Hermione flushed the toilet and caught her breath. She coughed and wiped the drool from her cheek.

"Third time this morning, yeah?" she heard from behind her. She let the air fill her lungs- cold, sweet February air, in through her nose and out of her mouth. She watched the toilet refill with water. She tried not to think about the pipes her vomit was circling through, being carried away into the sewer system. She closed her eyes. It was the third time this morning, and at least the fifteenth time this week.

"You might have told me… that the test would cause this type of a reaction."

Draco slid off her kitchen counter and poised himself in the bathroom doorway. He thought for a moment.

"It didn't happen to me," he said.

"Then why is it happening to me?"

She flushed the toilet again, half to hear it getting sucked down into the pipes, and half to do something other than think about the sweat that was beading up on her forehead and trickling down toward her eyes. She wiped them away with her wrist and leaned her head against her forearm.

"I don't know," he finally said. She sighed and straightened, feeling her stomach tighten as she did.

"Then you have no idea how long it's going to last?"

He blinked at her; looked away. "I could make you an Anti-Nausea Draught?"

After thinking for a moment, she nodded.

"Go sit," he said to her. She walked toward the couch, its cold, faded surface looking every bit as unappealing to her as one of Hagrid's infamous twice-cooked stews. She heard her stomach gurgle, and covered it with her hand. She looked down. She felt like she had to have lost at least five pounds. In a normal body, she'd have loved it… but weeks of slaving over work had already caused her to be slightly underweight, and she wasn't enjoying the anti-feminine feeling her body was starting to have… and even though the man she'd been sharing her life, and her bed, with for the last few weeks wasn't the first thing on her list of concerns… he certainly wasn't the last. She didn't want to be ugly... not when she'd just started to feel something like sexy.

"I can use the ingredients in your office?" she heard him call.

"Of course," she answered weakly, turning as she did and heading for the bedroom.

"It'll only take a few minutes. I know a spell that will speed the cooking process."

"Okay," she said, only slightly above a whisper. She was aware he hadn't heard her, but her bed was so inviting, that suddenly she only had eyes for it. His bag was neatly packed and sitting on the edge of her bed. Her suitcase was open, clothes spilling out of it. She picked his up by the double handles and placed it on the ground, before pushing her own onto the floor. She felt horrible that she was delaying their trip by being unable to focus, but for the moment, it was all she could do to function let alone plan anything. She unzipped her jeans and let them fall to the floor. She climbed beneath the sheets and let the cold feeling wash over her feet, calves, thighs, and back. She took in a sharp breath and felt it cool her hot lungs. She shivered a little as her body adjusted, and before she knew it, she felt herself slipping away.

He stood over her desk with the geranium root in one hand, and the essence of lavender marjoram in the other. Everything had been added to the potion, but one final ingredient… the notion of each of the two potions he could create at this point was the same: it was for the baby, not for Hermione. One would calm it down, he knew, making her nights easier, making her mornings more fun, and making their trip date come ever sooner… but the other, he knew, would do something quite different… she would hurt for a little… she would cramp, and she would cry, and then she would get her period, and all of it would be over, and she would chalk it all up to just a bad cycle after a bad reaction to the potion that had put her under… and she'd have never, ever known that a little piece of Draco Malfoy had taken root inside of her and started to grow… he could save her entirely from the burden of having to make this difficult decision with just one piece of a plant.

He put each item down, placed his palms on the desk and leaned down, exhaling meaningfully. It shouldn't have been a difficult decision, especially for him. Looking out for himself was never something he'd needed help with… it was practically the most powerful quality in a Slytherin. Apart from the Pureblood status, which no longer gave him much satisfaction, his self-preservation was one of the only tools he had on this mission. What was growing inside Hermione Granger was not a blessing. He felt no deep-rooted connection to it, and it wasn't a matter of any sort of biological clock ticking away. All it was, was a direct threat against said sense of self-preservation… if it continued to exist, her judgment would cloud, his own defenses would need to cover both of them… all three of them… he'd be spread too thinly, and they would fail. She was sharp, but not sharp enough to think about this and that. No one would be.

