Edited 10/14/15
14. Frost and Fire
I can watch the sunlight melt the snow
I can feel a new light start to grow
But I still got miles to go before I sleep
Still got miles to go before all is revealed
Still got miles to go before I sleep
Still listening to the chainless wind sing
[Miles to Go, Stateless]
Hermione sighed with contentment and smiled into the kiss, swaying into Draco, her fingers curling into his hair, her lips melding and moving against his. He was warm and gentle and hungry, and he smelt like happiness and home; the autumn sun was warm on her back, his hands were gentle, cupping her face. It was a small moment of perfection, standing there all alone, wrapped together, secure in the safety of Hogwarts' grounds and thinking of nothing but the feel of each other. She feel her blood start to heat and rise, felt the curls of lust start to swell in her, and drew away before she got too carried away. Now was not the time, unfortunately. It might be safe on the grounds, but Hermione would still prefer not to linger out in the open - and besides, she had an announcement to make to the Order.
Breathless, Hermione gazed up at Draco with a smile, brushing a fall of hair out of his eyes, and drinking in the sight of him in the sun, his features peaceful, serene. Today had gone better than she had thought it would, and it obviously meant the world to Draco that his mother had reacted so positively - she could see the tension had drained out of him, and a faint smile curved his mouth as he ran his fingers through her hair, fingers snagging on little tangles and gently tugging them free. She sighed and her shoulders slump, she leaned into him tiredly. It had still been a horribly stressful afternoon for Hermione despite how well it had gone, and it was a relief to be back here, safe at Hogwarts. Now all she wanted to do was head up to the castle, announce the pregnancy to everyone, and go and have a nice little lie-down in Draco's old room.
"Well, that went better than I thought it would," Hermione said lightly as they turned and began to stroll up towards the castle, side by side, Draco matching his pace to hers. He glanced down at her.
"It did. At least in regards to us, and the baby. I don't know if my mother will ever let go of my father, the way I would like her to, but…" He sighed heavily, eyes narrowed against the light. "I can live with that. I suppose I don't really have a choice, unless I want to cut her off …" He continued like he was admitting a weakness, "And I'd really rather not do that. I…I do love her, for all her selfish bloody flaws."
He swiped a hand over his face tiredly, resigned and weary, and in the light he looked older. Lines carved into his face, hair drifting over his eyes in the breeze, lips shaped with a thoughtful twist, and for a moment Hermione could truly picture him being someone's father. Her baby's father. This war had aged them all terribly - the other day, Ginny had found a silver hair in Harry's messy locks. They all looked older than their years, and most of the time, had to act it too.
Hermione turned her eyes to the ground as they walked along, one hand absently travelling to her abdomen, and flattening gently there. "She's grieving for him, isn't she? That's all it is, Draco. She misses him, she wants him back - but she knows she can't, because the Lucius she knew is gone. It must be very hard for her, really." Hermione tried her hardest to be fair to Narcissa, and was rewarded by a wan smile from Draco, his silver fingers curling through the fingers of the hand that wasn't cradling her non-existent belly.
"That's a very charitable perspective, Hermione." His voice was self-protectively dry and amused.
"I think it's the truth. Her life has been torn apart too, except she doesn't have anyone to lean on, and unlike us, who were wronged, she has done wrong - or allowed it to happen, at least. And she just wants things to be the way they were, and she can't have it." Hermione shook her head, only now realising how genuinely sad Narcissa's position was. The woman didn't have anyone, really - at least Hermione had Draco, Harry, Ron and all the others who loved her and cared about her. Narcissa didn't have anyone like that.
"No, she can't," Draco said neutrally but firmly, and Hermione sensed he was done talking about it for now, and fell silent, her mind wandering as they wended their way toward the castle. She broke the quiet only moments later.
"Do you think your mum…is really okay with us?" she asked him a little nervously. It wouldn't devastate Hermione if Narcissa Malfoy politely disapproved of her forever, but it would be better for everyone if they genuinely got on all right.
Draco shot Hermione an amused glance, "Do you care what my mother thinks?"
"A little. I'd rather she liked me and approved of me than silently disliked me. She reacted far better than I thought she would, but I'm still not sure how much of it was genuine, and how much of it was biting her tongue so as not to drive you away, like she said."
"She called you an intelligent girl, and congratulated us. I'd say she's coping with it. Not over-joyed, certainly, but I don't think she really dislikes you." Draco squeezed her fingers and gave her a fond look. "And as she gets to know you, she'll get over any of the lingering disapproval that comes from her blood prejudice. How could she not?"
"Speaking of blood prejudice," Hermione said quickly, little threads of worry weaving through her. "What about the baby? Being a half-blood, I mean? Will she…" Will she secretly believe the baby is lesser? Will she think our child isn't good enough? Will she be disappointed that her grandchild isn't pure-blooded? Hermione didn't speak her worries aloud, but she didn't have to - Draco knew what she meant. He bit his lip and shrugged slightly as they continued their meandering way up the path to the castle.
"I don't think that will be a problem. Mother loves children - I don't believe she really cares whether her grandchild is pure-blooded or not, as long as I provide her with at least one." He grinned, a careless, genuine expression Hermione was ridiculously happy to see. "She's going to spoil the baby dreadfully."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you were such a horrid little brat? Your mother spoilt you?"
"Hah. Maybe. Partly, anyway. Even if my parents weren't bigots I probably would still have been an arrogant little arsehole," Draco allowed, grinning to himself. "But grandparents are there to spoil children, aren't they? And it'll make mother happy to have someone to dote on. Especially if…" His face clouded for a moment, and then the smile came back, but this time it seemed a little forced. Hermione was relatively sure she knew what he'd stopped himself from saying, but she refused to let herself think about it either. Draco cleared his throat and went on, "I think mother got very lonely once I went off to Hogwarts, and she's been lonely ever since. She'll be ecstatic once the baby's born."
