mental state… she must have…" Weasley paused, his voice dying out for a moment before returning in a whisper. "…must have stayed focused. Malfoy…"
"It wasn't much. But it was enough, apparently," Draco mumbled. Relief poured into his soul. He had done something at the Manor – something that mattered. Though he couldn't be sure it had been enough to save the child, he had kept Hermione's mental faculties in place until the very end. And that wasn't nothing. Finding his voice, he spoke to Weasley.
"The Dark Lord is not my master – hasn't been for a long time. When I was trapped – yes, trapped at Malfoy Manor – I thought about how I abandoned your family every day and what a big mistake it all was. Yes, it would have been far nobler to send myself on a suicide mission by standing by the moral high ground from the beginning, but guess what? I'm not a bloody Gryffindor; that's not who I am. I'm in Slytherin, and I do whatever it takes to make it through. That's exactly what I did. I made it through. I had to make it through."
As the words spilled from him, his voice began to waver as even more tears threatened to spill from his face. He thought he must have been cried out by now, but apparently not. "I had to make it through for Hermione. She's all I could think about. Day and night, I imagined ways to get back to her. But what use would I be to her if I was dead? And now, to think that she was pregnant?" His voice hitched as a sob bubbled up. For the second time in an hour, he was crying in front of Ron fucking Weasley, and he didn't give a damn.
The Weasel just stared back at him, mouth slack-jawed.
"And you know what? I would do it all over again just to be here in this moment when she needs me, baby or no baby." He paused once more, trying to collect himself. "I think that's enough questions for now, Weasley. You know how I stand. I won't repeat myself again. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wait for Hermione upstairs. I want to be there when she wakes up."
Draco marched away from the kitchen. He needed to be closer in case he could see her. Up the stairs, he found a small collection of rooms, all of which had their doors closed. No noise came from the doors, with the exception of one. Muted voices came from behind the second to last door at the end of the hallway. He heard Bill's voice as well as Luna's, and a third voice – female. That must have been Fleur. His feet carried him to the end of the hallway, where he sank down onto the floor across from the closed door.
He would wait here as long as it took.
Minutes ticked by slowly. Draco kept himself sane by watching shadows pass under the crack at the bottom of the door. Though he had no idea what was happening on the other side, he supposed he took comfort that the footsteps and voices inside never seemed urgent.
After a while, Potter and Weasley joined him upstairs, sinking to the floor to sit on his left side. No one said a word – there was no need to, really. He guessed that Weasley had filled Potter in on their earlier conversation, as the boy wonder didn't attempt to interrogate him or even throw him dirty looks.
The three young men sat together in heavy silence for almost an hour before the door handle jiggled and turned. As soon as they heard the sound, all three jumped to their feet, nervous anticipation on their faces.
Bill and Luna emerged moments later, though to Draco's dismay, they didn't open the door all the way; rather, they only opened it enough to slip through sideways, closing it once they were both out.
When the door clicked shut once again, Draco spoke immediately. "Well?" he asked in a half-whisper. "What's going on?"
Only after spoke was he able to take in the expressions on Luna's and Bill's faces. Both looked exhausted – especially Luna. It was understandable. She had, after all, been a prisoner until just hours ago.
They looked completely beat, but not grim. Not sad. Not defeated. Draco's heart gave a small stutter as Bill took a deep breath and gave a half smile.
"She'll be all right."
All three boys sighed collectively.
"And the baby?" Potter asked, fear soaked in his voice.
Luna piped up this time. "The baby was in a bit of a precarious situation, but we were able to treat Hermione quickly enough that it'll be fine."
"So… so the baby will live?" Draco asked in a whisper, his voice trembling.
Bill took two steps forward and set his hands on Draco's shoulders, leaning forward until they were eye-to-eye. His steady grip had a calming effect, his eyes warm and confident.
"Yes, Draco. The baby will live."
Those were the only words he needed to hear before he broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing again.
The baby would live.
It wouldn't die.
His child's blood wouldn't be on his hands.
Tears of relief spilled onto the floor. To his surprise, he heard other sniffling sounds; when he looked up, he saw that both Potter and Weasley were crying as well, though not as intensely.
