Edited 10/14/15
12. You Fill Me
I never thought I'd fall so far down
This incredibly long dark hole
Something so sweet as the sound of your feet
On the floor would give me more room to breath
I'll say goodbye again tonight
The third time's the charmer they say
Your words are inked on my skin
The marks of incredible love
[Incredible Love, Ingrid Michaelson]
"This is so strange," Dean commented as he slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table two seats up from Hermione. The Gryffindor table was the most populated of all the tables in the Great Hall, but it was still three-quarters empty. It did indeed all feel a little eerie - familiar and different all at once. Hermione kept expecting to glance up at the Professors' table at the head of the Hall and see them all sitting there eating breakfast, but they were scattered amongst the House tables with the students and Order members. It was Hogwarts, and yet it was all so different. Hermione stabbed at her poached egg - the yolk hard, because runny yolk was risky when pregnant, as far as she recalled from when her much older cousin Amelia had been pregnant with her first child several years ago - and frowned. She liked her poached eggs to have just perfectly runny yolks, and nice firm whites.
"What? Being back here, like this?" Harry asked, sitting across the table from Hermione with Ginny at his side, echoing Hermione's thoughts.
"Nah, I expected that. That's not weird at all, really," Dean said, and grinned suddenly. "It's having Malfoy sitting at the Gryffindor table that I can't get my bloody head around."
"That's no surprise, Thomas," Draco said, dry humour in his voice and not malice, delicately shaking brown sugar evenly over his bowl of porridge. "You never were the brightest, after all."
Dean acted affronted, but he was still grinning as he complained, "Oh, screw you, Malfoy, you bloody arrogant pr-"
"Now, now, play nicely, children," Fred chided as he, George, and a rather thick-stomached looking Angelina, all found seats at the table. Dean rolled his eyes at Fred, and Draco ignored him completely, turning his attention instead to Angelina, who was nibbling at a piece of dry toast and sipping a cup of tea, and Hermione gave her a look of understanding sympathy. The older witch flashed Hermione an appreciative smile, but of course didn't know - yet - that Hermione was feeling much the same way Angelina was. The twins and the pregnant witch had apparently finally told everyone that she was pregnant, just before Hermione had escaped capture, because at five months along it had been becoming rather blatantly obvious. But considering the awkwardness of the situation, and Mrs Weasley's fierce ire, no one really spoke about her condition. This was why Hermione flinched when Draco eyed Angelina, and cringed inwardly.
"Goodness, Johnson. You're looking very…rotund," Draco commented to Angelina, a teasing sort of jab with a snide little eyebrow waggle, and she blushed and glared at Draco.
"Well, we can't all be stick-figures, Malfoy. Pregnancy tends to do this to one's body."
"Oh, you're finally admitting it now?" Draco asked pointedly, and Hermione kicked him under the table. He could hardly talk, what with the secret they were keeping from everyone else at the table. Pot, meet kettle, she thought dryly. Of course, they'd only just found out that Hermione was expecting, but still - it was bad form to tease Angelina while Hermione was sitting here, secretly pregnant and not telling a soul. She cringed at the thought of telling Harry and Ron especially - she had no idea how they would react, but even if they reacted well, there was something about telling them that Draco had impregnated her that made her want to die of mortification.
At least she didn't have to suffer her parent's wrath; a cold comfort which reminded her that they should probably talk to Narcissa very soon. They hadn't been in contact with Draco's mother since they went missing over two whole months ago - Hermione couldn't believe time had passed so quickly. She knew that Remus had kept Narcissa informed of any developments since Hermione and Draco's capture, and she had had been told Draco had returned, at least. But communications had been pretty well locked down after the attack on Godric's, so Draco hadn't had a chance to speak to his mother himself. Narcissa probably didn't even know that Hermione and Draco were engaged, let alone that Hermione was pregnant with the woman's first grandchild.
"Yes, we couldn't hide Angie's belly much longer," Fred said around a mouthful of corned beef hash, "But we're not really talking about it, if you know what I mean. Mum's…gone a bit spare over the fact that she's having her first grandchild and she doesn't know which one of us to congratulate."
"'Course, we told her that it's really quite appropriate," George added.
"Seeing as she never knows which of us is which 'less she can see our ears anyway -"
"And we already shared everything else, so…"
"But," George said darkly, "Mum did not take kindly to that explanation. In fact, she threatened to hex Fred's ear off too, so that we matched again, flung a cushion at my head, and shrieked at us both for ten minutes straight before bursting into tears and apologising to Angie for her having to witness our bad behaviour."
"Mad woman, our mum." George shook his head mock-sadly, as he passed Angelina the honey to drizzle over her half-eaten slice of dry toast.
"I still can't believe you tried that on her," Ron piped up, shaking his head in disbelief, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stuffed stomach as Cho leaned her elbow on the back of his chair and ran her fingers through his hair with light affection. "And actually thought it would help. You should bloody well know better by now. When mum goes on the warpath, the only thing to do is run, or duck and cover. Just like with Ginny when she gets all shitty."
"Oi!" Ginny protested, glaring daggers at her older brother, and elbowing Harry in the side, looking for support from her boyfriend. "Arse! You shut it, Ronald, or I'll bloody well make you!"
"See what I mean?" Ron laughed and Hermione suppressed a slight smile; Ginny was rather like her mother, in some ways - and Ron was an arse.
"Ron, I have to deal with her…be nice," Harry said tiredly and earned himself another jab from Ginny, and an exasperated, reluctant smile when he looked beseechingly at her.
The twins shrugged at their younger brother. "Well, it was worth a go."
"It's not like mum could be any more hacked off at us."
"Don't worry, Angelina. Mrs Weasley will adjust. It'll just take her a bit of time," Hermione tried reassuringly, feeling sorry for poor Angelina, and the dark witch shot her a grateful smile if a somewhat doubtful one.
"Well, enough about your little ménage a trios, which I really don't give a fuck about. What's happening now that the Order has taken back Hogwarts?" Draco asked bluntly, jabbing his porridge spoon in Harry's direction, who blinked at the sudden change in subject and adjusted his glasses on his nose.
Hermione kicked Draco sharply under the table again and earned herself a half-hearted frown from him; he couldn't even seem to be annoyed at her today. Admittedly, they were both dead on their feet after getting very little sleep, and Hermione knew that she at least felt too exhausted to be snarky, even playfully. Draco looked similarly weary, with horribly dark bruises of sleeplessness beneath his eyes, his skin nearly as pale as the white bandages still swathing his chest beneath his shirt. Watching the sunrise atop the Astronomy tower with Draco had been worth the tiredness, though. Hermione had the feeling that those moments of uninterrupted peace would be few and far between from now until the conclusion of the war.
"We'll be spending the next few days organising people, and bringing those who can fight in here, and fortifying the castle," Harry was saying, stabbing idly at his food. "We have to bring all the Aurors in, except those guarding safehouses that are occupied by non-combatants, and all the Order members who are capable of fighting will come here too."