Hermione nodded a little absently, her mind drifting off, down to Australia. "I wish I could tell my parents," she said quietly, thinking of how furious and simultaneously excited her mum and dad would be. Draco stiffened, an awkward sympathy radiating off him - they didn't talk much about her parents - they didn't talk at all about her parents to be honest. Most of the time Hermione tried not to think about them, and when she did, she still didn't much see the point in talking about them. Bemoaning their absence wouldn't bring them back. But now, she just felt like talking, and the words spilt out as she shot Draco a weak smile.
"I can imagine exactly how they'd react. They'd be gobsmacked that I've taken up with the nasty boy who used to torment me, for one," she said with affection, nudging Draco gently in the side with an elbow. She laced their fingers tighter together as they stepped onto the long bridge, shoes quiet on the wood. Draco gulped and gave Hermione a sideways glance.
"You told them about that? About me?"
"Of course I did! My father was so angry - he wanted to go to Hogwarts and beard Dumbledore in his den - march up to the headmaster's office and give him what-for, was how I believe he phrased it. He wanted to complain until 'that mad old bugger' did something to stop the 'bigotry and bullying'."
"He didn't want to do the Muggle equivalent of hexing me for being awful to his daughter? Find me and give me a good thrashing? Or whatever it is Muggles do," Draco ventured with tentative curiosity, and Hermione shook her head, picturing her dad in her mind.
"No - my dad is very mild-mannered, very civilised and polite. He'd never haul off and punch anyone; that would be too barbaric for him. My mum, on the other hand, would have been delighted to give you a good thrashing. She was absolutely gleeful when I hit you; she promised to take me out for ice-cream to celebrate it, in the hols. She's got a bit of a temper, my mum." Hermione grinned. "Dad always called - calls - her feisty. But never in her hearing; that might be too dangerous, as he said."
"Well, it's obvious who you take after then."
Hermione shrugged, rather enjoying chatting about her parents; it had been so long since she'd thought of them in such vivid detail, and it was nice to share a little about them with Draco, seeing as he couldn't actually meet them.
"Oh, I'm a bit like dad. And I inherited his horrible hair. Mum's got lovely, soft, straight hair, and half the time dad looks like a mad scientist. It makes his patients very nervy, when he asks them to sit down in the chair, with his hair all wild like that."
"Mad scientist…? Chair…?" Draco gave Hermione a confused look and she waved him off.
"Oh, just Muggle things. Dad and mum fix people's teeth, and to do so, their patients have to sit in a special chair that lets them look easily into their patients' mouths, and do the work. And mad scientist is…possibly a bit too involved to explain properly right now." She gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "And I can't be bothered."
There was a brief silence as they traversed the last half of the long bridge, approaching the entrance courtyard hand in hand, Draco's fingers folded warm and firm around Hermione's. She wondered how everyone would take the news that she was pregnant. Harry and Ron had taken it pretty well, but then Harry had been rather distracted at the time, and she hadn't really given them time for it to sink in.
It would be nice to be able to chat with Angelina about pregnancy woes and have someone to share the whole experience with, who knew what Hermione was going through. And Mrs Weasley would probably be over-joyed - and pushing for a wedding before the baby came. Hermione didn't really care if they got married before the baby came or not - although she didn't really like the idea of having to wait at least six months to marry.
"I don't even know your parents' names," Draco said out of nowhere, and Hermione was surprised Draco would care to know - he'd never shown any interest in the Muggle part of her life. But then most boys didn't seem to care about their girlfriend's parents and other relations.
"Richard and Tommy," she told him, smiling as his eyebrow rose. "Richard is dad, and Tommy is mum. Her name is actually Thomasina, but she's always hated that with a passion."
"And Tommy is meant to be…better?" Draco asked dubiously, and Hermione snorted.
"Like you can talk. Your whole family has odd names."
"The Black tradition of naming children after constellations and other celestial objects is an old and time-honoured one," Draco said with a self-deprecating tilt to his voice. "And compared to some of our other traditions, it's hardly noteworthy as odd." He grimaced, and his features tautened, and Hermione took a sharp breath and changed the subject, back to her parents - a clumsy attempt, but Draco seemed to appreciate it.
"Anyway, I suspect that if - when you do eventually meet my parents, it might be wiser to use Mr and Mrs Granger for a while. And never, ever call my father Dick; he despises it."
"They're not exactly to going to approve of me, are they?" Draco asked as he strolled along, taking shorter strides so that she could keep pace with him.
"No. Not at first. They've only ever heard negative things about you, and the fact that you've impregnated their nineteen year old daughter will hardly endear you to them. They won't be horrid, though, maybe just a bit stand-offish at first." She sighed. "I hope the war is over before the baby comes." It was frightening enough to contemplate being a parent - let alone being a parent during a brutal war - and Hermione wanted her mum to be there and not miss out on seeing her first grandchild as a newborn. Her mum would be so heartbroken if she did, and Hermione wanted her mother's love and support, too. Mrs Weasley would be wonderful, but it wasn't the same as having your own mum there.
"Merlin, so do I. But if Potter calls Voldemort out, and with all the horcruxes but Nagini gone, we have a good chance of ending it in one battle." Draco seemed cautiously optimistic, his thumb stroking over the back of Hermione's hand as they entered the entrance courtyard.
"It seems unreal, that it could be over so soon. It feels like we've been fighting forever. I can't imagine life without all this," Hermione said softly. Draco slid his silver hand from Hermione's grip as they approached the steps to the great entry doors, flexing his fingers and staring at them thoughtfully.
"Don't worry," Draco said wryly as he dropped his hand to his side, his gaze still on it. "I doubt it will be over that easily or quickly, Hermione. Besides, even if Voldemort dies, there will be plenty of surviving followers to capture, the Ministry will be in chaos, structures, the economy, and people, will all need care and restoration, and…we'll still have all the scars."
He looked up from his calm study of his false hand, pausing on the stairs and meeting Hermione's eyes - she two steps above him, looking down at him. Her breath caught at the sadness in Draco's narrowed grey eyes.
"We'll be dealing with the fallout for years," he said, with a certain bleak resignation.
"Together?" she asked him quietly, holding out her hand, and he twisted his mouth into a small smile.
"That's the plan," he said lightly, as he took her hand and she led him through Hogwarts' open doors.
