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**** DRACO ****

I sat staring at the parchment on the table. The scotch in my glass had left a bitter taste in my mouth, and was now slowly growing warm as I simply held the glass in my palm.

Another owl had arrived, the letter it carried was once more signed by my father, and his disgust at my employing Hermione was nothing compared to his absolute horror at my now being with her. In the weeks since The Ministry ball, I had received several similar letters from him, the vitriolic sentiments gradually building until the callous, cold-hearted one that had arrived this evening.

Traitor. Turncoat. Mudblood. Disloyal. Disowned.

It was all there. Insults to me, insults to Hermione. And to top it all off, a request for me to rid myself of his family name.

My temper had twitched, but I had managed to keep it under control. There was no real point in taking any notice of the irrelevant ramblings of a pathetic shell of a man locked in prison.

But regardless, his actions were still that of a man trying to cling to the hope that he was still important, that he was still somebody, that his opinion meant something. However, the reality of it all was that he was just a name, a name that would be forgotten long before he took his final breath and left this world for good.

Although, I was in no hurry for that to happen; a lengthy stint in Azkaban was exactly what he deserved.

The fireplace flared and Hermione stepped out, her was face tired, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"Hey there, sorry I'm late." she stood behind me, running her hands down my chest and kissing the top of my head. She noticed the parchment on the table and the half drunk scotch in my hand, and her smile faltered. She move to stand beside me and took the scotch from my hand, downing it in one go. She shuddered, slightly, and winced at the burn of the scotch that she rarely drank. "What's happened?"

I leaned forward and plucked the parchment from the table and handed it to her, "My father."

Her shoulders slumped and all the air left her lungs, "Again? Have you told Harry?"

"He's on his way now." I watched as she scanned the letter, her jaw clenching. I reached my hand out and curled it around her hip to her lower back, pulling her closer and leaning my head against her hip. She ran her fingers through my hair and across the nape of my neck

"If it is him, how the hell is he doing this?" She said quietly.

"He's resourceful." I murmured, as her fingers drew circles over my skin, soothing the anger out of me. It was something that she seemed to have a natural instinct for; knowing how tense I was and knowing what I needed to sooth the stress.

I closed my eyes, letting her hands work their magic on me, hating that he was still able to make me feel like this, like I had done something wrong, that I had messed up, that I had disobeyed him.

But as much as I tried to push him out of my life, he still had a hold on me. It might have been minuscule, but it was still there.

And just how he was getting these letters to me was a complete mystery. He was under some of the harshest restrictions that Azkaban dished out, so it should have been impossible.

But this was Lucius Malfoy and his resources, it seemed, had no limits.

I sighed, loving the feel of her fingers running through my hair, and my shoulders finally relaxed. The silence settled over us, only our quiet breaths and the crashing sea outside could be heard. We'd been lucky. No one had discovered us living out here, despite the concentrated effort by almost everyone outside of our circle to do so.

Our offices had been inundated in the days following the ball, to the point of ridiculousness. Reporters camped outside the building, they had followed us everywhere, and even though I had suggested that we lay low until things died down, Hermione had insisted that we simply ignore them.

And Weasley had been a complete douche. His attempts to paint Hermione as the reason that they split were laughable. Pictures of him and the woman from the ball were splashed all over the papers with stories full of lies, of his denials, of just how hard life with Hermione had been for him. How he had to live in her shadow, how he would never live up to the expectations she had, how she had pushed him to do what he did.

Hermione refused to answer any questions, or even accusations, in regards to his spiteful claims. She had surprised me. I knew that she was strong, but her determination to not let the gossip, or the reporters, get under her skin, proved that she was more than resilient, but in fact that she had a core of steel.

Ginny, however, refused to let it slide. She had gone on her own rant, first at him and then publicly, letting any gossip reporter know that if they believed Ronald Weasley to be the innocent victim he was making himself out to be, then they were bigger idiots than he was.