"So Hogwarts is going to be the site of our last stand, hmm?" Draco asked, and Hermione frowned at his phrasing as she gave up on trying to eat her egg and examined the breakfast feast on the table in front of them.
"Don't say 'last stand'," she said with idle disapproval as she filled a bowl with a large selection of fresh fruit, and dolloped plenty of Greek honey yoghurt on top.
"Oh, you bloody well know what I mean, Hermione," Draco complained and stole a rather large chunk of her pineapple off her plate with a smirk. Hermione growled under her breath and jabbed his knuckles with a fork, and then blushed and subsided when she noticed Harry's dryly amused, slightly disturbed expression at their antics.
"Essentially, yes. Although I'd be more inclined to call it the final battle, or final confrontation than 'the last stand'," Harry answered Draco's query with a nod to Hermione's dislike of the phrase 'last stand', and Ron nodded vigorously.
"Yeah, I gotta say, 'last stand' sounds horribly…"
"Morbid," Hermione finished gloomily for Ron when he appeared lost for the right word, stabbing a piece of persimmon viciously and popping it in her mouth, frown dissipating and turning into a delighted, blissful smile as she chewed. God, that was delicious. And she didn't even like persimmon - or hadn't until she'd gotten pregnant, at least. It appeared mini-Draco liked it perfectly well. At least it wasn't asparagus and honey, or fish and custard or some other horrific concoction.
"Yeah. That," Ron said, undoing his top jeans button and sinking further down into his chair with a rude belch; typical Ron. Hermione looked between Ron and Draco; the former slouched in his chair slurping at a cup of black coffee in grubby tee-shirt and unbuttoned holey jeans, and the other in neat grey dress shirt and clean, smart black trousers, eating with actual manners, and she was immensely glad she'd ended up with Draco Malfoy. It never would have worked out happily between her and Ron - he and Cho were a far better match for each other, as were Hermione and Draco. And there was a thought that a year ago Hermione would have thought was utter madness. And now she was sitting beside Draco at the Gryffindor table, carrying his baby.
Life was so strange sometimes.
"Do you think Voldemort will come and confront you of his own accord?" Draco asked Harry as he poured a cup of tea. "Or will you have to lure him out?"
"Remus and Kingsley think that he'll either attack right away in the next few days, before we have a chance to properly organise and fortify, or he'll leave it up to me to challenge him into coming out of hiding."
"I don't think he'll attack without any sort of bait, or provocation, myself. He found out when he went into my head that you've been destroying horcruxes, as you know, so he's going to be feeling off-balance and weak right now, and history shows that when he feels that way he goes on the defensive, not the offensive," Draco said, automatically passing Hermione a cup of tea with a faint smile, and then pouring and sipping at his own. Hermione felt all warm and domestic inside as she wrapped her hands around the hot tea cup and listened to Harry and Draco talk intently.
"He's a coward at heart, Voldemort." Harry was saying, his face showing both understanding of and contempt toward his adversary, and his dark brows were scrunched down together as he stared into the distance. Hermione wondered if he'd been letting Voldemort into his head still, or if he'd finally started trying to block the Dark wizard, like she thought he should have been all along.
"So you'll issue him a challenge then?" Draco asked, rasing an eyebrow, and Harry nodded briskly.
"Not until we're ready though. Maybe in a couple of weeks, once Hogwarts' defences have been thoroughly shored up and fortified, and everyone who is willing to fight with us has arrived, and prepared for it. When exactly that will be - that'll be up to Remus, Kingsley and Professor McGonagall to decide, not me. I'm just the figurehead, really, for people to 'rally behind'. Ugh."
"Don't sell yourself short, Potter," Draco commented, and then took the compliment out of his words by smirking and finishing, "You make pretty good bait, too."
Harry snorted, and everyone at the Gryffindor table pretended that Draco was his rude, arrogant old self, and no one was friends with him, just tolerating him - but they were all blatantly transparent, Hermione thought, grinning into her tea. Draco had been accepted, whether he liked it or not. And for all his protestations, Hermione was certain he did like it.
She listened as the conversation about preparations was revived by Remus' presence at the table, and Hermione sat back and listened with interest as they discussed tactics, putting in the occasional suggestion or two herself as she sipped at her tea and nibbled at her fruit, waiting for her faint nausea to subside. At least she wasn't vomiting anymore, as she had been just an hour earlier, all over the floor of the Astronomy tower right in front of Draco; horribly embarrassing. But food and tea appeared to settle her pregnant stomach a little, by raising her blood sugar. She wondered absently whether she was going to need a Healer attending her, or if she'd try to get a Muggle obstetrician or midwife, those kinds of questions crowding into her mind and pushing out thoughts of the war.
They walked out of the Great Hall with absolutely nothing to do, Hermione's arm hooked through Draco's comfortably, and the entirety of Hogwarts spread out around them to wander as they wished. Their old stomping grounds, filled with so many memories, but few of them shared; or if shared, negative rather than positive, and it was incredibly strange. Draco remembered staring at Hermione with particular disgust here, remembered knocking her down with a well-placed hex at this corner, remembered hoping she'd fall down those stairs…mocking her cruelly with Crabbe and Goyle in that alcove. He could remember staring at her in shock at her transformation at the Yule Ball, during the Tri-Wizard Cup, and having to admit to himself, with great resentment, that she could actually appear relatively pretty sometimes.
It seemed, as they strolled aimlessly, Draco letting Hermione lead them along, that every time they turned a corner, he remembered something else horrible he'd done to her at school, and had to repress the urge to apologise. Most of it was silly, childish stuff, but she had been a child too, then, and Draco had no doubt his words and actions had cut her to the quick. But she smiled up at him, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright, despite the dark smears of weariness beneath them, and Draco remembered that all that had happened a long, long time ago. He slowed to a halt near the entrance to the dungeons, no doubt cleared of bodies now as the rest of Hogwarts was - the house elves had been busy. She looked up at him questioningly, and Draco cleared his throat, nervous, his impulsive proposition sticking in his throat and refusing to come out.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow, her back to the wall and Draco stepped in close, ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, took her hand. Their eyes met, hers flickering orange with the reflected torchlight, her fingers curling tight around his, and Draco rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her hand.
"So, I was thinking that maybe we should find somewhere else to sleep than the Room…" Draco started, not sure if he was suggesting the right thing for either of them, but the words just came out of his mouth regardless now he'd begun. He thought that maybe…maybe it was the right thing, in its own way. "And I thought of my old room, in the dungeons. I doubt anyone would have occupied it since I did; it was one of a dozen private rooms reserved only for senior students who belonged to the old, noble houses, and there were always plenty of rooms available, so, it might still be there…untouched. Just the way I left it."
Draco bit his lip and stared at the ground, feeling stupid for suggesting it and wondering why exactly he'd had the stupid urge to do so. Perhaps it was just the thought of having Hermione Granger bent over his old school bed; preferably in her Gryffindor uniform. Oh Merlin. Draco suppressed a little gasp at the intrusive, fucking hot as hell thought, and shifted on his feet awkwardly as he felt his dick respond to the mental image. Shit. He shouldn't have said anything. The silence stretched on, and he finally chanced a glance up to meet Hermione's eyes, and saw her studying him with a strange expression on her face. Like she was still trying to work him out. He was still trying to work him out, at the moment. After everything he'd gone through in the past year - fuck, over his entire life, Draco had no idea who the hell he was, or who he wanted to be.