"This could almost be old times," Harry said contemplatively as he starred into the crackling fire, slouched down on a couch in the Gryffindor common room beside Hermione. The trio were alone in the cosy room at the moment, just Hermione, Harry, and Ron, and she was lulled into nostalgia by the familiar leaping flames and the presence of her two best friends. Ron broke the dreamy mood by snorting.
"Yeah, except that I'm married, Hermione's knocked up, and you're…doing my bloody sister."
"Ew!"
"God, Ron!"
Harry blushed furiously and Hermione made a disgusted face, wrinkling up her nose. She didn't need to picture Harry 'doing' Ginny. Ron smirked happily at the reaction he'd gotten, and sighed. "But yeah, other than that, it's totally like old times."
"Right down to the risk of bodily harm or death," Hermione added dryly, the thought of the inevitable upcoming confrontations putting a lump in her throat and making her already nauseated stomach churn.
"At least we can't be expelled," Harry said brightly with a side-long look at Hermione, and she turned an indignant glare on him, only to be disarmed by the cheeky spark in his green eyes. She subsided with a dismissive flap of her hand and smiled at the memory he'd resurrected. She relaxed back into the couch between her two best friends.
"That's very true, Harry. At least we can't be expelled."
Harry chuckled softly and the three of them sat and stared into the leaping tongues of flame in companionable silence for a while, the memories washing over them - rising in the flame they gazed into, like faint spectres.
"So, Harry, mate," Ron began ultra-casually, glancing across Hermione to Harry. "When're you going to tell us what you and Snape chatted about before he had to bugger off?"
Harry stiffened immediately - Hermione felt it, squashed together as they were on the couch.
"Was he still a horrible git to you, or -"
"Yes. He was definitely still a giant git," Harry said tightly. "We didn't really have any time to talk. He basically just insulted me several times, told me that everything I needed to know was in his memories - which he planned to come back to collect eventually - and told me not to show them to anyone else." Harry glowered resentfully. "He didn't mention 'at pain of death' directly, but it was kind of implied."
"Oh come on, how will he know if you show us his greasy memories?" Ron prodded, and Hermione's lips flattened with disapproval before she answered him.
"Legilimency, Ronald. Obviously."
"Oh. True." Ron furrowed his brow with disappointment and thought, and Hermione - with fond exasperation - could nearly see the cogs turning in his head. For all that Ron had matured enormously his attitude toward Snape was the same as it had always been - highly negative. Truthfully it was a little irritating, considering Snape had saved Hermione; but it also reminded her of long evenings in the common room, studying by the fire while Harry and Ron skived off and complained about Snape. It made her smile to think of those times again, and stoked welcome warmth in her chest.
"Was there anything embarrassing about the greasy old bastard in his memories?" Ron probed curiously, and Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking away.
"Yeah, there was, I guess, but Ron…"
"It's not ruddy fair. All those memories sitting there, and I'm not even allowed to have one…little…peek," Ron whined, and Hermione and Harry shared a look that spoke volumes.
"Ron, you better not be thinking about trying to take a look, mate."
"Snape may be a nasty git, Ronald, but he saved my life and more besides," Hermione added sternly, and Ron huffed a defeated sigh. "Fine. I won't even peek. Bloody fun spoilers you two are." He scowled half-heartedly at Hermione and Harry, and then brightened when his eyes fell on Hermione's hands, laced absently over her still-flat abdomen.
"Mum's already knitting for that little one," he said with a grin and a jerk of his chin at Hermione's stomach. "She was that bloody excited you'd have thought it was her own grandchild in there."
Hermione beamed - the Weasleys' really were like a surrogate family, with Molly Weasley taking the role of Hermione's matronly aunt, just as she was surrogate mum to Harry.
"She seemed a little disapproving that we wouldn't necessarily be getting married before the baby's due, though," Hermione said cautiously. The wizarding world was big on legitimacy, and Mrs Weasley had rather pointedly asked how soon the wedding would be, and been obviously disappointed in Hermione and Draco when she'd learnt it would be no sooner, despite the baby.
"Oh, that's just mum." Ron waved it off. "She's just a bit old-fashioned, that's all. She's still over the bloody moon, you know. She spent half the evening debating what colour to knit in, according to poor old Tonks who got stuck listening to it."
Hermione rubbed a hand over her flat belly fondly. "That's very sweet of your mum." She pictured a tiny newborn in a trademark chunky-knit Weasley jersey - maybe in green and crimson stripes, a little initial on the front. She and Draco hadn't even begun thinking about baby names yet, although Hermione had a few ideas since her talk with Draco earlier on their way up to the castle from his mother's. She quite liked Cassiopeia for a girl - Cassie for short, perhaps. She wasn't sure how the name had come to her, but somehow it seemed vaguely familiar.
"So…who's going to be godfather?" Ron was asking, waggling his eyebrows and nudging Hermione vigorously. She set aside thoughts of baby names and laughed.
"Harry," she said without pause, smirking at Ron's suddenly offended and forlorn face. "If you're willing to be, that is, Harry."
"Oi, why not me?"
"Ronald, I am not about to entrust my child to you. Honestly. Besides, you've got plenty of opportunities to be a godparent; far more than Harry. There's Fred, George, and Angelina's baby, and Bill and Fleur eventually, and if things turn out the way I think they will, maybe even Charlie and Madeleine's. And Harry and Ginny's, one day."
"Good lord, Hermione, you think I'll entrust any future children to Ron if you won't, 'Mione?" Harry said with a strained chuckle, and Ron harrumphed at their teasing.
"You two are just bloody mean. I'm a married man now - responsible and all."
"I'm only kidding mate," Harry said placating a sulky Ron. "I've always planned that -" He paused and Hermione glanced at him curiously, saw his eyes with the orange sheen of the fire reflected in them, and that tight set to his jaw, and felt concern worry over her. "That any kids I have would have you and Hermione as godparents; if I ever have any kids. If anything were to happen, I reckon between the two of you, you couldn't screw them up too badly."
"Oh, thanks, Harry," Hermione snarked in response to Harry's clear teasing, rolling her eyes and propping her feet up on the low table in front of the couch with a sigh.