He picked up the lavender… it would make a blue-violet potion… it would sparkle and steam and keep her asleep, and soothed for a couple of weeks—long enough for it all to pass, and maybe… maybe they could get through Egypt and then even Iraq and complete this damn mission in the four-five weeks it would take for her to figure it out… when she realized she was about to miss not the first, but the second of her cycles. She would put it together; he made no mistake about that. She was Hermione Granger. She was going to figure it out.

He placed it down… and picked up the geranium. It would be over, he told himself. Hell, he could keep sleeping with her, even! He felt a pang in his chest. Oh, now it feels shitty just to think about her as an object? Great. I really am losing it. It's the stress.

He placed down the geranium root. He hung back his head, his hands over his face and shuddered out a deep sigh.

Men were not meant to be the ones to make this decision.

Hermione felt herself being gently shaken out of her slumber. When she opened her eyes, she felt a sharp pain between her eyebrows and she winced. She covered it with her hand.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… headache…"

He paused for a moment. She felt his fingers on top of hers. She let her hand fall away and with his index and middle finger and pressed down on the inner corners of her eyebrows. The pain fell away. She sighed.

"How… did you…"

"It's a sinus headache, probably from the nausea. It can cause swelling if you get a little… up the wrong way. Maybe you even picked up some sort of a bug…." He trailed off. She opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her.

"I made you the potion," he said. He handed it to her.

"Wow, you were right. You did put a rush on it. Anti-Nausea Spells are usually—"

"Overnight, I know. I've been making them for years… used to take them on the train before school. I'm kind of an expert." He smirked at her. She smirked back.

"Well I could certainly use your expertise. I'm a little tired of finding myself at the bottom of the toilet bowl."

"I can only imagine." He held out a solid glass from her cabinet toward her. She eyed it.

"Is it one of the gross ones with the floating fluff in it?"

"No, it's just teeming with delicious ice cream and candy floss." His sarcasm didn't escape her, but her stomach did a flip flop anyway. She made a face, but reached out for it anyway.

He handed it to her, staring at the goblet a little longer than she would have thought he did. Did he… care if she felt better? Probably just eager to get on the road. But then, she thought… if he was vomiting for days, she might care. She wasn't sure. He turned to walk away from her.

"Draco…" she called. He turned toward her. She placed the goblet down on the bedside table. "I… don't need it right now," she said. She swung her legs over the side of the bed carefully. She looked up at him.

"You look tired," he said. He glanced at the cup. "You should take that while it's fresh."

"I will," she said. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. How did one… ask for someone's attention? How did people express loneliness? How was she supposed to reach out to this man, ask him to come and be with her for a little while? Why did she feel so vulnerable around him. "But first… can we talk?"

He blinked, stepped back into the room and leaned against the door frame. Merlin, he was sexy. There was just no denying that any longer, no matter how might want to.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno… the weather."

"The… weather?"

"…Bit cold…"

He pursed his lips, brows furrowed. "I think there's a chance we've damaged your brain, Granger."

"Tell me one of your memories," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"Let's not talk about me, right now."

"Why not? We went on a march through my guilty headspace—"

"Three instances of them!"

"I don't know any of yours."

"Of course you do—"

"No, I—"

"You were there for a great many of them, not the least of them watching you being tortured by my dear auntie."

The air between them got thick. Hermione looked away, down at the floor. She crossed her toes like she'd suddenly gone pigeon-toed.

She heard him walking toward her. He stood before her, then dropped down and placed his hands on her knees. He looked up into her eyes.

"There's no easy way for me to talk to you about this. I was raised by monsters. I am a monster… I've just learned to be something less than pure evil. Talking about even the smallest of my flaws with someone like you makes them seem that much bigger because… you're bloody well perfect, Granger. Only white light can make the darkness blacker."

She smiled, looking down again.

"And I'm the white light?"

"And together, we're the sodding grey matter."

Her smile grew. She met his eyes. "There's always a silver lining."

He rolled his eyes. "Not always. But in our case… I can think of one."

He pushed her backward on the bed, climbed on top of her. She was already pulling her panties down. He was already tossing his shirt over his head. Their lips met, and her arms folded around his neck carelessly. She cupped his shoulders. His fingers tangled in his hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His jeans unzipped and fell away. He was back inside of her, back where he belonged and her body was humming.