And when his lies brought him no sympathy, even after Ginny's rant, he thought it wise to accuse Hermione of only chasing me for my money, of not seeing him as an equal because of his poor upbringing, of being snobbish and shallow and thoughtless, and it was possibly his biggest mistake to date.

Those who hadn't already done so turned on him, labelling him a fool and an ingrate. It was bad enough, they had said, that he cheated on her, but to insult the wizarding world's most favourite heroine on top of that? Well, that was equally unforgivable. Everyone knew she was nothing like he said, that she was able to look past anyone's faults and see the good; I was the perfect example.

And the attention seeking moron suddenly found himself no longer of any interest to anyone.

I gripped her tighter and felt the press of her lips on my head.

"Why is he doing this?" I shook my head, "Is he that desperate for his name to not be forgotten? Is he that arrogant?"

She dropped into my lap, and circled her arms around my neck, "I think he still believes that the old world still exists," she shrugged, "And maybe in some dark corners, and shady dwellings, it does."

"It always will, wont it?"

"Probably," she smiled and rubbed her finger over the frown between my eyebrows, "But you're not him. So stop thinking that you are."

"I'm not thinking that." I said, but she was right. It was just one more thing that I constantly questioned about myself.

She kissed me, "Yes, you are. And I know that it will be a long time before you don't, but you know you're not him."

"Some days, I don't know, the distinction is hard to see."

She smiled and ran her hand across my cheek, "It's there. You're just not looking hard enough."

The fireplace flared again, and we both looked up. Harry stepped out followed closely by Ginny, who looked positively green and clapped her hand over her mouth, disappearing instantly.

"She's still sick?" Hermione asked and Potter nodded.

"She is, and morning sickness is a bullshit name, by the way. Projectile vomit at any random time during the day would be a much more suitable name for it."

He sank into the couch opposite us and Hermione shot him a look of sympathy. He looked exhausted and I cringed, glad about the fact that Hermione was in no hurry to go down that path. Just the thought of having to watch her, to have to be near her if she was anything like Ginny made me feel queasy. I wasn't sure if I could cope with the reality.

"You didn't have to come right away, Potter," I glanced towards the small bathroom at the end of the short hallway between the kitchen and the backdoor, where I assumed Ginny had apparated to. "If Ginny's not well, you could have seen me tomorrow."

Hermione snorted a laugh and climbed off my lap, headed for the kitchen and a glass of water for Ginny for when she finally emerged.

"Not good with the vomiting, then?" Potter looked at me with barely concealed amusement.

"Understatement," Hermione said, returning and sitting in the armchair beside me. She reached over and patted my arm, "This one's no good with any of that."

"Don't get Hermione pregnant any time soon then," Ginny groaned as she returned and sunk down beside Potter, who wrapped an arm around her. "Because this sucks."

"Ah, that won't be an issue, Gin," Hermione said, saving me from an awkward response, "I have no plans to follow in your footsteps any time soon. And certainly not if it means looking like you do right now."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at her teasing, but I caught Potter eyeing us carefully. Clearly he knew the hangs-ups Hermione had in regards to marriage and starting a family, had probably been witness to the arguments between Weasley and her. I had no idea just how much Hermione had shared with him about us, but going by the look on his face, I was sure that she had at least told about him the conversation that we'd already had in regards to this.

"Anyway," I said and reached across and handed Potter the latest letter. "My father's latest effort arrived this evening."

Potter looked it over and shook his head.

"What?" I asked.

"Lucius denies all knowledge of those." Harry indicated the note on the table, "He was actually shocked when he was shown the pictures and the story about the two of you."

"It could have been an act," Hermione suggested, but her tone sounded as disappointed as I felt.

"Ah, no. He...um," Potter looked at Ginny, and then back to Hermione.

"He what?"

"He was shocked, but then he was outraged." He made a face, one I was unable to read. He pointed at the parchment on the table, "He pretty much echoed those words, but actually what he said was much worse."

Hermione frowned, "So why do you not think it's him?"