"Well, I suppose we could go and see if it's still there, couldn't we?" Hermione said lightly at last, and took his flesh and bone hand in hers, and Draco felt the tension drain out of him, and relief suffuse him. For some reason it had been very important that she say yes. Draco had hoped that who he had been wasn't entirely contemptible to Hermione, despite all the faults he'd had. He had hoped that being in his old room wouldn't disgust her, wouldn't…he wanted her to accept all of him, and part of that was who he had been, if even he wasn't that arrogant little bigot anymore. Erase the past with the present. Take all those old, bad memories and overlay them with fresh, good ones, which would transform everything else. Take the sting out of the bad, take the power out of it. Stupid thoughts, really.
"Are you sure?" Draco couldn't helping asking, a little tentative, a little disbelieving. He didn't want Hermione to go down into the dungeons to even consider sleeping down there, if she wasn't all right with it; he wasn't that selfish, not anymore. Merlin. Sometimes he really didn't know himself - the old Draco would never have thought of something like that; it wouldn't have concerned him, how Hermione felt. He'd never bothered himself with how Pansy might feel about things, and he'd liked her well enough.
"If your room is still there, with all your belongings still inside," Hermione said with a smile, pulling him after her down into the dimly lit dungeon corridor. "Then I want to see it. All Draco Malfoy's old school things, exposed." Her grin was wicked as she glanced back over her shoulder at him. "How can I resist the opportunity to be the know-it-all Muggleborn, poring through Draco Malfoy's things, sullying your room with my mere presence - sitting on your bed, even. The old you would have a full-blown tantrum at the thought."
Draco winced at the reminder of what his reaction would have been, but then banished it firmly when his mind skidded back to 'sitting on your bed'. He drew sharp breath, and then caught Hermione into his arms and spun her around, pressed her up against the cold stone wall and kissed her thoroughly, lips on hers, their tongues darting and grazing together, his thigh slipping between hers and pressing up against her pussy, making her moan and grind down against it instinctively. She was immediately wanting and panting, and that turned him on like nothing else, his dick already rock hard and straining at his trousers.
"Sitting?" he whispered in her ear, and flicked his tongue over the lobe, making her shiver in his arms. "I don't think there will be much sitting involved, Hermione. Not with the plans I have for you, anyway." She whimpered at that, putty in his hands, her breath coming hot and hard as his hands searched over her firmly, and his thigh bumped against her clit, rhythmic and teasing. Draco smirked to himself as he seized her mouth again, his lips claiming hers rather more demandingly than usual, and wondered idly if Hermione would let him transfigure her current clothing into a Gryffindor uniform…
Draco tapped the plain, heavy door with his wand and muttered a low word, and even in the dim light of the torches down here, Hermione saw him smirk with satisfaction when it swung open with the groaning complaint of disuse. He stepped inside, waving his wand to light the torches on the walls, and Hermione looked around the small space with avid curiosity. This was where Draco had spent his last two years at school; she didn't know what to expect, but she figured it couldn't be too bad if Draco was willing to let her see it. The house elves that kept the castle neat and clean must have continued to look after the bedroom during Draco's long, long absence, and Hermione's first impression was that the room was both very Slytherin, and rather sadly Spartan.
Stone walls were softened a little by heavy hangings - one wall bearing an enormous woven hanging that bore the Slytherin crest, and another wall ornamented with dusty green velvet, draped to look like the curtains to a window although there was only blank stone between the drapes. There was a small four-poster double bed opposite the door covered with a plain black quilt in a satiny looking fabric, a heavy desk and chair up against the wall by the door. A chest of drawers and large wardrobe both sat at one end of the room, a cedar chest at the foot of the bed, and matching bedside table at either side of it. Hermione thought it looked very empty, and devoid of personality. If she'd had her own room completely to herself in sixth or seventh year it would have positively shouted her personality to everyone who entered the room, with books, and Crookshanks' fur, and all sorts of organised clutter everywhere.
There were very few personal belongings in Draco's room. The seventh year textbooks were stacked up on the chest at the end of the bed, a school robe was flung over the bed, and a crisp white shirt and House tie over the back of the desk chair, but they could have belonged to any student. A Quidditch broom stood in a corner, a stack of writing things that carried the Malfoy crest were arranged neatly on the desk by a quill and inkwell, several wizarding fiction novels lay on one bedside table, and a sole picture of Draco with his mother and father as a small child stood on the chest of drawers.
Hermione moved past Draco, who stood frozen just inside the room, and went straight to the photo, picking it up and looking at the miniature Draco, who appeared to be around four or five, in the picture. It was not a formal portrait. It was outside in the gardens of what Hermione assumed was the manor, and a small Malfoy in short trousers and a short-sleeved button-down shirt stood at the end of a stone bench, grinning and waving at the camera. Narcissa sat beside him, in a pale lavender summer dress robe, looking much younger and happier, holding Draco's hand and gesturing at the camera in a 'come here' motion as she smiled. The view wavered and then settled a little lower and on a slight angle, and then Lucius Malfoy hurried into the frame, standing beside Draco and putting his hand on the small boy's shoulder, smiling down at him. It was a moment of naked, unguarded affection, the love in Lucius' eyes very plain to see, and Hermione pressed her lips shut on a gasp at the tender, proud affection in Draco's father's face, so different to now.
And then the photo looped back to Draco, grinning and waving at the camera, Narcissa beside him, and Hermione's finger traced lightly over the small Draco's face. Her heart hurt for him. The adult Draco snatched the photo out of Hermione's hands and slammed it back down onto the chest of drawers, laying the photo deliberately facedown. She swallowed hard and pictured young-Lucius' face; warmer and happier, with none of the haggard, creeping madness that had consumed him now.
"I don't want to see it," Draco said in a low voice, and Hermione thought how sad that was that a memory he had obviously once thought was happy enough to merit display in this stark, impersonal room, was now tainted irreparably by Lucius' actions. She dropped her eyes to the floor and left the issue, not wanting to push it. Little Draco was stuck in her head though - all big grey eyes, pointy chin, and ear to ear grin, his blonde hair neatly cut, his stiffly-pressed clothes quaintly old-fashioned, like so many wizarding things. She couldn't help wondering if their child would look like Draco, or like her, or be a balanced mixture. She realised her fingers were twitching along the edge of the dresser, and Draco was eying her oddly.
"I don't want to see it," he said again, quite firmly, and pushed the picture further back. Hermione jerked her hand back as if it had been smacked, and gave him an apologetic look.
"You were a handsome little boy," Hermione said lightly as she walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, bounced it a little to get the feel for it, her eyes on Draco, who was idly searching through his drawers, looking over the meagre contents. He flicked her an amused glance.
"Wondering what the spawn will look like, are you?"
"Spawn?" Hermione asked indignantly, and Draco smirked and shrugged.