"How d'you think I feel, huh?" Ron complained to Hermione. "You won't even let me have a go at being godfather."
"You can have the honours with our second child, then," Hermione said, affectionately bumping her shoulder against Ron's.
"Already planning another one, 'Mione? You haven't even finished cooking this one yet."
"Eventually." Hermione smiled to herself, hand stroking over her abdomen as she imagined a future with two or three small children, in a world that finally knew some peace. Playing with their surrogate cousins, going off to Hogwarts on the train….Christmases and birthdays and feasts in the Great Hall…that was the future she was fighting for now. "I didn't mind being an only child growing up, but I'd like my children to have siblings. It's good for them - teaches them to share, and compromise, and that they're not the centre of the universe."
"Mm," Harry said lazily and distractedly. "And being half Malfoy, they'll need extra care to make sure they don't turn out to be arrogant little toe rags. No offence, Hermione."
"Harry! My children will not be arrogant little toe rags!" She thumped him on the arm and they grinned at each other. "Good point though," she added laughingly.
"And this one will be in the same year as the devil-child Fred and George's offspring will end up being. And they'll probably be great friends, too. Merlin, imagine the trouble they'll get up to together," Harry teased lightly, smiling and staring into the fire, and Hermione groaned.
"Let's get through the war before we start worrying about future battlegrounds."
"Yeah… This is nothing like old times," Ron commented. "We're sitting around talking about babies and the future. If it was old times, we'd be trying to figure out a way to -"
"Risk expulsion," Hermione finished with wry disapproval, remembering how hopeless the boys had been back then.
"Well, we're still trying to defeat Voldemort. That hasn't changed." Harry sounded suddenly weary, and he pushed his fingers under his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, looking rather dreadful, even by the warming glow of the fire.
"Ugh, don't remind me," Ron complained, and then rather adroitly turned the subject back to the days when they'd haunted the castle under the Cloak, and gotten into all types of mischief. Hermione found she was swept up in Ron's reminiscing, forgetting the war and her usually omnipresent worry; laughing and groaning with the two boys over their exploits together, viewed now through the rose-tinted glass of nostalgia. It was nice; just the three of the in front of the common room fireplace, and for a while it really was like revisiting old times.
Hermione slid between the sheets of Draco's old school bed with a sigh of relief, melting back into the pillows and watching Draco strip with a languorous sort of interest. He'd charmed that blank piece of wall framed with curtains into a window scene - providing the below-ground room with a view of a night sky. The glow of a near-full moon streamed in from that faux window, lighting Draco softly. He looked best by the moonlight; like he belonged in it, belonged to it, Hermione thought idly as she nestled down into the bed. His hair was gleaming white and his pale skin cast in silver, eyes dark charcoal and lean muscles shifting and rippling beneath his smooth skin, silver hand shining.
Hermione drank him in, still savouring the sight of him as though it were the first time she'd ever seen him. Or perhaps, to be brutally accurate, because Hermione was acutely aware each time could be the last. There was no chance for them to grow accustomed to each other to the point of boredom, or take each other for granted - not with the possibility of death hanging over them the way it did, heavy and constant. Not with the torture and separation that marked their recent past. Hermione had come to realise, with acute clarity, that every moment was immeasurably precious. Although she suspected the pregnancy hormones were making her a bit melancholic too.
Draco was down to his boxers now, and arched an eyebrow at her questioningly. Feeling a little guilty, Hermione shook her head minutely - she wanted to, but she was also exhausted and felt nauseous - and he nodded and left his boxers on, crawling into bed and opening his arms to her.
"Everyone seemed so happy for us, earlier. I'm relieved. I was sure some people would disapprove of us having a baby," Hermione said as she wriggled into Draco's arms, laying her head on his chest and listening to his thud steadily. He snorted.
"Mrs Weasley seemed less than approving about our unmarried state. She kept glaring at me all through dinner, as though it was my fault."
"Ron says she's already planning jerseys for the baby. And besides, it is your fault. I'd marry you right now, if you'd agree to it," Hermione said, a little trickle of indignation rising up in her. Draco made an apologetic sort of sound that echoed in the ear Hermione had pressed against his chest.
"I know, I know. It is my fault then, but not for the reasons that Mrs Weasley was thinking of. I just -"
"Let's not. Please." She hated going over and over the reasons Draco wouldn't marry her yet. Hermione didn't see his point - couldn't. Especially not now, when she was carrying his bloody child, and nothing was going to change that. No matter what happened after the war, Hermione was still going to be tarred with the stigma of having a Malfoy child, the spawn of a Death Eater, so really, he may as well just marry her. But he didn't see it that way. She clamped her jaw tightly shut and held back the tears that pregnancy seemed to be making well up easier.
"Sorry," he apologised, his hand stroking over her bare shoulder absently. There was a long silence, both of them glad to avoid an argument, exhausted as they were - and in Hermione's sake, feeling sick still. She hoped Madam Pomfrey would have the anti-nausea potion ready first thing tomorrow, because the morning sickness was always worse in, well, the morning. Not only that, but it was getting steadily worse as the days ticked by, and if she didn't get relief from it soon, she would end up a ball of misery curled up in front of the toilet all day.
"I think I'll go see my mother again tomorrow," Draco said softly, fingers dancing a lazy trail from her shoulder, down her naked back.
"Do you want me to come?"
"Actually, I think it would be best if you…didn't." He sounded uncomfortable but decided. "I want to talk to her alone about some things. I appreciate what you said to her today, but some things…well, it's a Malfoy matter."
It seemed as though Draco expected her to go spare over his exclusion of her, and Hermione couldn't deny a little pang of rejection. But that was irrational and she knew it - of course he wanted to discuss things in more detail alone. Hermione would want to be able to do the same thing with her parents.
"Of course," she answered brightly, patting his concave stomach lightly. "It'll give me a chance to catch up with everyone anyway. I heard Hagrid's getting back tomorrow; I'll go down with Harry and Ron and have a cup of tea with him." She lifted her head and shot Draco a lopsided grin. "I doubt you'll mind missing out on that."
