Chapter 6

It was a week before school was to begin, a normally happy time for Hermione.

This year, however, things had changed drastically.

One of her best friends were avoiding her, the other was trying to have as little contact as possible, her parents were in hiding, and she had just discovered her life was in utter disarray.

She was going to Diagon Alley today, and, in the past, there was nothing she enjoyed as much as shopping for school.

The widespread fear caused by the war had caused many people to flee, and, as a result, many stores had closed.

Among the stores that had closed, Ollivander's, Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkins were the most prominent.

But, these things were not on the mind of the young genius as she stared in the mirror, the light from the rising sun creeping through the window.

She studied her reflection, noting the minor changes that had occurred over the past year, and reflecting on how different she was from the eleven year-old girl that had strolled through the Great Hall of Hogwarts, already knowing more about the building than some of the professors.

Her chestnut hair was still frizzy, but she had learned a few tricks to make it a little more manageable. She had thin and chapped lips, nothing about them had changed since her youth, and there was nothing about them to be proud of. Her teeth were no longer uneven, her front teeth no longer beaver like, thanks to a spell gone awry.

A spell cast from the hand of Draco Malfoy, the reason her life had gone insane.

She sighed as she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face.

After she was done, she turned the water off and resumed her staring.

Her mind flashed through the events that had led her to today, where her worst fear would either be confirmed or denied.

She thought about that night, almost three months ago, when she had betrayed Ron. Because, though she had tried to convince herself otherwise, that was exactly what had happened. She had slept with Malfoy to get back at the redhead for his hurtful words.

Their breakup had been only and hour or so before, and she had not even tried to reconcile with him.

The day after came to her mind, when she and Malfoy had been acting like friends, even lovers. Laughing and playing, touching and talking, she had felt a connection with the boy who had made her life as miserable as possible for as long as she had known him.

Hermione thought of the funeral of Alastor Moody, already more than a month ago, and her heart tightened.

Malfoy had proven himself a Death Eater, his unblemished skin the only evidence her mind needed to convince her of the fact. She remembered the scars that covered his arm from wrist to shoulder, and the forearm that he had shown her held no traces of them.

It wasn't sufficient evidence to go to the authorities, even if she could bring herself to do so.

It was proof enough for her though, and she knew that he was completely aware of that.

Then, her mind brought into sharp relief the innocent question Tonks had asked her the night before.

"Hermione, do you have an extra pad?"

The chestnut-haired witch had shaken her head no, and the full weight of her answer didn't occur to her until the older woman had left.

She didn't have any pads because she hadn't needed any for the last three months.

Somehow, her brilliant mind had denied the early morning nausea she had been feeling, the increase in the amount of food she was eating, and the blatant fact she hadn't had a period since her night with Draco.

She had read before, in a medical journal of her father's, how periods of extreme emotional duress could sometimes cause a woman's menstruation cycle to change, or, in rare cases, to sometimes cease altogether.

Hermione prayed to every higher power she could think of that this was the case with her.

Steeling her nerves, she opened the box.

Ron shook his head to clear it as he stumbled groggily out of his room at Grimmauld Place. He and Harry had been up until three, getting drunk and playing wizard's chess, of which the redhead had managed to keep his unbeaten streak going, even when he was too drunk to see straight.

He was feeling it now, as every sound and glance of daylight he encountered caused his head to throb. It was painful, but he thoroughly believed it was worth it. The two friends had drained a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey between them, while they complained about women, the state of the world and all things in between.

Of course, the discussion of women had been focused mainly on Hermione, at least from his input.

It was difficult living in the same in the same house as her, but it was for Harry and he was sticking to his decision, no matter what.

As he neared the bathroom, he saw Harry leaning against the door. The raven-haired boy's voice drifted to him, but he couldn't make out the words through the cacophony of his hangover.

"What's up, mate?" he asked as he drew nearer.

Harry looked up, and Ron could see the same bleary-eyed look he was sure was on his own face. "Hermione's in there, and I've been standing here for fifteen minutes, trying to make sense of her crying," he replied, yawning at the end. "She won't come out, no matter what I do, and I really need to pee."