"The Ministry authorised the use of Veritaserum on him. And he was telling the truth."

I looked at Hermione, and she squeezed my hand, "That's good. Kind of."

"I guess." I shrugged. "And Demetrius?"

"Demetrius is nowhere to be found, but we're trying to get permission to trace him." Potter smiled ruefully, "I guess there are still a few purists that are happy to hide him. But the minute we find him, he'll be incarcerated with your father. We've got enough on him for selling fake or illegal ingredients to put him away, that and a few other things. We'll get him Malfoy, and he won't get near either of you."

"Are you sure Hermione is safe?"

Potter nodded, "She is. You both are. No one knows where you are, and The Aurors are okay with me relaying any information to and from you, they understand your need for privacy. And if you're both okay with it, I can put a trace on you both, that only I can monitor."

"That doesn't sound like we're safe, Potter."

"Hey," Hermione said gently, "At least your father knows – well knew – nothing of your life. And we know that Azkaban is still secure. I trust Harry, no one will find us here, and I'd be more than happy for him to keep a track of us when we're not."

She was right. Despite the fact that Lucius now knew about us, there was no way he could get to us. The prison was secure, and if Potter could keep an eye on us, I knew that no one could get near us. Not at the offices, not at home.

I looked at the three of them and I shook my head, knowing just how Hermione felt when Weasley turned up at our office. "The three of you looking out for me...I never thought I'd see the day."

Ginny jolted upright, "No. Count me out." She clapped her hand over her mouth before bolting down the hallway, and we all jumped when the bathroom door slammed shut.

Hermione was looking down the hallway after her, her face pulled into a horrified grimace. Potter caught my eye and grinned. I sniggered and she turned back to us.

"No chance of changing your mind then?" Potter said with a smirk.

She looked at me and then lowered her gaze to my lap, "Just so you know, you won't be coming anywhere near me ever again."

I laughed, "Still making my life hell? Thanks Potter."

I lay staring at the ceiling with one arm curled beneath my head, the other flung across Hermione's hip. She was curled beside me, both her hands folded between her cheek and the pillow, the tiny squeak she made with every breath making me smile.

How it was possible for her to sleep as deeply as she was astounded me. But, she trusted Potter to find Demetrius, and clearly that alone had eased her mind and sleep had come easily to her. I should have been the same. I knew that Potter, and the Aurors, were more than capable of finding him, but I had been awake for hours, unable to turn off my mind. Potter's words, while a comfort to Hermione, had been running on a constant loop in my head. And the confusion that had come with his words had caused my head to pound.

My father had no knowledge of mine and Hermione's relationship until the Aurors told him. And it wasn't him who was sending the threatening letters. But as Potter had said, he was still furious about the fact, and I was weighing up whether I liked that the fact that he knew about us and was displeased, or if I was pissed that he had been told.

I hadn't been lying when I told her he had once been my idol. Everything he did or said I wanted to emulate. In my young eyes, he was a hero. He was the man who knew everything, he was the man who could do no wrong, and he was the man who had power and demanded respect through fear. And it was a path I had once been more than will to follow him down.

The thought now made me shudder. How I could have even considered that life, considered that fear and hatred were paramount to all else, was cringe worthy. I had been led to believe his lies, believe that money, power and fear were what made you important, not respect and character and human decency.

And when the war was lost and he had tried to deny his own lies and deceit and then blame me and my mother, I had felt betrayed. And the instant hatred that had built in my chest was an emotion that was foreign when it came to my father, and I had struggled with the helplessness that I had felt at the time. And what I had hated even more was that fact that I felt as though I had lost all control. And if there was one thing I had hated more than anything, was not being in control.

It was a feeling I wasn't used to. It had been something I had mastered, something that had been indoctrinated into me; show no emotion, don't let anyone in, stay in control. But when he had turned on me, everything I had been taught to believe became worthless and irrelevant, and I was at a loss at just how to rebuild the life I thought I would have.