"Well, we don't know if it's a boy or girl yet. But we do know that it's our spawn. A little Slytherin-Gryffindor hybrid thing."
"Merlin, how on earth is your mother going to react to that?" Hermione asked as she picked up one of the novels, on Draco's bedside table. "The Wizard's Dilemma" it read, with a vivid illustration of a wizard riding a dragon on the cover, rather mutilated enemies strewing the ground beneath him. She smirked at the pulpy appearance of the novel - she would have thought Draco would go in for more serious fiction, although she should have guessed he liked all sorts, considering his varied taste in Muggle fiction.
"She'll be happy, once she gets over the shock. She's always loved kids," Draco said absently, and Hermione scooped up a large textbook that hadn't been on the curriculum that had been in Draco's bedside table drawer, curling her legs up under her on the bed. She skimmed through the - exceedingly dry, even by her standards - textbook, and upon reaching the middle, a small magazine fell out onto her lap. Hermione's cheeks flared red and her mouth made an 'o' as she stared at the offending publication; "Wicked ,Wicked Witches" the lurid cover proclaimed, above a magical photograph of a naked woman sprawled on in a nest of bright cushions, facing the camera, her legs spread, and her fingers…
"Oh my god. Oh Jesus…"
Hermione shoved the magazine away from her in instinctive shock and Draco looked up from his chest of drawers and saw the magazine lying in the middle of the bed, the woman in the photograph still shoving her fingers in and out and Hermione couldn't stop staring at it. She'd seen Muggle porn mags before, but this…it was moving even though it wasn't a video, and…and… She just hadn't been expecting it. Draco dropped the shirt he was holding and threw himself for the magazine like it was life or death, snatching it up and rolling it into a tube to obscure the woman on the cover, his cheeks as red as Hermione's as he stared speechlessly at her, utterly, completely, totally horrified.
He was behaving as though he'd been caught in flagrante by his mother, not as though his girlfriend - fiancée - had unexpectedly stumbled across his porn stash and been startled by the motion of the magical photos. And admittedly, what those motions were, because, well, they were rather explicit. But Hermione was nothing if not modern - there was nothing wrong with pornographic material. And yet the way he was acting, Hermione rather thought that Draco thought she would think so. She blinked, trying to work out if her rambling thoughts were actually making sense anymore, or just panicked flailing. She decided that maybe the wizarding world was rather more old-fashioned in regards to pornography, as it was with everything else.
"I, ah…sorry," she said at last, fiddling nervously with the hardback, feeling like she'd intruded horrifically somehow, even though it was hardly surprising that a teenage boy would have a porn mag in his room. She just hadn't been expecting it; that was all. Merlin. How mortifying. Draco bit his lip and then shoved the magazine in a drawer, and slid it slowly shut, looking as awkward and tongue-tied as Hermione had ever seen him, running his hand through his hair helplessly. There was a dead silence, and then Draco cleared his throat and gave her an awkward, faltering smile.
"I, ah, forgot that was there…"
"Obviously," Hermione said pertly, grinning at him and feeling the tension in the air break a bit as he snorted a laugh and ran a hand through his hair again, making tufts of it stick up wildly. She crawled over the bed toward the side Draco stood at, and he moved forward to the edge so Hermione could go up on her knees and wrap her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest. The lingering embarrassment faded further, now they weren't staring at each other helplessly.
"You're not going to try to tell me you just read it for the articles, are you?" she teased him, and looked up at him. Draco smirked, his fingers sliding through Hermione's hair, his awkward nervousness and blush gone now that he realised she wasn't going to have a fit over the publication.
"No. I always read it for the tits and arse. Good wanking material," he told her bluntly, complete confidence restored to his tone, along with his superior smirk.
"Ah. I…see." Hermione's mind went to a very, very naughty place. Picturing Draco lying back on this very bed, staring at the magazine, his trousers unzipped and shoved down as he fisted his cock in his hand. His cheeks flushed and his lower lip caught between his teeth, his breath coming heavy and ragged… Arousal welled up in her, hot and ripe, and the flesh between her legs throbbed suddenly at the mental image, her breath jerked in. Draco's grey eyes were faintly amused on hers, and he dragged his thumb over her cheek.
"You like to read, Hermione," Draco said, a sly drawl to his tone, one eyebrow arching. "I could…lend it to you, if you like. Perhaps you might find the…ah, articles interesting."
Hermione choked out a husky little laugh, finding the idea of looking at the magazine with Draco actually rather appealing, to her own surprise. Maybe watching him…while… But not right now. Right now she felt rather too impatient to play around like that. She seized Draco's shirt in her hands and jerked him down to her, pushed her face up and kissed him hard. He still tasted like brown sugar from breakfast, and a little mm of pleasure slipped from her mouth into his at the taste of him, and - oh - the feel of him. He was stubbled just enough that his chin prickled and rasped deliciously at her skin, and his lips were so soft, his teeth nipping bluntly at her lips, his tongue sliding hot and slick over hers and sending sudden darts of want wrenching through her. Hermione pulled him down further, and they tipped back onto the bed, Draco catching himself on his hands, his mouth on hers, taking the control back from her, sucking and biting and licking and Hermione drove her fingers into his hair and grabbed fistfuls of it, her hips bucking up and little whimpers jolting out of her.
She wanted him, so badly. Draco's mouth skimmed from hers over her cheek and jaw, his face dipping into her neck, nuzzling and nipping, and Hermione squirmed at the exquisite, almost ticklish sensitivity he aroused there. She laughed and tried to wriggle away as he teased at her neck, the pleasure and ticklishness nearly unbearable, confusing her senses and making her breathless and panting. His erection dug against her, hard and hot through their clothes, and she arched her body up, pressing into it and making him huff a growl out, his fingers digging into the swell of her hip as he thrust against her. Her hands searched their way down his body, nails dragging over his back, fingers pinching at the ticklish spots at his sides, making him swear and flinch and laugh and groan, and then finally, she was undoing his trousers.
And then they were both stripping each other in a frantic, hurried flurry, and half his buttons popped off his shirt, and he jerked her bra hooks right off, and then they were naked on the bed Draco Malfoy had slept on, and hated her on. It was an extremely strange experience, to be all tangled up with him, his cock hot and silky digging into her thigh and his head bent to her breast, teasing at her nipple, on the bed that had been his before. Before all this, before everything had changed. It seemed right that they christen it, and make it theirs. And then Draco's fingers slid down to her dripping wet pussy and unceremoniously pushed inside her, and all rational thought flew out of Hermione's head.
"Oh god…Draco…" She felt him smile against her breast as she gasped his name, and then his tongue laved over her nipple slow and hot and wet. Her breasts were so sensitive it made his tongue feel nearly rough, and unbearably good, and Hermione squirmed on the satiny quilt, shutting her eyes and wondering if this was what it would have been like, if they had somehow been together while they were still at school. Draco's long, elegant fingers were pressure and pleasure inside her, filling her up and stretching her, and Hermione babbled his name and blurred epithets over and over in gasps and moans. She panted and mewled shamelessly as his tongue laved at her nipples one after the other, and his thumb circled over her torturously sensitive clit, and his fingers curled and thrust inside her roughly. Her hands were clawed, digging into his shoulders desperately, and her hips pushed up, her back arched.