Ron laughed at his friend's predicament, and then stopped as he realized that he, too, needed to relieve himself in the worst way. So, with a sigh, he walked to the door and rapped lightly on it. "Hermione, it's me. Are you going to come out on your own, or are we going to have to come in and get you?" he asked, trying to make his tone light, but realizing quickly that he had failed miserably.

"Go away…" she moaned in response.

Sighing, Ron leaned his head against the door. "You know, I would, but there's this funny thing. You are currently occupying the only water closet here, and we both need to pee."

He heard her laugh a little, then stepped back as she unlocked the door and opened it.

The young witch's cheeks were wet and puffy, and her eyes were more bloodshot than either his or Harry's. She looked worse than he had ever thought she could.

His heart reached out to her, but his arms did not. Even through the pain she was obviously feeling, he could not bring himself to reach out and forgive her. Harry, however, seemed to have no such qualms with it. Silently, he pulled her into his arms, where she resumed her sobbing, clinging to the raven-haired boy for dear life. Harry stroked her hair, trying his best to calm her.

With a sigh, Ron pushed aside his pride for the moment and set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly to show his support. Surprised, Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes.

A soft smile fell across his face, and suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing harder than she had been.

"I'm sorry, Ron. Please… I'm so sorry…" she mumbled into his chest as his arms went around her tightly.

"Shh, it'll be alright," he said when her tears had slowed. Harry was still standing there, a smile on his face that was somewhere between relieved and sad. "Why don't you head down to the kitchen and fix some tea, and me and Harry will be down after we clean ourselves up a little. Then, we'll talk," he said softly as he pulled his head away from her so he could see her face. "Hash things out, yeah?"

Sniffling, she nodded and gave him one last tight squeeze before turning to Harry and doing the same.

When she disappeared down the stairs at the end of the hall, the other boy turned to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "You alright, mate?"

Nodding slowly, Ron smiled. "Yeah. I am."

The hand left his shoulder, and before he could react, he heard the bathroom door shut behind him.

"Hey!" he yelled, pounding at the door.

"Sorry, mate, but I was here first," the other boy laughed, his voice muffled by the wood between them.

Draco sighed as he sat at the desk in his study, eating breakfast and going over the investment reports for the quarter. He had never been so thankful that he had the room next to his renovated into this office; it saved him from having to walk all the way to his father's study to do his work.

Setting down the report he was currently going over, he looked over the room. Something had been bothering him about it, and he could not figure out what it was.

His desk was made of oak and it was old, weathered and beaten. His father hated it, because it wasn't up to 'Malfoy standards.' Draco thought that it had character. The walls were lined with books on two sides, with a break in one for a bay window where he would sometimes sit to read. Another wall had a fireplace, and the fire was constantly burning, keeping the room warmer than most people could stand, but it was a temperature that made him comfortable.

Above the mantle sat the Malfoy Coat of Arms, with two rapiers crossing through the middle.

That was when he realized it.

Apart from the desk, there was really nothing of personal value in his study. No pictures, no keepsakes, nothing that said anything about the owner of the room.

Eating the last of his eggs, he thought over the reasoning behind this.

His father's studies – both his public and personal ones – were impersonal and intimidating. They made visitors feel uncomfortable. He knew his father had done this on purpose, but Draco had already decided he was no longer going to be simply a mirror image of the elder man.

So, swallowing the last of his breakfast, he stood and went to his room to get to work on making his office his own.

Before he reached it, though, there was a tapping on his window.

Looking over, he saw Potter's white owl there and he scowled.

Briefly considering just letting the foul creature flap there forever, he dismissed the notion and walked over to open the window. Not even letting the bird in, he snatched the parchment from her and slammed the window in its face.

Grimly, he read the note, then walked over to the fire and threw it in.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen some minutes later, a dazed look on his face.

While he had been in the bathroom shaving, he had seen a little piece of plastic in the wastebasket beside the loo. Not thinking through his early morning hangover, he reached in and pulled it out.

He stared at it for several long seconds before realization struck him and he dropped the plastic and his razor.

Several minutes passed as he shakily stood there. Finally, he picked his razor back up and resumed shaving, his quick mind struggling to put together all the evidence that had so abruptly been forced upon him.