"There you go, lad," Bill reached down and hoisted Draco up by the arms. "Have a good cry. Get it out." The eldest Weasley brother pulled him into a hug, and he was reminded strongly of Mrs. Weasley. After a minute or so, his sobs turned to shuddering hiccups, and he was able to pull himself together.
"So what now?" he managed to ask as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing.
"When Fleur is finished cleaning up, you can go in."
"Is she awake?" Potter asked, wiping his own eyes.
"No, not yet," Luna answered. "But she should within a few hours. Fleur gave her a bit of a sedative to help her sleep."
Draco nodded along. Should he be asking more questions? He wasn't sure. A short silence followed before Weasley asked another question.
"Is that safe for her, a sedative potion? I mean, well, is it safe for the baby?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. That was a good question. He needed to take initiative and ask questions like that…
Bill reassured them that everything was safe, and that Hermione was on the mend. Before anyone had a chance to ask any more questions, Fleur popped her head through the door.
"You may come in now if you wish," she spoke softly. Though she wore a gentle smile, she also radiated stress and exhaustion.
Draco expected one of her friends to lead the charge inside, but when he looked at them, they seemed to be waiting for him. Potter jerked his head slightly, indicating that he should go first.
"Go on, then," the younger Weasley said.
Nodding, Draco felt his stomach flip as he took several steps forward and crossed the threshold into the bedroom. Nothing about its crisp, clean state gave away the severity of the medical emergency that had just taken place. Nothing, that was, except a large, dark red blotch on the front of Fleur's robes. Draco's eyes gravitated toward it, the only splash of color in this otherwise light, neutral space. His stomach clenched at the sight of it, but he managed to control his nausea.
He forced himself to look away from the blood stain.
Draco turned to his left toward the bed, bracing himself as he did. There, tucked peacefully beneath white sheets and a blue afghan, sleeping on her side, was Hermione.
His Hermione.
Her face looked peaceful as she slept, her curls fanned out behind her on the pillow. Upon closer inspection, her face was rather too pallid for his liking. The last time he had seen her, her skin was still sunkissed from a summer of riding bikes and talking walks out in the sunshine. He could see now that winter had not been kind to her. It hadn't been kind to him either, of course, but it was her happiness he wished for.
From behind, Weasley and Potter joined him at Hermione's bedside. In a clear moment of intimacy, Potter reached forward and tucked an errant curl behind her ear.
"I'm so sorry, 'Mione," Draco heard him whisper.
He felt his heart twist unexpectedly at these words and at Potter's gentle care. As much as he hated to admit it, Hermione was truly lucky to have such good friends to take care of her when he could not.
Hermione grunted in her sleep and turned onto her back. As she rolled over, a large bump appeared as the afghan fell away. It was globed and roughly the size of a Quaffle.
The baby. The baby they had made.
He had only gotten glimpses at the Manor when her spellwork wore off, but seeing the bump, solid and right in front of him made the situation far more real. Weasley had reassured him that the baby was his, and he had no reason to doubt that statement. If there was any belief that this baby belonged to Weasley, the redhead surely would have loudly and obnoxiously staked his claim.
Instead, for the first time, Weasley was… bearable?
No, the child in Hermione Granger's stomach was undoubtedly his. It had to be.
Draco held his hand out, brushing his fingertips lightly against her cheek. He was incredibly aware of Weasley's and Potter's eyes watching him as he did this, but he found he was too far gone to care. Breathing gently through his nose, he traced Hermione's face with his hands, making his way down her arms.
As his fingers grew closer to her stomach, he drew his hand away. His whole body shook as he stared at Hermione's rounded belly. This was it.
Somehow, he felt as though his whole life had been leading to this moment. He wasn't sure he was ready.
With his hand still hovering inches away from her stomach, Draco's breathing grew shallow, and he felt the same panicked fog start to creep into the edges of his brain. He must have been obvious, because seconds later, he felt a hand on each of his shoulders. Looking both ways, he saw Potter and Weasel. They had reached out to steady him.
"It's all right," Weasley said, his tone encouraging. "Go on."