She imagined the two of them, several years younger, on this very bed, the younger her feeling squirmy and nervous and naughty because it was Draco Malfoy, and she was down in the dungeons with him, and… Merlin, the idea just unravelled from a little bud into a full blown fantasy, playing like a film behind her eyes and Merlin it made everything in her body ratchet that much tighter, tenser, more pleasurable. The coherent part of Hermione's brain was shocked that she was getting off over the pretence of a younger Draco calling a younger Hermione filthy things while he fucked her with his fingers, in secret in the dungeons. The incoherent part was just lapping up every last bit of the pleasure that Draco - and the fantasy-Draco - were evoking in Hermione's body.
"Nggh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh g-g-god. Dr-a-a-aco…" Hermione came within moments; his name wrenched and whined from between her gritted teeth, her fingernails drawing blood where they dug into his shoulders. Her back arched, and Draco bit her nipple lightly, his fingers curling further inside her, his thumb still circling her clit, and a ball of tight-knotted ecstasy exploded from her clit and her pussy outward, rippling radiating through Hermione from her core to her fingers and toes, and she didn't even have the breath to scream. All she could do was whine and hiss his name and make incoherent, faint sounds that reflected the wrenching pleasure. It was… Her pussy twitched and throbbed around Draco's fingers with the aftershocks, and she could feel him smiling - no, smirking - against her skin again.
She came back to herself with a little sigh as the tension of her orgasm gently dissipated, leaving her limp and flushed and sweat-sticky, and almost embarrassed at the intensity of her orgasm, and her screams. Draco wriggled his fingers and she gasped and opened her eyes, meeting his smug gaze. He smirked, and wriggled his fingers again, and Hermione squeaked and tried to scoot back. Draco eased his fingers out of her then, his eyes still boring into hers, his mouth still tipped in that lazy, superior smile, and lifted himself up over her, his skin cool on hers, except for his erection, hot and hard.
"Want you," Draco said in a low whisper, his hand grabbing her hip, wet with her own slick juices. "Want you." His eyes flickered dark and narrowed, pupils dilating, and a wicked gleam in them. He bent his head, lips brushing against her ear.
"Granger," he purred, teasing and dark. "Want you. Granger…" Like he knew what she was thinking, like he was reading her mind.
"Let me fuck you." A shudder ran through Hermione's body, like a good hum of electricity, buzzing along her bones, and she bit her lip and whimpered, shutting her eyes and imagining that younger, colder Draco that she'd hated was the one begging to fuck her, and a smirk curled her lips, because really, it was the same Draco. The same Draco who'd called her mudblood and despised her, was begging her to fuck him - loved her, was having a baby with her. Life was ironic, sometimes.
"Let me fuck you," Draco said again, more insistently this time, and Hermione realised he was asking permission, being that she was just lying there, lost in her own head and not responding. It was rather sweet of him. Not to assume. She smiled weakly, still dazed and spinning from her orgasm.
"Please," she said. "Please oh god yes please Draco."
Hermione went limp with bliss on the bed as she felt his cock nudging against her, and let her legs fall wider apart, perfectly sated and contented, just luxuriating in the feeling as Draco slowly pushed into her. Millimetre by millimetre, and her fingers dragged through his hair and her hips lifted off the bed a little, her heels digging into the mattress as he slid inside her. Slowly. So exquisitely, torturously slowly, and she could feel herself spasm around his erection, wet and tender, and just as greedy to be taken as Draco was to take her, for all that she'd already cum hard enough to nearly shake her whole body half-apart.
"So g-o-o-ood," she murmured in a hitching, faint voice, her legs coming up to lock around him, and he thrust, rocking them together and pushing himself further in, and Hermione mewled at the feeling of Draco buried so deliciously deeply inside her. He growled in her ear and nuzzled at her neck, thrusting steadily, and deep, their skin sliding sweat-slick together and hot and she could feel his heart beating madly in his chest, his breath coming in ragged little pants. She clung to him, feeling his heart beat against her chest and his hot breath on her neck, his weight resting on his elbows so that he pinned her to the bed without crushing the breath out of her. The ceiling was grey stone above her, and he was thrusting so deep it hurt a little, deep inside, and then he was speeding up, speeding up…faster…deeper…
Hermione's breath began to shorten too in expectation and anticipation of Draco coming inside her, of the shock of pleasure it created in her, like a muted echo of his orgasm rippling through her. He lost his rhythm, hips jerking in a few jagged, ragged motions, a low noise whining hoarse from his lips, muffled from the way he'd pressed his mouth to her neck in a brief almost-bite that made her shiver all over deliciously. His teeth pressed firmly against her flesh, his hips snapped into her and she could feel the warmth of his cum inside her, could feel the way his every muscle went rigid with tension.
"Oh fuck," Draco groaned almost reverently as he stilled above Hermione, and then sank down against her, catching his breath, his heart still thud-thud-thudding hard enough to feel like it was trying to crash out of his chest.
"Oh fucking…Merlin." He rolled off her after planting a kiss to her shoulder, his cock sliding out of her and Hermione could feel his cum seep out, dripping onto the black bedcovers, and wondered where her wand had gone so she could cast a scourgify. But Draco was up on one elbow beside her, dropping a kiss on her temple, his fingers tracing lazily over the bite mark she'd left on her shoulder. A faint scar now, even though she hadn't done anything to heal it - purplish-silver, and hardly noticeable. His mark - and Hermione really did rather like the primal symbolism of it.
"Shit, that was amazing." Draco smiled at her dazedly and lazily, lopsided and wavering, his cheeks hot pink and his hair mussed into unruly pale spikes and tufts. All his defences were down, and he looked very vulnerable and young, and so amazingly hot. Hermione pushed her fingers through his hair, and smiled back at him. "It was. Extremely. As always." She shut her eyes and lay there peacefully, concentrating on the feel of his finger tip tracing around and around the bite scar. He had asked her several days ago why she'd left it untouched, and she had told him, 'because you gave it to me' and felt awkward and silly, but Draco had just looked very grave for a moment, nodded slowly, and kissed the scar.
"I, ah…" Draco began and Hermione opened her eyes to his slightly worried expression. "Hmm?"
"I didn't - we can't…hurt the…?" He dragged his finger over her stomach, and she chuckled and shook her head.
"No. It's minuscule, at this point. And not up there, in my stomach, you idiot, but down around here." She shifted his large, warm hand right down to the bottom of her abdomen, half over her pubic bone. "Honestly, what do they teach you in school? Oh, that's right - there wasn't any sex education at Hogwarts."
She smirked at his indignant expression, but he didn't take his hand away, just left it splayed out there, a funny expression on his face. Hermione watched Draco carefully; every little shift in the set of his features, his eyes a dark charcoal kind of grey, contemplative and fixed on where his hand rested, a thoughtful little twist to his mouth.