He grimaced. "No. I won't mind in the least. Bloody half-giant oaf, with that bloody -"
"Draco…" she warned him idly, sprawling back down onto him and draping her leg over his two. "He's my friend. I don't expect you to like Hagrid, but please don't speak ill of him."
Draco grumbled something unintelligible under his breath in response - Hermione caught something about the Forbidden Forest and Buckbeak, and an unpleasant word or two. She very tolerantly ignored his mutterings.
"It's been so long since I've seen him, and I have missed him. Oh, he'll be overjoyed to hear about the baby - Hagrid loves babies."
"He'd probably prefer it if it was venomous and had scales," Draco muttered, and kissed the top of Hermione's head to soften his words. His hand crept around to cup her breast, teasing pleasantly, but Hermione, quite frankly, was still nauseated and bone weary, and not in the mood. She made a little noise of protest and Draco's hand froze. "Still feeling sick?" he asked with a hint of resignation, and Hermione slapped his stomach hard, swatting the breath out of him.
"Yes I bloody well am, so don't even -"
"I won't," he said quickly, his hand wisely retreating to her shoulder, a bit of a laugh to his voice. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of risking it."
"Good." Hermione scowled to herself, but clung tighter to Draco - she was feeling like a walking contradiction in emotions just lately. "I'll feel better once Madam Pomfrey gets those potions finished, but right now I feel utterly wretched."
"I feel like I should apologise. After all, one could say it's my fault," Draco said wryly, as he waved his wand, and the drapes at the faux window fell shut, blocking out all but a sliver of the moonlight.
"You should apologise," Hermione mumbled back, only half-joking. Morning sickness was bad enough - she wasn't relishing all the other changes that would come with pregnancy, nor the eventual pain of its completion.
She would have to look into what pain relief the wizarding world had available for labour - Hermione's mother had spent twenty-seven hours in labour with Hermione, and there was no way Hermione was going through something anywhere near that length without pain relief. Perhaps there were numbing charms, she thought drowsily, heavy eyelids slipping shut, Draco's heartbeat a comforting metronome beneath her ear. Or potions. Her mind drifted tiredly away, sliding from one half-formed thought to another, until sleep finally overcame her and dragged her under.
Draco was rudely awakened by a bony elbow digging sharply into his chest, closely followed by a foot that came dangerously near to walloping him in the bollocks. He yelped and sat bolt upright in bed, one hand cupping his balls protectively, eyes flying open just in time to see Hermione scrambling for the door, one hand clamped over her mouth, a hastily pulled on robe flying out behind her. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and managed an eloquent, "Wha?" His chest ached, as did his thigh - he was rather certain that kick would bruise, and badly.
"Fuck," he groaned, struggling out of bed bleary-eyed and sore, stumbling out the door in his cotton boxers, heading for the bathroom. He'd best go hold Hermione's hair back for her.
It took several long minutes for Draco to convince Hermione to let him into the bathroom while she was industriously being sick, and another fifteen minutes for her to suppress the retching.
"Is it supposed to be this bad?" he asked her nervously. "Pregnancy, I mean. The morning sickness." He'd never really been around any pregnant women - purebloods, due to the high rate of miscarriage, tended to keep their pregnancies secret until they were starting to show and it couldn't be hidden. Then they would hold an announcement party, before going into seclusion from all but their closest friends and family for the remainder of the pregnancy. Again, because of the high rate of complications pureblood women suffered these days, pregnant women - those of noble houses, at any rate - were expected to rest and not tax themselves. Somehow, Draco didn't see Hermione doing that, and the thought of her fighting while pregnant terrified him.
She finished rinsing out her mouth with Muggle mouthwash and splashing water over her face, and shrugged. Tired brown eyes met his in the mirror over the basin. "It varies a great deal from woman to woman - even from pregnancy to pregnancy. But vomiting my insides up isn't anything to worry about as long as I'm keeping down enough food and fluids, which Madam Pomfrey says I am. It's absolutely horrid, but nothing you need to worry about, Draco."
She sounded faintly amused by his concern, and he frowned. He didn't like seeing Hermione in this state - thin and sick and miserable. It brought back memories that he generally tried to repress. He helped her bring some order to her hair, copying her movements as she wet her hands under the tap and dragged her fingers through the tangles. He snagged his finger on a knot and began to carefully tease the snarl free, half-watching her reflection. Ashy skin and dark shadows beneath dulled eyes, lips pale; she exuded weariness.
"Do you want me to stay with you, today?"
She sighed and leant into his touch, curving her lips into a wan smile. "No. You go - I know how important it is for you to talk to your mother before…the battle, and…well. I'll be fine. If you could go up to the hospital wing and see if Madam Pomfrey has the nausea potion finished though, I'd appreciate it. I feel bloody dreadful. Although I think I'm done throwing up, for now."
"Of course." Draco pushed Hermione's hair aside and laid a light kiss on the nape of her neck. "Shower, first?"
She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cool, damp cheek against his chest, and he slid his hands up and down her back, enjoying the feel of her, warm and firm against him. "Shower first," she agreed, and pulled back and smirked at him, an extremely Slytherin expression that made his heat beat a little quicker. "You can help me wash my…hair."
Her fingers trailed down his chest to his boxers, and Draco drew in a sharp little breath as cool wet fingers slipped under the waist of his cotton shorts and enclosed around his already half-hard dick.
"Oh Merlin…" he breathed, and then his lips found hers, her mouth tasting like mint and cherries as her nimble fingers wrapped around his dick and slowly pumped up and down. They stumbled interlocked towards the shower, blind and clumsy, and Draco shucked off his boxers as Hermione slid off her robe. Naked she was perfect; her nipples lusciously darker from the pregnancy, but body otherwise unchanged yet, and when Draco pulled her under the hot spray of the shower her creamy skin flushed pink from the heat of the water, her wild brown waves and tangles of hair went sleek and dripped water in runnels down her breasts. Merlin, she was fucking beautiful.