His fingers inched closer, trembling more than before. The more he stared, the tighter his chest felt. Closing his eyes, he took a jagged breath with his hand milimetres away.
"I… I can't do it," he mumbled, his whole body burning with shame at his cowardice.
From beside him, he felt movement; opening his eyes, he saw Potter had stepped forward and placed his own hand on Hermione's stomach, an affectionate look on his face. When he turned his head back, he offered a small smile.
"Of course you can. Just reach out. I promise, it's magic."
Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter's choice of words.
It's magic.
Steeling himself, he closed the gap, his palm pressing gently to the apex of Hermione's stomach. Nothing happened for several moments, and they all stood in silence, all eyes on him.
And then he felt it: a tiny push on his hand.
His breath caught in his throat.
Magic.
Even though he was sure he was cried out, he felt his eyes sting with fresh tears. He licked his lips, searching for any words that could do this moment justice. As much as he wracked his brain, only one came to mind.
"Magic," he whispered into the air.
Weasley gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"Come on, you lot," Draco heard Bill say from somewhere behind him. "Let's give them some time."
Everyone else filed out of the room, and after a few moments, Draco found himself alone with Hermione for the first time in almost seven months.
Grabbing a chair from over by the window, he carried it to her bedside and sat, one hand cupping her face, the other placed gently on her stomach. He leaned down and brushed a light kiss on her cheek.
"Hello love," he murmured. "I'm here. I'm here now."
He stayed like this for a long while, soaking in her presence. As he sat vigil, the sun began to rise, sending soft light trickling in from behind lace curtains. This had, by far, been the longest night of his life. His emotions had been through a Wronski Feint, and the aftermath left him feeling more tired than he had been in months. Comforted by Hermione's soft breathing on his cheek, Draco closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to drift.
When he woke again, he discovered that someone had transfigured his chair into a camp bed and his robes into soft, grey pyjamas. Despite clearly having been moved, it seemed that his hand had found Hermione's stomach again; his palm was splayed over her slightly-protruding belly button.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Draco stretched. How long had he been asleep? Sunshine now shone bright through the window. It had to have been at least an hour, if not more. He blinked, sitting up. Beside him, Hermione slept on, her chest moving up and down in a calming rhythm.
When was the last time he slept beside his girlfriend? Had it really been July? He had missed so much in these months. Of course, he had known Hermione was keeping secrets from him. She had to. Frankly he still had no idea what she, Potter, and Weasley had been up to these past few months. He had come to accept that as reality – he would not be privy to the top-secret, all-important mission left to those three. That's the way it was meant to be.
Yes, he understood that.
But when Hermione had found out she was pregnant…. had that changed anything for her? When had she found out? Why had she continued on her mission instead of retreating to some place safer? Why hadn't she written and told him? This was what weighed on him most. Was he even meant to find out about his child? Or would she have given birth in hopes that they both survived the war? He shuddered at the thought of discovering he had some unknown child out in the world.
He then remembered Weasley's words – they had been on their way to the Burrow when they had been caught, unaware that he no longer lived there.
But she still had waited so long. What in the world had she been thinking? Draco stared at his girlfriend's sleeping face, trying to piece together her logic. Hermione was no idiot, and she hardly made poorly-thought-out decisions. No, there had to have been a reason she didn't tell him.
He thought that perhaps he should be angry.
Not only did she willingly put herself in danger, but she was also clearly incredibly pregnant. He didn't know much about pregnancy, but surely, based on her size, she had known for quite some time. Yet, looking back on her letters, it was hardly obvious. She had mentioned feeling ill at one point. That could have been about any kind of illness he thought as he continued to study her face.
Had she actually attempted to tell him in a more subtle manner? Draco thought hard to every letter he could remember. He had read and re-read her messages so many times that he practically knew most of them by heart at this point…
And then he knew. He had read that letter for comfort so many times in the days following his return to Malfoy Manor.
When this is all over, I'll have so much to tell you – to show you. I wish I could divulge more details, but we've got too much riding on our shoulders to reveal much of anything. Know that I constantly think of you. It's as though you're always with me, really. I can feel a part of you lingering and even growing within me, and it gives me strength. Our love has given me the greatest gift, Draco.