He had cut himself on his right cheek when the conclusion reached him.

Now, he stood in the kitchen, watching his best female friend fussing around on the stove, running between the pancakes, sausage and eggs she was preparing for the three of them.

With a deep breath for courage, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of plastic. "Hermione," he called, gaining her attention.

"I thought it would be nice if we all had a –" she froze as she turned and her eyes fell on the plastic in Harry's hand. Her eyes widened, and she looked back and forth from it to Harry, words failing her for the first time in her life.

"Is it his?" he asked much more calmly than he felt.

A long minute ticked by before she nodded.

Before he could respond, she turned back to the stove. "The tea is already set out on the table, but I'd appreciate it if you could set the places for breakfast."

"Hermione…"

"It's only the three of us, so I thought it would be nice to eat together before we headed to Diagon Alley," she rambled on over him.

"Hermione…"

"I mean, it's been so long since the three of us just had a day together –"

"Hermione," he interrupted her sternly, causing her to stop.

She spun around, a furious and desperate look on her face. "Damn it, Harry! I don't want to talk about it! I don't want to think about it! I want to go on with today like nothing's wrong, and the three of us are best friends like we've always been!" Her eyes began filling with tears as she yelled. "I don't want to remember the war that's raging outside, and I don't want to remember a man named Draco Malfoy!"

She shuddered as a sob wracked her body, and she slipped to the floor, her grief overcoming her. "I – I don't want to think about how I've r-ruined everything. I just want one d-day that everything's okay."

Harry stared at her, his own eyes welling up with tears.

"I don't want to think about a baby," she whispered at last, as the door swung open behind him.

The raven-haired boy turned to look at the newcomer, and his face fell at the look of disbelief on Ron's face.

"What?"

Hermione's head shot up at the new voice, fear the foremost expression on her face. Harry saw her visibly brace herself as she stood and returned to preparing breakfast. "Harry, if you and Ron could please set the table. It'll be ready in a moment."

Nodding mutely, Harry went to the cupboards and took out the necessary utensils. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the color return tenfold to the redhead as his anger swelled.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he shouted, startling both of the other teens.

Harry could not help but feel impressed as Hermione responded calmly as she dished the sausages out onto a plate. "I was crying this morning because I took a pregnancy test, Ron. It was positive."

For several long minutes, the only sounds in the room were of Hermione setting food on serving dishes.

Stoically, she walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room, and Harry followed shortly after.

They went about their tasks in a tense silence before Harry spoke up.

"I know I was probably overstepping by bounds, but I owled Malfoy before I came down," he said, calmly.

Hermione dropped the last plate and turned to him with horrified eyes.

"I didn't say anything. I just said I wanted to meet with him today, at the Manor."

She swallowed hard, nodded mutely, and sat down at the place Harry had set for her, piling food onto her plate.

Ron entered a moment later and sat across from her, his eyes boring into her.

Harry took his place as well, grabbing a pancake and a couple sausages after pouring himself some tea.

A sigh fell from the redhead, causing the other two to look at him. Harry cringed at the defeated look on the other boy's face.

"What do you need us to do?" he asked softly, meeting Hermione's eyes across the table.

Another sob escaped Hermione as she stood and ran around the table, throwing herself into Ron's arms.

"Thank you," she whispered through her tears.

Draco stared at his newly decorated study with a satisfied smile, when a light knock sounded at his door.

A small house elf poked her head in nervously. "Master Malfoy, you has visitors."

The blond sighed as he turned to her. "'Have visitors,' Tippy, not 'has.' Show them in."

Nodding stiffly, the house elf disappeared with a 'pop,' leaving Draco alone for a few precious minutes.

He sat himself behind his desk, and began going over his reports where he had left off earlier in the morning.

Several minutes later, the door opened, and the small house elf announced his visitors. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger here to see you, Master," she said in her annoyingly high voice.

Draco's head shot up at the announcement of the last one. He had expected two of them, but all three together?

Standing stiffly, he gestured them to the two chairs seated before his desk before turning to the servant. "Tippy, please fetch another chair for Mr. Weasley," he ordered, catching Granger's disapproving glance as he did so.