"I think maybe we should see about paying my mother a visit, if communication restrictions have been lifted," Draco said after a long silence, eyes sliding up to Hermione's face, and she smiled at him broadly.
"I think that's a very good idea. If Fred and George are any example, waiting until the mother of your baby is starting to show, doesn't work out that smoothly."
"I think it's more the 'and by the way, mum, we don't know which one of us is the daddy of your first grandchild' that pissed Mrs Weasley off, rather than the timing of when she found out," Draco said dryly, untangling himself from Hermione and sliding off the bed. His skin was pale and smooth, most of the scars he'd accumulated over the past months gone, save the swirling ridged scars on the right side of his abdomen that Bellatrix had left there so long ago. Hermione watched Draco as he found and started pulling on his shorts in the soft torchlight that illuminated the room, admiring the shift of muscles beneath his skin, the angles and lines of his lean body.
"Mmm," she agreed lazily, stretching and dragging the black quilt up around her; she needed a shower. There was something to be said for a spell that cleaned the dirt off you, but it didn't leave Hermione feeling clean.
"Is there a bathroom down here somewhere?" she asked him, hitching the bedcovers up and balling up the dragging ends in one fist as best she could, and Draco eyed her with a faint smirk.
"Just down the hallway. It's the senior boys' bathroom, but I doubt there will be anyone else using it." He grimaced and Hermione gave him a sympathetic look - none of the Slytherins had stayed behind. There had been a few students who had wanted to, but they had all been underage. Draco sighed and she could see him shrug off the strain and sadness of being the only one in his House near his own age who wasn't either caught up in the blood purity bigotry, or too cowardly to stand up for what was right. Draco had changed so much, Hermione thought, suddenly very proud of him.
"Come on," Draco said, taking her hand and tugging her out of the bedroom, the stone chill beneath her feet, along the empty Slytherin corridors, the torchlight flickering eerily. It was strange, to be wandering the halls naked beneath the heavy bedcover, which dragged behind her like a train; Draco in just his cotton boxer shorts, his hand at the small of her back as he guided her along to the senior boys' bathroom. It was large and lovely, although not as big or nice as the prefects' bathroom, and all done in white and green tiles, with several large bathtubs, half a dozen closed off toilet cubicles, and the showers. The showers were an open row of eight along one wall, and Draco turned on two, the steam rising up and billowing through the room, and then shucked his shorts off casually.
He unwound Hermione from the bedcover and led her into the water, his eyes dark, his cock hard again, and she shivered in anticipation. She knew what was coming. He pinned her up against the wall, the water pouring over his head, plastering his hair down and turning it a darker blonde, water running off the end off his nose and sheeting over his parted lips. He scraped his fringe out of his eyes and blinked at her through the water, which beaded heavy on his eyelashes. And then he kissed her, and his mouth was hot contrast to the cold tiles of the shower wall, his erection pressed into her belly, and his hands seized her wrists and pressed them up against the wall. Hermione moaned into his mouth and her hips bucked out; she wanted him again, her body aching and throbbing, and she couldn't get enough of him, her tongue delving hungrily into his mouth and one leg coming up to curl against his and lock them together.
Draco let go of her wrists before long and pushed her down, onto her knees on the tiles, the water half-drowning her, drenching her hair and making it stick sleek to her head, cascading in runnels down her breasts and dripping off her nipples, wetting the short vee of soft hair between her legs. Hermione had to shut her eyes against the water, and something warm nudged against her lips - his erection she realised with a little shock - and she opened her mouth immediately. Let him slide it into her mouth and then swirled her tongue over it, and sucked hard. Laved the head of Draco's erection and lapped her way down the shaft, twisted her hand on it, pumping it slowly, and sucking hard, teasing and working it. Her hand teased over his scrotum and her mouth moved down, hand sliding up and down over his erection while she lapped at his balls, hoping that he liked it because she hadn't done it much before. She was a maddened mix of want, nervousness and power, and her hands and mouth moved steadily over him.
Draco made a soft growling groan when Hermione dragged her tongue up the shaft and then sucked hard. He swayed forward, hands slapping against the wall to hold himself up, and Hermione smiled triumphantly at the fact that she was doing this to him. His body sheltered her from the water now as he braced himself against the wall, and she peeked up and saw his face as he moaned again; his eyes shut and the tendons in his neck taut, his cheeks reddened and teeth denting his lower lip. It made her all wet and melty and quivering inside to see Draco like this, so vulnerable and defenceless, his hips bucking forward and pushing his cock down her throat - oh, too far, and Hermione gagged for a moment and her eyes watered. Draco pulled back, eyes opening onto hers and a curse slipping from his lips, followed by a rough, low apology, his voice shaking and tight. One hand lifted from the wall and his cold fingertips traced over her cheek and jaw.
"Sorry. Didn't - mean - to….just…fuck, Hermione. So…fucking good…"
Hermione swirled her tongue over the head of his cock and then smiled up at him by way of accepting his choked out apology, one of her hands against his hip now, ready to push him back if he thrust too far forward again. But Draco took her arms before she could keep going and lifted her roughly to her feet instead, pressed her up against the wall and hefted her up. Hermione squeaked and her legs clamped around his waist automatically, her shoulder blades jammed into the tiles and his hands gripped her bum, the silver one gripping harder and more painfully, because he didn't quite always know his strength yet. And then his erection was pressing into her, in-in-in…oh Merlin yes, and Hermione's head fell back against the wall and a moan slithered from her lips as Draco thrust.
"- and if it's at all possible, I'd like to go visit her - and Pansy - with Hermione. Mother doesn't know that Hermione and I are engaged, and she doesn't know Hermione's pr-" Draco broke off suddenly, face shutting down and features going instantly blank as he realised his fucking stupid slip, and Lupin just grinned at him, clapped him on the shoulder.
"It's all right, Malfoy. I know Hermione's…er, condition. Dora ended up letting it slip to me."
Draco frowned, a wave of an indignant, possessive sort of anger rising up in him. "You knew before I did?"
"No," Lupin hastened to reassure him. "No. I knew something was going on, but Dora wouldn't tell me until after we'd taken the castle, in the early hours yesterday. I'm assuming Hermione told you before then?"
Draco smirked at the older man. "I figured it out just before the mission."
"Ah. Good. Very good."
"Anyway, as I was trying to say," Draco began again sharply, still a little irritated that Lupin had known, "My mother doesn't know anything about the situation and what has happened in the past few months, except that I was captured, and that now I'm safe and unharmed. Am I right?"
"You're correct. We saw no point in giving her any information but the essentials, and we didn't know if you wanted her knowing that you and Hermione were engaged or not, so we thought it best not to mention that to her."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," Draco said stiffly, somewhat grateful. He would have thought the Order would be far more gossipy and interfering, and he was glad they hadn't just assumed he'd want his mother to know his private business. "But I think it would probably be appropriate for me to tell her that Hermione and I are engaged and having her first grandchild, and I'd like to inform her in person."