"Draco…" he shushed her, kissed her, was driving her crazy, thrusting more deeply inside of her all the time.

"Hermione?" their was a call from the other room. The front door slammed. They froze. Their eyes locked.

"…Potter?" he whispered to her. His cock was pulsing inside her. She was pink, lips flushed, cheeks ruddy, hair a wild mess. Footsteps were approaching. The bedroom door was wide open.

"The closet," she whispered. She thought she'd have to push him off, but he was out of her and out of sight with all his clothes and his suitcase in a flash. Hermione pulled her shirt down around her midriff, snatched her panties from the floor and pushed both legs into them. Harry approached her bedroom door just as she pulled the blanket up her body and rolled over onto her side, eyes closed.

"Oh, Hermione…" he stopped, let his voice fall to a whisper. She sighed, rubbed her eyes as if just waking. She sat up a little, letting the sheet fall down around her waist.

"Harry!" she said, sleepily. He smiled at her.

"Hadn't heard from you in a long time, 'Mione. I was worried, you—"

"I'm so sorry, Harry. Dra- Malfoy and I ended up staying at Hogwarts a lot longer than we had planned, and then I fell down with this nasty flu, and so I've been keeping inside for the most part—"

"You? Sick? What's the matter?" he stepped into the room, walked over to her. He had a paper bag in one hand and the back of his other hand was against her forehead. She beamed at him.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

"You feel warm," he argued. She could have sworn she heard a snicker from the closet. She glared in its general direction. Harry seemed not to have heard it.

"Are you on anything?"

"Oh, just something for nausea, that's all," she said, gesturing to the potion. He looked to it, then back to her. She nodded toward his paper bag.

"What have you got?" He rolled his eyes.

"Canned raviolis." Her face wrinkled.

"Because?"

"Because Ginny is beside herself," he said. Hermione giggled.

"Sorry to hear that," she said. He shrugged.

"Honestly, it's kind of funny. Leaves me to eat pizza and butter beer all night."

"Yum yum," she said sarcastically. He laughed.

"Sorry, the nausea," he said. She nodded.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked. Her brows went up. "You know, the trip… with Malfoy."

He was going to want details, she knew. And she also knew that under other circumstances, she'd have told him just what a prat Malfoy had been, the first few days, and she'd have glossed over the part where they fell into each other's arms, each other's beds, and each other's… parts.

"It was… enlightening. Hagrid was sick, but Neville helped him get better. We did research—"

"You did research, or we did research?"

She gave him a pointed stare. "We did research… eventually."

"Neville called," Harry said. Hermione froze. Harry's eyes didn't leave her.

"Where were you two for the other six weeks?"

Draco couldn't believe she had so many shoes in here… he'd only ever seen her wear that one pair! One of them was definitely threaten to enter his colon. That's when he heard her:

Where were we for six weeks?

You bloody KNOW where we were for six weeks. Why do you have so many shoes?! Get him out of here! I'm not done with you—

You're the best damn liar I know. He'll know I'm full of it if I try. Speak through me.

Speak WHAT?!

I'll tell you the incantation, and you need to think it, and picure me saying what you're thinking

Draco Malfoy's face broke into a large smile. From behind the closed door he pictured the horrified look on her face.

Keep in mind I can stop you AT ANY TIME, Malfoy. Don't be a horror, or I'll shut it down, tell him you broke in in your knickers, and let him jinx you out of here. Your wand is in the kitchen. He's an Auror. Wanna have a go of it anyway? I mean, it 'is' magical all by itself, right?

Alright, alright… what's the incantation?

"Audicitia"

…Audicitia

Hermione was facing Harry, focusing all her energy on remaining calm… it was the only way the spell was going to work. She had to relax all the muscles of her neck and jaw. She felt her head beginnig to slip when he finally cast the spell. Her neck went rigid, facing Harry directly.

"Malfoy's uncle works at Hogwarts… he gave us a list of confidential names of Wizards we needed to interview who would be relevant to our mission, so… we had to fly under the radar for a while. I'm sorry I didn't tell you… you're my best friend… and also a wonderful Quidditch player." Hermione snapped her neck back, taking control of the situation. Harry's head was cocked, studying her. She cleared her throat.