Disappearing and reappearing in a matter of moments with a third chair that matched the others, she levitated it into place next to the others before turning to him. "Will there be anything else, Master Malfoy?" she asked timidly.

"No."

Nodding, she closed the door behind her.

With a calculated sigh, Draco took his seat and leaned back, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers. "Before we start, I want to know if you all realize the foolishness of your visit to my home. You know very well that the Manor is a safe haven for disreputable people, and any one of them would be glad to have your head on a silver platter."

Potter, sitting in the middle, nodded stiffly, his anger apparent on his face. "We covered that. Several important people know exactly where we are, and if anything happens to us, it will be your head," he responded bitterly.

The blond smiled cordially as he nodded in acquiescence. "Then let's get on with it. Nothing said in this room shall go beyond these walls, of that you have my word on my family name," he said, causing the other two boys to shared surprised looks. "No one that would cause you harm has been informed of your presence here, mainly because they would question my loyalty to their cause, but also because it would be too much trouble to do so.

"So, if you please, why are you here?"

There was a few brief moments of silence as the Golden Trio exchanged confused looks. Finally, Potter spoke up.

"Where do you stand?" he asked calmly.

Cocking his head to the side, Draco smiled in amusement. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"He's nothing but an evil bastard. I say we leave," the redhead said quietly to the other boy.

Draco's smile faded as he leveled the Weasel with the full force of his gaze. "Good and evil are nothing more than a question of morals and perception, and as you are a guest in my home, I would appreciate you not insulting me."

To his credit, Weasley met his glare evenly, and Draco only broke his gaze when Granger spoke.

"I figured it out Malfoy, and I need to know if you are with Voldemort or Dumbledore," she said calmly.

Draco stared at her for several moments as he took in her appearance. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes were bloodshot, showing that she had been crying recently. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, and she was dressed in a cream blouse and long black skirt.

His eyes casually drifter

Potter wore a polo shirt and slacks, while Weasley was wearing what were obviously his best robes. I wouldn't even blow my nose on those rags, he thought with a sneer. Both of the boys' eyes were slightly bloodshot as well, but Draco didn't think they had been crying. Hangovers would be his guess, judging by the slightly glazed look they both had.

"What is this really about?" he asked cautiously leaning forward and uncrossing his legs. "I mean, what could possibly have the estranged Golden Trio in my home, asking their archrival where he stands in the war?" Not waiting for them to respond, he stood and stepped around his desk and walked over to one of his bookshelves. "Because, you see, I can't help but be suspicious. Goyle, come in here please."

Three heads whipped to the door to his bedroom as it swung open, revealing the incredibly large boy. He shut the door quietly and went to stand next to Draco's desk.

"I asked Goyle to join us today because I did not trust you, as I am sure you do not trust me," he explained, choosing a book a flipping it open. "If you are here on some mission of Albus Dumbledore to recruit me to your cause, then I am only too happy to inform you that your trip has been nothing but a gigantic waste of time."

He finally turned to face them, snapping the book shut. "Tell me why you are here, or leave."

To his surprise, Granger turned to her friends. "Harry, Ron, could you step outside for a moment?" she asked calmly. The two boys shared a glance before nodding and standing. Potter went through first, and Weasley followed. "Just yell if you need us," he said, shooting Draco a dark look as he closed the door.

Goyle moved to stand in front of it, effectively barring the two from reentering.

"Draco, I know you are not an evil man. Your presence at Moody's funeral proved that," she started, standing and moving toward him. "I also know you are proud of your pureblood heritage, and that you see our involvement as a mistake."

She paused for a moment, and Draco tensed as he saw the hesitation cross her face. Realization dawned on him at that moment.

Potter didn't want to see me. He wanted me to see her.

Then, she met his eyes and spoke, and the world fell from under him.

"I'm pregnant, Draco."

Author's Note

I was really debating with myself on whether or not to return to the original pregnancy story arc, but in the end it won out. It was one of the original basis' for me writing the story, after all. Sorry if this turns you off from the story, but I do hope you enjoy reading my work enough to continue.

And, hey, kudos for me on two chapters in a week!

Please, let me know how you feel about it, and, as always,

Thank you for reading,

Damien J. Frost