"Mm. You're probably right about telling her," Lupin allowed with a faint smile. "All right then. I'll see if I can get an Auror who's been to your mother's safehouse to apparate you and Hermione as soon as possible - probably sometime tomorrow."
"Appreciate it," Draco nodded at Lupin and turned to leave the library - set up as the organisational hub for the Order in Hogwarts - briskly.
He stopped mid-step as Lupin called: "Malfoy?"
"Yes?" Draco eyed the lycanthrope dubiously, still not easy with his cousin's husband - he doubted he ever would be.
"Congratulations," was all Lupin said with a grin, and Draco couldn't help his wide, absurdly proud smile as he realised he actually merited congratulations. Good things had actually happened to him lately, after all of the bad he'd fucking suffered through. He was engaged. He had both hands again. And he was having a child with the witch he loved.
"Thanks," he said casually to Lupin, still smiling broadly, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling out of the library wondering how Hermione was going with her little mission. He'd wanted to be there with her when she told her friends, but she'd looked a little uncertain, and said that for all that Harry and Ron were friendly with him, it might be best if Draco wasn't there. Just in case. But he wasn't planning on hanging around forever waiting for her to come and find him - she'd had a good five minutes headstart on Draco, which was plenty of time to say, 'Draco got me pregnant', and Potter and Weasley to absorb the shock, he figured.
Draco turned in the direction of the stairs, heading for the Headmaster's office, which was where the Marauder's Map - living in the library at the moment for the Order to make use of, eliminating the need to patrol the castle - had said Potter and Weasley were.
"Harry? Ron?" Hermione called as she hurried up the steps into what she still thought of as Dumbledore's office, her heart beating quickly in her chest and her stomach all sickened with worry. She was both excited about telling them, and horribly nervous. She had a feeling they were going to give her shocked looks at least, not just because the baby was Draco's, but because she was Hermione. If she had been almost any other witch around their age, they wouldn't be half so surprised, but children had always been firmly something for the far off future in Hermione's opinion. She had planned on having a career and an independent life before settling down to have children, especially with witches and wizards living so long - she had 'til she was fifty to have children, and didn't need to worry about dying before her children were grown, because she'd have another century of life left in her, if she was lucky. She thought that was partly why she and Ron wouldn't have worked out.
Before Draco had stumbled onto the doorstep of the Godric's Hollow house, what seemed like oh so long ago now, Hermione had been seriously considering taking several years after the war to study at a Muggle University - disappearing from the wizarding world for a little while, and taking the time to recuperate, away from the reminders of the war. Maybe spend some time with her parents, repairing the bonds of trust she'd sliced away when she'd toyed with their memories. And then she had planned to seek out the equivalent of tertiary study in the wizarding world - an apprenticeship, of some sort. Perhaps involving potions. Or something revolving around Muggles - the Muggle Liaison office, maybe. Or teaching Muggle Studies, even. Something that would let her regain her balance - that would occupy her without over-testing her. Getting into a relationship hadn't even been on her radar, and children had been something that hadn't even crossed her mind, except to think 'not for a very long time'.
And now here she was, engaged and pregnant at just nineteen, in the middle of a war. Merlin.
"Ron? Harry?" It would be just her luck if they'd left Dumbledore's office between her seeing them on the Map and getting here, without managing to pass them in the corridors. But then Ron's carroty hair poked out from behind some big thingamajig that was squeaking faintly like rusted parts struggling to work - mysteriously, because Hermione could see no movement whatsoever. He grinned at her cheerfully.
"'Lo, 'Mione. What do you think this is, then?" He frowned at the enormous thing - a hopelessly twisted sculpture of metal, bubbled glass, neon shoelaces, and Christmas tree ornaments. "I've been staring at it for over a bloody hour and I still can't even begin to figure out what it could be."
"Goodness, Ron, I don't know. Half the stuff up here looks like worthless scrap, and the other half looks like it's the brilliant invention of some genius, and you know, I can't quite decide which belongs in which category." She smiled at Ron, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. "Where's Harry? The Map said he was up here."
Ron jerked his thumb toward the pensieve.
"Snape left him some vials of memories." Well that was news to Hermione. She'd known that Harry hadn't had more than a few moments to speak with Snape, before the greasy-haired ex-potions professor had to go, but she'd heard nothing about any memories. "Is it safe?" was the first thing she said, worried all over because anything involving Harry and Snape seemed to go badly for Harry, somehow. What if Snape had been using Hermione somehow? What if it had all been some kind of elaborate trap? Hermione knew that was unlikely, and it was, as far as she knew, impossible to use memories viewed through a pensieve as weapons, but still - she hoped Harry had consulted with Remus or Professor McGonagall first, and she had the sinking feeling he hadn't.
"Did he tell anyone else about the memories?"
"Well, memories can't hurt you, right?" Ron asked, scratching at his head. "And, um, er, no…he didn't, exactly. He said that seeing as I was here…" Ron trailed off as Hermione glared at him, hands planting themselves at her hips.
"Merlin's pants, I can't leave you two alone for a bloody moment without you rushing off headlong into trouble."
"I'm fine, 'Mione," Harry said exasperatedly, startling her out of her growing irritation, and she spun to face him.
"Harry!"
He was rather pale and his dark brows were scrunched together in consternation, those usually brilliant green eyes looking immensely tired behind his glasses. His shoulders were slumped and he looked years older - years and years, and she stepped forward to him and put her hand on his arm, worried.
"Harry. Are you all right? You viewed memories that Snape left you? You never told me you were going to do that." Hermione knew that in the few moments Harry and Snape had spoken, Snape had managed to assure Harry that he was indeed still working on their side. He'd told Harry - but not quite managed to convince him - that Snape killing Dumbledore had been Dumbledore's plan all along. And the greasy ex-professor had assured Harry that he would kill Nagini before the final confrontation. Hermione supposed that the memories that Harry had just viewed had substantiated Snape's story, but why did Harry look so tired? Like…
"Are you all right?" she asked him again, eyes full of concern, and Harry shook himself from his reverie and smiled tightly at her, nodded.
"I'll be fine. I - Snape is definitely working on our side, we've got no worries about that. But there was a lot I saw that…well, it'll take a while for me to…process. I…I think I'm going to go for a walk. Maybe find Ginny."
Hermione bit her lip. She'd summoned up all her courage to come up here and tell the two boys, and if Harry went without her telling him, she couldn't tell just Ron, and not Harry, and who knew when she'd get up the courage to admit it again.
"Wait," she burst out, and Harry stopped and glanced back at her, Ron sauntered forward and raised an eyebrow at her, and Hermione sank onto one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk. "I, ah, actually came up here to tell you something." She swallowed hard and stared at her hands for a moment, the words not coming, and Harry and Ron stared impatiently at her.
"What?" Ron asked at last, hurrying her along, and Hermione gulped and raised her eyes to the two pairs that stared back at her - sharp, bright blue and tired, dulled green.
"I'm pregnant."
The room just stopped for a moment. Everything just stopped. And then Ron made a squeaking sound and then began to choke, trying to say 'What? You're what?' between coughs, and Hermione suppressed a nervous little smile, waiting for Ron's paroxysms to stop.