"Sorry about that. Been a bit… off... since the flu bug."

"Right..."

"Right."

He looked around her room.

"So these… wizards… they weren't dangerous were they?"

"No, just very old, and very confidential." He didn't like that answer, she could tell. Was it going to be enough?"

"I… understand your position," he finally said. She breathed a sigh of relief. He looked her over once more.

"I should go, let you rest… get my second kid this canned garbage. Can I do anything for you?"

She shook her head. "I think I just need to drink that and get some sleep."

He nodded. He sighed and stood up. He looked down into her glass. His brow furrowed. He glanced at Hermione. He paused, thinking. She snuggled back down into the covers.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

He opened his mouth, paused, and closed it. He cleared his throat.

"How was Neville, when you saw him? I forgot to ask you."

"I thought you spoke to him."

"I did, but… he didn't mention anything… about seeing you. Just said you'd been MIA for a few weeks. Been a long time since I've seen him. I hear he's doing well."

"He is," Hermione said, studying him for a moment.

"Heard he got cute," Harry said. She rolled her eyes.

"What are you, a Witch Weekly reader? Do I look 14?"

"Come on. Loads of girls are saying it. I hear even his students have crushes on him now—"

"Harry, please. It's Neville. But if your girlish fantasies cannot be put to rest, if you truly must know, then yes.... He did get cuter."

Harry cracked a wide smile. He nodded, looked down at his shoes, and gathered his paper bag.

"Call me in the coming weeks if you need anything, Hermione. I mean it. I know, I know… Ginny, but… there's room in my heart to nurse you both back to health if you need me." He winked at her. She shoved him away with her foot.

"Go home to your wife and babies."

"Count on it." He kissed her cheek and sauntered out.

"Oh, and Hermione," he said from the doorway. She looked up. "Congratulations… on surviving those seven weeks." She laughed.

"Thanks. I'll let you know when I survive the rest of the journey." He nodded.

"I think it'll be pretty obvious," he said. He turned then and left. She heard the front door shut behind him. And then Draco Malfoy stepped out of her closet fully dressed and white as a sheet.

He knew, he realized. Potter knew. He had babies, a wife, and a pregnant one at that. He'd seen that look she had, before. And worse? He thought LONGBOTTOM was the lucky father of the creature. He could bloody barf. Potter knew. He was going to tell them all. He had to get them out. Tonight. He cleared his throat.

"Listen," he said. She was rapt at his attention, but clearly confused. "We need to leave in the morning. They're going to… we can't be seen together like this."

"I agree."

"And if I have to hear you call Longbottom cute again, I think I'll need you to start making ME the potions." She rolled her eyes.

"Jealousy is a horrid color on you."

"I'm a Slytherin. Green is my everything." She giggled.

"You need to drink that potion. I'm… I should sleep on the couch tonight. You're going to need to rest if we want you at full punning potential with me on this journey."

She smiled. She reached for the glass and he headed for the doorway.

"Isn't it supposed to be clear?"

He froze, looking out, not at her. Nothing ever slipped by her.

"Usually, yes… the speeding spell changes the color."

"Oh," she said. He swallowed. He waited. Her heard her raised it to her lips and suck it down. His heart was pounding.

"Goodnight," he managed to say in an even voice.

He stepped out and shut her bedroom door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, the hard wood at his back, against his skull. He shut his eyes and just… breathed. He was a bloody coward.

Without thinking, he stepped away, and headed for her bathroom. He entered, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of her bathtub. He climbed inside after a moment, studying his hands, and for the first time in he didn't know how long… Draco Malfoy cried.

Hermione lay back against her pillows feeling satisfied, despite the clear lack of satisfaction in the night's events. She felt the purple potion circling her system and immediately, the numbness spread from her core, upward and out until it filled her with calm and ease. The nausea was gone. The headaches had faded away. And all she could think of as she waved her wand and muttered "Pack!" to the items in her room, throwing themselves into her suitcase, was how on earth he had gotten it to smell of lavender….