He pushed her gently up against the shower wall and bent his head to her breasts, the water sheeting over his head, his hands gripping the swell of her hips. Hermione whimpered and moaned, arching out into the swirl of his tongue over first one nipple, then the other, and Draco smiled smugly to himself. He shifted one hand to between her legs, his fingers teasing along her pussy, finding the nub of her clit and rubbing at it lightly; enough to make her moan and clamp her hands onto his shoulders, her head making a thunking sound as she threw it back thoughtlessly and hit the tiled walls. He winced and paused, but Hermione didn't seem to care, urging him on, spreading her legs apart a little and tipping her pelvis up, into the firm rub of his thumb and teasing probe of his fingers, making greedy, desperate little sounds.
He dropped to his knees on the shower floor, trying not to drown under the spray as he latched his mouth to her cunt, dragging his tongue over her clit and feeling her whole body tremble as a shudder rocked through her.
"Oh god…" she whimpered and her fingers drove into his hair, pulling at it almost painfully as he licked and sucked, his hands clutching the soft curves of her arse. "Oh - oh - oh Draco oh my god." He smirked and kept going. When Hermione came at last, her knees buckled and Draco had to hold her up, pinning her against the tiled wall. Her hair was plastered down like his, which he scraped off his face, licking his lips and grinning at her flushed face.
"Good?"
"Oh Merlin, yes."
"Good," he said, and then hefted her up and thrust his achingly hard cock into her with a small groan. She was slick and hot, and so fucking delicious. She clung to him, arms hooked around his neck, mouth pressed to his shoulder, biting it firmly, wet and slippery, the water cascading down between them and over them, ragged moans breaking from her lips with each thrust. Shit, it felt so bloody good. Draco was more than halfway to coming when she suddenly thumped at his shoulder.
"I - I'm going to be sick," she gasped and he swore in his head, vicious and filthy as she slithered to the ground and ran for the toilet. Draco groaned and slumped back against the tiled shower wall, staring first at Hermione - clutching onto the toilet and retching like she was trying to bring up her intestines - and then mournfully down at his hard cock.
"Damnit."
He wrenched the shower off and grabbed a towel, scrubbing at his hair. "I'll go up to the hospital wing and see if Madam Pomfrey's got the potion ready," he said with resignation, and Hermione flapped a hand at him but didn't answer, too busy trying to vomit despite her empty stomach, coughing and gasping miserably. Merlin, so this was fucking pregnancy, was it? Madam Pomfrey had better have that bloody potion ready, Draco thought dourly. There was no bloody way he was letting Hermione go on like this, miserable and glued to the loo, whether it was apparently 'normal' or not.
"'Arry! Ron! 'Ermione!" Hagrid stood on his doorstep and waved up at the three of them as they came down the hill. They waved back and called out hellos as they hurried toward the beaming half giant, as rough and cheerful looking as ever. Ron kept a sweetly solicitous if unnecessary grip on Hermione's elbow as they cut down the hill off the path. She was hardly anywhere near pregnant enough to get unbalanced and go arse over teakettle yet - she didn't even have a bump - but she suspected that in another few months she'd be glad of Ron's steadying grip. Fang shoved his way out the doorway past his maser and bounded up the hill to the trio, bouncing joyously about their heels and slobbering happily, nearly tripping them up more than once.
"Gerrout of it, Fang!" Hagrid boomed firmly and whistled, and the great hound broke away from them, trotting down to Hagrid with a forlorn, chastened manner. Hermione grimaced at the drool on her hand and wiped it on her jeans leg, glad she'd taken the anti-nausea potion before she'd come down - the slobber was stomach turning. Fang was a lovely dog, but a bit exuberant right now. They reached Hagrid, and Harry was enfolded into a crushing hug first, and laughed breathlessly as Hagrid released him and brushed away a few tears. "Good t' see you, 'Arry. It's been too long."
"Yeah, it has. And it's good to see you too, Hagrid."
Hermione was next, but her hug was gentle; Hagrid treating her like delicate porcelain, one huge hand patting her back lightly. "'Ermione. Professor McGonagall tells me yer going to be a mum!"
"Yes, I am - in about five months or so."
"Congratulations! Yer gonna make a great mum." Hagrid stepped back and scratched at his beard doubtfully. "Not so sure about Malfoy, though. Were a bit of a surprise t' hear you'd picked that ferrety boy - wasn't expecting that, 'Ermione." There was no malice in Hagrid's voice towards Draco, just pure surprise, and a bit of uncertainty, and Hermione smiled and shrugged.
"He's a bit less ferrety these days," she said flippantly, and Hagrid patted her on the shoulder with a fond look.
"That's good, that is. Glad t' hear it."
He turned his attention to Ron now. "And yer married now an' all!" Hagrid dragged Ron forward into a hard squeeze, and then smacked him in the arm, an approving pat that made Ron near stagger. "And to that smart little Ravenclaw girl, no less. What was 'er name? C - Ch…?"
"Cho. Cho Chang," Ron said with a proud grin and a flush to his cheeks. "Of course, she's Cho Weasley now."
"Ah, good job, lad. I'm just sorry I missed the wedding." Hagrid sighed and looked around at the three of them, clustered at the doorstep and grinning up at him. "You lot are a sight for sore eyes, you are. Come on, come on. Come inside now, and I'll make yers all a cuppa." He ducked into the hut, waving them in briskly. "Don't mind the state of the place - I hain't finished cleaning up yet, and it's still a wee bit cobwebby."
Ron immediately flinched and looked around him nervously as he took a seat, and Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as she sat on a large, rickety chair after casting a surreptitious scourgify.
"Tea and biscuits, you lot?" Hagrid asked as he set the kettle on, and the three of them assented, Hermione planning to discreetly hide her rock cake rather than break her teeth on it.
"So, what have you been doing the past year or so, Hagrid?" Harry asked, petting a hand over Fang's head and playing with his silky ears.
"I've been off looking for giants mostly - trying to bring them over to our side o' things, with Grawp's help. Other magical folk and creatures too." Hagrid scratched at his matted head, waiting by the range for the kettle to boil. "I've been right round the world since I left 'ere, looking for allies as might be more re-cept-ive to me 'n' Grawpy than witches and wizards. Centaurs, taniwhas, deep sea merpeople, yetis - all kinds o' fascinating folk and intelligent creatures. O' course, we got ourselves into a fair few scraps along the way, but no trouble like I 'ear you've been dealing with."