"I know. I was rather surprised too. I mean, it's hardly what I had planned," she said into the silence, staring fixedly at her lap instead of Ron's shocked and half-outraged expression, and Harry's dully surprised one. "I wasn't expecting to…well. But I'm very happy about it." She raised her eyes now and pinned each of them with a glare, just daring them to get shirty with her. "Draco and I are both very happy. And I would hope that my two best friends in all the world would be happy for me too." Hermione let her stare turn from stern to hopeful, and nibbled on her lip, waiting for their reactions.
It was Harry who responded first, of course. He pulled her to her feet and into a tight hug, half squeezing the life out of her, and she could see Ron still making a great impression of a goldfish over Harry's shoulder.
"I am happy. I am, Hermione," Harry murmured in her ear, sounding very heartfelt and not at all forced, thank Merlin. "Congratulations. Honestly. If you're happy, then that's wonderful." Hermione smiled with relief and hugged Harry back just as tightly.
"You don't mind that it's, well, Draco?" she asked a little nervously as Harry let her go, and he shrugged.
"I dunno. Malfoy's not a half bad bloke, really, once you get past his whole arrogant act. And odd as it sounds; at least I know he'll always look after you, and the little mini-you in there."
"So do you," Hermione said, beaming at Harry, suffused with relief, because even if Ron was horrified, at least she knew Harry was on her side, and if Harry was okay with it, Ron would come around eventually. "You're a good friend, Harry. You're always there for me when I need you to be."
A shadow flew over Harry's face, but was gone so quick Hermione thought she'd just imagined it, and then he was smiling again, but his eyes still looked very old and tired.
"Of course I have been, 'Mione. And now you've got Malfoy. Too," he tacked on the last word, like an afterthought, and his smile wavered a bit. "Now, I hate to just run off after your bit of great news, but I really do need to go and…think. Snape left me an awful lot of memories, and I need to sort through them, make sense of them." He passed a hand over his eyes wearily, and Hermione nodded, concerned, and full of curiosity as to what memories exactly Snape had left him.
"Of course, Harry. If you want to talk…just come find me. All right?"
"Thanks, 'Mione." Harry nodded at her and then raised an eyebrow at Ron, a silent communication that Hermione understood to be warning Ron not go off his rocker at Hermione, and she smiled worriedly at the redhead as Harry slouched down the stairs and left the two of them alone. Hermione cleared her throat and smoothed her hands over her hair - positively wild today - and Ron shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
"So… Malfoy knocked you up, huh?" Ron asked rather rudely, scuffing his toes on the rug, and Hermione nodded.
"Yup," she assenting, popping her lips on the 'p' and nodding, feeling horribly awkward, the beginnings of irritation stirring. Ron fairly radiated a sort of confused displeasure.
"Thought you were good at charms? How'd you get up the duff by accident?" And there he went, starting to ask her all the questions Harry had been too distracted to ask. Hermione pursed her lips.
"It was while we were captured," she said bluntly and shortly, and looked away, hoping Ron would hear the pain in her voice that those memories created, and shut up about it. He did, thankfully.
"Oh," was all he said, slightly shamefacedly, and then a moment later he rallied and rather accusingly asked, "And you're happy about it, then?"
"I do believe I said that, Ronald." She was pert and brusque with him, and he made a chastised little face and nodded quickly.
"Course you did. Course." But he was frowning and his bright blue eyes were darkened, his generous mouth turned down at the corners. "You. Having a baby with Malfoy. Bloody hell, Hermione. That's just - insane…"
"I don't see why you're annoyed!" Hermione couldn't help exclaiming, glaring at him. "You drink with Draco all the time, and seem to get along fine with him! You're all but bloody friends with him, really, Ron! And you didn't freak out when we got engaged. So what's so different about this that you're acting like that?" She flailed a hand at him, all breathless and sweaty with anger and fear that Ron really was going to make things horrid and difficult and unpleasant.
Ron shrugged helplessly, his frown disappearing in an instant, an apologetic, confused look taking over his face. "It's not that it's Malfoy, as such. It's that you're pregnant and it's Malfoy's? Oh shit, I dunno how to explain it. It's just…really bloody weird, Hermione. After so many years of hating Malfoy… And it's you - I just didn't really picture you getting pregnant now… You know? It's all…like the world just got tipped upside-down." Ron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his annoyance completely faded. He composed his face and then stepped forward and opened his arms to her, tentatively. "But I'll get over the weirdness. Promise. And I'm sorry I was being a bit of a -"
"A prat?" Hermione asked pointedly even as Ron enfolded her into his arms, and he nodded placatingly, his chin bumping down on top of her head.
"A prat. Yes. I'm sorry I was a prat. And…congratulations on your baby ferret, 'Mione, really."
"Ron!" Hermione jerked back and thumped him on the arm, but he was grinning and so was she and everything was suddenly, dizzyingly all right again; the brief wobble had steadied out, and the world was sunny once more.
"Honestly, congratulations." Ron repeated earnestly, wisely not mentioning the word ferret in reference to her incipient child again, even in jest, and Hermione nodded with satisfaction as they headed out of Dumbledore's office together.
"Thank you, Ron."
She trotted down the stone spiral staircase beside Ron, wondering whether Draco had managed to secure a visit to see Narcissa, to give her the good news. "Now the only really important person left to tell is Draco's mother. I imagine the rest of the Order won't care much one way or the other really, they're all too distracted by the war, and their own lives, and well, even if I could tell my parents they wouldn't know who on earth I was."
That was a rather bitter pill to swallow. Hermione was pregnant for the first time - and engaged - and she couldn't even tell her own mum and dad. She couldn't have her mum be there for her, throughout the whole experience. It meant she didn't have to risk their disapproval, but she'd take their possible disapproval in buckets if she could just tell them.
"Fuck. I don't envy you telling Malfoy's mum. What do you want to bet she'll faint on the spot at the idea of her son producing a child with a Muggleborn, and out of wedlock at that? No offence, 'course, 'Mione, but I bet you that's how she'll see it. She'll likely have a bloody fit." Ron snorted with amusement at the thought. "If she does, you have to show me the memory in the pensieve. Please?"
Hermione grimaced. "Ron, it's not a toy to just view memories for fun. It has a purpose. And…maybe she won't… She didn't react too badly at all when Draco told her that he and I were together. If we break the news about the engagement first, she might not take the pregnancy too badly."
"Hah, so you hope, 'Mione. But I have my doubts. This is Narcissa Malfoy we're talking about, right? The hoity-toity pureblood bitch Narcissa Malfoy?" The stone gargoyle began grinding slowly back into place behind them as they stepped out into the corridor together, and Ron shot Hermione a mischievous glance. "Maybe Fred and George could start a betting pool on her reaction, and share the take with you, like a bit of a consolation - if she does take it badly, least you'll get something out of it."
"Ronald Bilious Weasley!" Hermione's voice rose to a shrill imperative and Ron winced as it pierced his ears, and nimbly sidestepped her attempted smack at his arm. "Don't you bloody dare, or I will tell your mother!"