Pansy had been the one to first suggest that we build a legitimate business, be completely transparent, and remove ourselves completely from the sins of our fathers. And it had given me something else to focus on. My mother had a strict probation on her which had required me to move out of The Manor, and I rarely saw her because of that; I built my house up here on the cliffs and I had thrown myself into building our company. And I had finally regained control.

And then she came along, tilting my world sideways again. Only this time it was in a good way.

I rolled to my side to look at her. She was so right in my bed, she belonged beside me. I loved being able to reach out and touch her, loved hearing her long ramblings about anything and everything, loved hearing her laughter, and watching her emotions flit across her face.

And I loved her tight pussy wrapped around my cock. Although after Ginny's less than delightful pregnancy side-effects, sex had been removed from the nightly schedule. And the possibility of it never returning had seemed a reality if Hermione's look of terror was anything to go by.

I had laughed when she had told me a definitive no as we readied ourselves for bed. She wanted no part of the gentle kisses and the teasing to see who would give in first that had become part of our nightly routine, telling me that Ginny's morning sickness that wasn't really morning sickness was huge turn-off and there would be no sex, no matter how adorable I was being.

I had questioned her faith in her muggle pill, and she had shot me a withering glare, which had just made me laugh more. But I had given in – one night without sex wouldn't kill me - and we had climbed into bed and she had fallen asleep almost immediately.

I smiled as she murmured something and then rolled to her back, her arm reaching out in search of me and finding my chest, her fingertips touching me as if in assurance that I was still there. I reached across and slid a strand of hair from her face, lightly grazing my fingers across her cheek, and I couldn't help but wonder what she would look like carrying my child.

It was something I had never before given much thought to; a child. I had always assumed it was expected of me, to carry on the Malfoy name, but I had been too young and selfish to even consider the thought when the war was being fought, and after, I was so sure that I didn't want follow the example that my father had set, that I hadn't let anyone in for long enough to consider anything but the nights in bed with them.

But now, things had changed. Hermione had been clear when she had told me that she had no desire to be married or to be a mother any time soon, and I had no intentions of pushing her. But after watching Potter with Ginny - seeing the complete adoration in his face, seeing the anguish at her being so ill, to hear them both talk animatedly about the baby who would make them a family - the desire to have exactly what they were experiencing had been so strong that I had been shocked at my own feelings. Feelings that I had no idea how to deal with.

My hand slipped to her stomach, and I slowly opened and closed my fingers across her warm skin. I imagined her belly stretched and swollen, imagined the tiny kicks and bumps from a life that maybe one day would grow inside her, imagined the morning sickness, the crazy hormones, the exhaustion, the sheer joy of having a child that we made. And I knew that I wanted it. And I knew that I wanted it with no one but her.

I rolled to my back and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, a quiet, frustrated groan slipped through my lips. I carefully slipped from the bed, not wanting to wake her, and pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt. I turned and smiled down at her in my bed. She usually started out sleeping curled in a ball, but in truth she was a sprawling sleeper, and most nights saw her with limp arms and legs starfished across the bed or my chest.

I pulled the covers over her and kissed her forehead, trailing my finger down her cheek. I hated leaving her sleeping alone, but sleep was done for me and laying there thinking about everything I had no control over wasn't helping the pounding in my head.

I headed up the stairs and threw open the blinds, letting the light from the full moon fill the room. I sat at the piano and closed my eyes. This was where I could think, where I could clear my mind and simply let the world slip away.

I pressed my fingers to the keys, playing quietly, not wanting to wake her. A consideration I had never had to make before, but one that was now automatic. She was at the forefront of my every thought, more important to me than anything else in my life.

I smiled, my mind already cleared of the overwhelming myriad of thoughts that had been a constant for hours. And now only one thought remained.

Her.

Her and the life I envisioned that we would share.

A/N:

Sorry about the delay..no excuses...just being slack ;)

And thank you for the love for the previous three chapters, I'm delighted that you all loved them xx