Hagrid pulled the whistling kettle off the range and slopped the water into chipped china mugs, giving the teabags a vigorous stir. "It 'asn't been easy for yers, 'as it?"
Hermione bit her lip as she remembered the torture she had endured all too sharply - generally she tried not to think of it, suppressing it until it only came out when she was asleep, in the form of all-too-vivid nightmares.
"No. No it hasn't," she said quietly, and the room stilled. Harry gave her a tight, sympathetic smile, and Ron patted her knee comfortingly, saying: "But we're still alive and fighting," with awkward optimism. Hermione knew with absolute certainty that he was thinking about Cho's leg, Hermione and Draco's torture, and all the other hurts and deaths their side had suffered since the war had begun.
"That yer are," Hagrid said with slightly forced cheerfulness, plonking the mugs of tea down in front of each of them, and setting a plate of his infamous rock cakes in the centre of the table. "And the war could be ending sooner rather than later, right, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked the Boy-Who-Lived, his chair creaking as he sat down beside Harry and picked up a rock cake, nibbling at it.
"Yeah, it could be. Once Remus, Kingsley, and the others think the castle is fortified well enough, and all our allies have arrived, I'm going to call Voldemort out. Send him a challenge." Harry's voice was grim, and he looked down into the cup of tea clutched between his hands. "Voldemort won't be able to turn down my challenging him without losing face, so we think - we think he'll bring all his forces, and fight."
Hagrid nodded his big head, but Hermione's eyes slid away from him and focused on Harry, and the dread in his face was more that she would have expected to see there, even given the severity of the situation. She worried about that as she took a rock cake and slipped it sneakily into her pocket.
"A showdown then, eh?" Hagrid asked, and Harry nodded.
"If he comes," he said, lips white, "Then I don't plan for him to leave. That's - that's where it will end."
"And it'll be over," Hagrid said, still trying for cheerfulness despite the sudden, stifling tension in the shack. Harry swallowed.
"Yeah. It'll be over."
Hermione wondered at how terribly frightening it must be for Harry, to know that the fate of the wizarding world rested on his shoulders. No wonder he had become so quite and grave over the past few days; it was only reasonable, she thought, as she sipped at her rather weak cup of tea. Still, she would keep a close eye on Harry from now on. Something didn't seem quite right.
Draco nodded goodbye to Remus, who had kindly offered to apparate him to his mother's safehouse, and took a deep breath and walked up the path to the kitchen door. His mother greeted him just moments after he knocked on the door; she'd been expecting him.
"Mother. How are you today?" Draco kissed her lightly on the cheek, smiling as warmly as he could manage; he desperately wanted his relationship with his mother to be mended and thrive, but it was still so awkward to be around her. She gave him a fond smile, and patted his cheek.
"I'm well, thank you, Draco. You, however, look terribly tired." She ushered him to the kitchen table and moved gracefully to the bench where the jug was just finishing boiling, pouring two cups of tea and setting one in front of him. She seated herself opposite him, looking elegant in a simple dusty blue dress, her long, pale hair in a neat coil at the base of her neck. She looked almost like a real mother, Draco thought idly as he sipped at his tea. A silly thought, because whether she was in fine robes or a plain dress, she was his mother. She just looked far more…maternal, like this, without all her finery.
"I feel tired. Hermione hasn't been sleeping well lately, so neither have I," he said, trying to sound casual and relaxed, but choosing his words carefully.
"She is well?" his mother inquired politely, fingers curled around her tea cup, the skin slightly reddened as if from work that in the past she never would have done, her nails no longer neatly manicured.
"Madam Pomfrey says so, but, well - you saw Hermione yesterday. She's been getting terrible morning sickness the past few days, she's not eating enough, and sleeping badly, as I said." He didn't tell his mother why she slept badly; his mother had no right to know about the nightmares Hermione had. "But Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion to eliminate the nausea today, so hopefully she'll start feeling better soon." Shit it was awkward talking to his mother like this, about the Muggleborn woman he'd impregnated, who he loved more than anything. Draco grimaced and drank more tea.
"Pregnancy is never easy," his mother said neutrally, and took a delicate sip of her own tea. Draco sighed, shoulders slumping, weary of the act playing out between them.
"Mother?" Cornflower blue eyes met grey ones across the table. "I know that Hermione is not who you would have wanted me to be with, and marry, and I can accept that you're uncomfortable with that… But do I have your blessing?"
Narcissa's gaze stayed steady and sharp on her son, her features still and unreadable. "Do you need it?" she asked him quietly, and Draco set his jaw and straightened his shoulders.
"No. No, I don't. But I would like it. Hermione is…" She was intelligent, practical, brave, beautiful, irritating - so fucking strong - always supported him, was carrying his child, and somehow loved him despite his past and all of his faults. He cleared his throat. "I love her, mother. I plan to spend the rest of my life with her, whether you give me your blessing or not. But I would like it."
He felt flayed raw, emotions laid bare, vulnerable in front of the woman whom he knew loved him fiercely, but who he couldn't trust to act in his best interests. For once, Draco just wanted his mother to place him and his happiness ahead of blasted, pointless tradition. She nodded slowly, her fingertips tracing idly over the tea cup handle as she stared at him for a long, silent moment.
"You have it, Draco."
A breath whooshed out of him, and the tension dropped away from him; his relief more intense than he had anticipated. He hadn't realised how much it meant to him for his mother to be truly, genuinely accepting until now. "Thank you, mother."
"Miss Granger may not be pure blooded, but she is a bright, capable witch, and you two are obviously well-suited. I may not be…hmm…comfortable, with her Muggleborn heritage, but I would be foolish not to accept your relationship. The world is changing, and recently I have come to realise that I must change with it, or be left behind." She sighed, and then gave Draco a brittle, bright smile. Now, would you like some morning tea? I have tried my hand at baking, this morning, and there are fresh date scones in the larder."