He had paid particular attention to the way she wrote her g's.
He hadn't paid attention to the message – the real message.
Our love has given me the greatest gift.
Draco sighed and stroked Hermione's face, lowering his forehead to touch hers. How could he possibly be angry? He was upset, yes; overwhelmed, definitely; confused, absolutely. But he was not angry.
Just then, Hermione made a slight moaning noise in her sleep. Draco jumped and stroked her cheek with slightly more pressure.
"It's all right, love. I'm here. I've got you."
She moaned again, her drawing a long breath followed by a yawn. Her eyes scrunched together as she shifted her body, reaching a hand down to rub large circles on her stomach. Draco watched in fascination as a sleepy smile grew on her face. She drew in one more breath and held it for just a moment.
Without warning, her eyes flew open, and she snapped to a sitting position, her breaths coming in short pants. The other hand flew to her abdomen, eyes still unfocused – searching. Her motions were frantic as she pressed her hands to her stomach in multiple spots, waiting several seconds between touches.
What was she doing? Had she even noticed him?
It seemed not. She only had eyes for her stomach. Though he tried to get her attention, she could not be distracted.
So he focused on her stomach too.
And then he saw what she was waiting for: a kick, visible even through her nightgown.
Immediately, her whole body slumped back, relief evident on her face.
"Harry, what happened?" she mumbled, her voice thick as though she struggled to move her tongue. Draco raised his eyebrows at her comment. Had she really not seen him at all?
"It's, erm… it's not Harry."
Hermione blinked several times, her brow furrowed in confusion. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.
Immediately, her eyes went wide and her breath caught in her throat.
"D…Draco? How? Y-y-you were at Malfoy Manor. I saw…" Hermione tried and struggled to form words. Draco shifted from his camp bed to her side, sitting on the edge of her mattress. Grabbing her hand, he began to recount the past several months beginning around Christmas, keeping the heavy details to a minimum for now. He didn't want to overwhelm her. For being in a distressed state, she was an excellent listener. Her eyes stayed trained on her stomach as he talked; though she didn't look at him as he spoke, she nodded along, her expression clearly changing along with the story.
"
I didn't want to believe what I was seeing," Hermione admitted when he was finished. "At the… at the Manor. When I saw you standing there, I wanted so much to believe that it wasn't you, that my mind was making it all up. In that moment, I… I doubted you, Draco. I was so angry and scared. I felt betrayed. I thought you betrayed us all." Hermione had stopped rubbing her stomach and now stared down, not moving a muscle.
"Completely understandable." Draco cut in. "How could you have known?"
"But it didn't take me long to see the truth."
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
Hermione took her eyes off her stomach and turned his way. Soft pools of chocolate greeted him, and he felt truly at ease for the first time in months. How had he lived without those eyes in his life, looking at him this way?
"I felt you in my mind, Draco. When I was… when I was being tortured, I felt you searching for my happy memories. You used Legilimency, right? You found my happiest thoughts. It's because of you that I could focus and get through it all."
Draco gulped, remembering the black and white telly with the moving picture.
"What exactly was that memory with the telly?" he asked, licking his lips again.
Hermione kept her eyes on him, reaching forward to lace her fingers in his. It was his turn to blink in confusion. Slowly, she moved his hand within her own, gently tugging it until both their hands rested on her stomach.
The look in Hermione's eyes was so intense and filled with some emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. Nevertheless, she didn't look away, even after her palm pressed his into her belly. Draco felt a tiny movement from within.
"It was the first time I saw her."
Her? Who…?
Draco's eyes grew wide.
"Her…" he breathed.
"It was the first time I saw our daughter."
Draco looked between Hermione's sincere face and her stomach, a new feeling of fullness he couldn't identify welling inside.
Somehow, he thought that feeling might be the same one that filled Hermione's eyes.
A daughter. He and Hermione had made a daughter – a daughter who somehow, miraculously continued to kick his hand even now.
Without warning, he knew fully and completely that he would face a hundred Death Eaters just to keep her safe.
He also knew what that full feeling in his chest was.
Love.
Finally, some fluff! Hopefully, you're feeling a bit more at peace this week.
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