Just a little something before the weekend. Happy Mother's Day to anyone celebrating this weekend!

Chapter 7
"Merlin, I look old," Draco lamented as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Why do you look the same as you did when we were 17?"

Hermione laughed and looked down at her stomach. "Well, not exactly the same," she replied. "And you don't look old. You really haven't changed much over the last six years."

"Sure I have," he mumbled. "I married you, didn't I?"

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she continued with her nighttime routine. Draco watched her apply the smallest amount of moisturizer to her face before untangling the knots in her hair. It was done with the same delicate care he had seen her use with Anastasia's curly locks following her bath. She was gentle, pulling only on the most obstinate knots, and his daughter had handled it well.

"Is she always that good?" he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub. Hermione furrowed her brows, not sure about whom he was speaking. But Draco didn't seem to notice as he examined the label on a bottle of lavender scented body wash. "She seems like such a sweet kid. How is it possible that she's even mine?"

"Trust me," Hermione said, "she's yours. The other day she threw her peas on the floor and demanded ice cream in their place. She had to have gotten that from you."

"Was Blaise here when it happened?" he wondered, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could.

She watched him from the corner of her eye for only a moment before turning them back to the mirror. "Yes, he was," she replied.

"Potter and Weasley weren't available to help you out? You turned to Blaise?" He was getting angry, which made his head hurt even more.

Hermione put down her hairbrush and turned off the bathroom light. From his place in the dark bathroom, Draco could see into the master suite, and watched as Hermione turned down the bed. Getting to his feet, he left the bathroom and leaned against the wall beside the door. "Planning on answering me?" he inquired.

"Planning on telling me what it is you're getting at?" she retorted. "Because, if it's what I think it is, I don't appreciate the insinuation."

The pain returned as a vision flashed before his eyes. Blaise and Hermione lying side by side in the bed they had shared as husband and wife. The pair - his best friend and his wife - rolling about in the sheets, kissing lovingly as they moved together. Her wedding ring was no longer on her finger, cast aside in the corner of the room.

"You slept with him," he accused when the memory ended.

"How dare you!" she said angrily. "How could you accuse me of such a thing? I'm your wife, Draco. Do you honestly think I would sleep with your best friend?"

"I don't know what you're capable of, Granger," he replied. "But I know what Blaise does. Can you honestly tell me he hasn't tried anything with you?"

Hermione sunk down on her side of the bed and stared at the black sweater at the foot of the bed. She tried to recall a time when Blaise had been overly friendly, but none came to mind. He'd been a model friend and a loving godfather. "Draco, nothing happened. I swear."

Shaking his head, he moved toward the bed and grabbed a pillow. Briefly, he wondered if it was the same pillow she cuddled up to those nights he was in the hospital. He considered leaving it there, finding another, but quickly changed his mind. Walking toward the bedroom door, his hand had just touched the knob when he turned back to face her. "You never answered my question," he said. "Why wasn't it Potter or Weasley?"

"They never offered," she replied quietly. "After I refused Molly's offer to live at the Burrow, neither Harry nor Ron offered to help. Harry has a family of his own that needed him, and Ron's been out of the country. Besides, I thought I could do it myself, so I never asked them."

"But you had no problem all but allowing Blaise to move in," Draco remarked facetiously.

She shook her head. "I did need help," she said. "And Blaise has been your best friend for years. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong by accepting his help."

"There are a lot of things I don't remember, and I don't know if I ever will," he stated. "But I'll tell you this - I don't want him around here anymore. I don't want him around Ana."

With that, he opened the door and left the master bedroom. But Hermione wasn't far behind. They silently descended the stairs, making their way to the living room. With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione cast a charm to contain the noise she was sure would otherwise wake Ana.

"He's her godfather. Did you know that?" she asked.

Draco made up the sofa, exhausted after his first day home. Without magic to aid him and a sheet that wouldn't cooperate, he gave up and tossed it on the floor. Sitting down, he cupped his face in his hands. "I don't care," he replied, his voice muffled.

"Please, talk to me, Draco," she implored, taking a seat beside him. "In the hospital, when you said I tried to kill you, you clutched your head like you were in pain. You did the same thing before. What happened?"

Removing his hands from his face, he glared at her. "None of your business, Granger," he replied as clearly as he could. "Now, go away and let me sleep."

Nodding, she got to her feet and picked up the discarded sheet. She haphazardly folded it and placed it on the coffee table in case he got cold later. After disabling the noise cancelling charm, she left the living room. One foot on the stairs, she stopped and looked longingly at her husband. "I know you don't believe it, but I love you, Draco," she said, and he was sure she was crying as she said it.

He stared at her as she silently ascended the stairs to the second floor. Shutting off the lights, he laid down and tried to sleep. But his thoughts filled with the woman who loved him.