Draco smiled faintly at the thought of his mother swathed in an apron and up to the elbows with flour - she had always left such things up to the house elves. It was a lovely image, her doing something so utterly out of her comfort zone, but it also made his heart pang with a strange sadness. Grief, perhaps, at the fact that any changes she made would be too late for him - if only she had begun to change years ago, when he was still a child. At least his children would get to appreciate a grandmother that acted like a grandmother should, and not a cool, distant woman bound by traditions that restricted and chafed at her true nature.
"That would be nice," he told her, and she stood, brushing her fingers lightly beneath her eyes, the dampness of tears staining her skin. Draco felt a little choked up himself. He watched her hurry to the larder and fetch the scones, standing at the bench and slathering them carefully with butter, before arranging them carefully on a gilt-edged plater. He stood and crossed to her, laying his hands on her shoulders as she fussed with the scones.
"I love you, mother," he said softly and awkwardly, squeezing her shoulders and leaning forward to lay a light kiss on her cheek, like he always used to as a boy. She made a quiet, strangled sound, and then lifted her hand to pat his, still resting on her shoulder.
"I love you too, my darling boy." Her voice had a tremor to it, choked with tears. "More than you can imagine."
"It's a beautiful night," Hermione said quietly, and the silhouette sitting at the edge of the Astronomy Tower started slightly, twisting to face her. Draco's features were lit up by the soft blue of Hermione's lumos as she approached, he watching her contemplatively.
"Yeah. It is," he said equally quietly, turning his gaze back to the stars as Hermione sat down beside him, and whispered, "Nox."
The stars were bright tonight, the sky clear and cloudless, with a brisk autumn chill to the air that cut through Hermione's cloak and jersey. Draco slid his arm around her and she leant into his warmth, suppressing a yawn. It had been a long day - Draco's mother and Pansy had decided during his visit to them to relocate to Hogwarts, and had moved immediately. Hermione had gotten herself involved in helping them settle in, and between that, her long visit with Hagrid, and then several hours spent helping to strengthen the castle's wards, well, she was knackered. She'd hardly seen Draco all day, and this evening she had been pulled into spending time with old friends and Order members who were returning to Hogwarts in dribs and drabs, in anticipation of the upcoming battle - or battles. It had been good to catch up, but she resented the fact that it took time away from her and Draco.
"Look," she said, pointing at the star-speckled bowl of sky. "There's you."
Draco made a soft, amused sound, the fingers of his false hand pressing tightly into her waist through her cloak, the silver of them catching the starlight. "It is."
"And there - Lyra. That's a rather pretty name, isn't it?" she asked, pointing it out, her breath puffing little clouds of warmth in the air. "And Cygnus is over there. Not quite as nice a name as Lyra, thought." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco smirk knowingly at her as she continued. "And Vega. That's quite a nice, strong name, don't you think?"
"Hermione…" He said her name in a rough, low voice that was brimming with tenderness, his fingers reaching further around her to stroke the edge of her abdomen.
"Or Merak, or Caph," she continued, and Draco chuckled shortly.
"You're picking out names, aren't you?" Again, he spoke with that rough tenderness that made Hermione's insides flood with warmth and her breath catch.
"I -" She met eyes that looked nearly black in the shine of the far off stars. "I thought you might like to carry on the tradition…"
His mouth worked but nothing came out, and then he tugged her closer and pressed cool lips to her temple. "I would, actually," he murmured with something like surprise in his tone, and then cleared his throat and inhaled deeply, turning his eyes back to the sky. "I don't like Vega, though, I'm afraid," he said after a moment, and the smirk was back in his voice, the cracked emotion gone without a trace.
"Oh? What about Merak, then? Or Caph?" Herione didn't really particularly like either of those names, but she wasn't telling Draco that. She had a feeling she might have to negotiate names, with Draco.
"No. Not that I dislike them, but…I've always liked Scorpius, for a boy."
"Scorpius…" Hermione repeated the name like one tasted wine; rolling it about her mouth and getting a feel for it. "It's a little, well…scorpion-ish, but I do like it. I think." She nestled further into Draco's arms and laid her head against his chest, feeling his heart thump slow and steady. "I have a feeling it might grow on me. What about girls' names?"
"Tell me yours, first," he countered, and Hermione grinned.
"Well, I do like Lyra, but actually, I keep coming back to Cassiopeia."
"That's quite a mouthful," he said lightly but with a hint of brittleness, and Hermione found herself strangely defensive of the name.
"It is long, yes. But it's so pretty, and we could always call her Cass, or Cassie, or -"
"Pea," Draco interrupted. "Yes, I remember, Hermione. You told me that you dreamt of a future where -"
A chill ran down Hermione's spine. "When we were…captured?"
Draco went very stiff against her, and his heartbeats quickened. "Yes. You told me that in the dream we had a daughter, and named her Cassiopeia, and -"
"Ron nicknamed her Pea…" Hermione remembered now, vaguely, like looking at shapes through a foggy window. "I'd forgotten. Only, I suppose I hadn't."
"I like Carina, for a girl, myself, but -" Draco paused and smiled tightly at her, although his heart still tripped too fast against the hand she had resting against his chest. "If you like Cassiopeia…"
"Not if you don't."
"How about this, then. If it's a girl, you pick the first name, and I'll pick the middle name, and -"
"If it's a boy, you pick the first, and I'll pick the middle," Hermione finished, and nodded with satisfaction. "That sounds fair." She patted her abdomen. "Little Scorpius Granger-Malfoy, or Cassiopeia Granger-Malfoy."
Draco's mouth suddenly sought hers, and Hermione tipped her head up and let him kiss her, long and slow under the stars. His lips were cool and dry, a shocking contrast to the hot slickness of his tongue as she parted her lips to the kiss, and she whimpered, clutching at him. Her hands fisted in his hair, his hands bracing her waist, twisted to face each other, legs dangling off the edge of the tower. He was greedy and tender, and she pressed into him, making little moaning sounds, forgetting about the frightening drop below them, or the star-strewn sky above. Her eyes were tightly shut and her feet hung in thin air, and Draco's mouth was on hers, sending sparking shoots of lust brightly through her, and all Hermione could do was feel.
Everything else just…fell away.