Author's Note: Okay, so here we go, the last proper chapter of TAM! It's only taken me a ridiculous amount of time to get to this final chapter but I'm happy to finally have it written. I do plan an epilogue and hope to get started on that this week.

My thanks to pagan for putting her illness and real life aside so she could beta this for me.

Breaking Down the Walls

Draco said in the dark gloom of his study. The thick velvet curtains were pulled tightly across the windows. He wasn't sure where his mother was, but he would be surprised if she wasn't holed up in her rooms. She rarely came out any more, but when she did, he found the grief that ravaged her face hard to cope with.

He took another sip from the tumbler of Firewhiskey he held in his hand. He remembered a time when he had thought his life would be easier if his father was dead, when he'd been faced with the reality of the task he had been given by the Dark Lord. Back then, he had wished that he'd been born into an easier family, one where his father hadn't been a Death Eater who'd screwed up. Now, the guilt of those thoughts chased through his mind, eating their way into his soul.

As if looking to cause maximum pain, Draco's thoughts turned towards Hermione and he mentally shied away. No matter how befuddled his mind was, he was aware of just how much he had messed that up. He had not seen or heard from her since their confrontation in the street four days ago. He knew he needed to mend the bridges, to go and apologise, on his knees if necessary, but the thought of those angry brown eyes burning into his had him running away instead of dealing with the problem.

Some things never change, he thought bitterly. He had always been good at running away.

The whoosh of the Floo Network failed to rouse him from his bitter reminiscing. However, the harsh sunlight that intruded, making his eyes squint against its glare, did.

"What the —" He moaned as the next curtain was whipped back, the brass rings rattling from the force of the pull.

"This is an intervention," came the firm tone of Pansy Parkinson.

He looked up and saw his bossy best friend bearing down on him, Millicent not far behind.

"Oh, go away!" he mumbled, not in the mood for his overpowering best friend.

A forceful finger found its way under his chin, pushing his head up from where it had flopped against his chest. "This is ridiculous, Draco. You need to pull yourself together."

"Easy for you to say. You still have a dad."

"Yes, but I lost my mum, if you remember, when I was twelve. So, save the self-pity for someone else."

A flush of shame coloured his cheeks. How had he forgotten that? He had held out endless tissues to a weeping Pansy in the Slytherin common room.

The tumbler of Firewhiskey was forcibly removed from his hand and replaced with a tall glass of clear liquid. He highly doubted it was a gin and tonic and a small sip confirmed it was water. He screwed his mouth up in distaste.

"Give me my drink back!" It was meant as an order, but instead of commanding, his voice came out thin and reedy.

Pathetic, he thought. This is what I have been reduced to: a whining, pitiful man-child.

"No," Millicent said robustly. "You are sobering up, and then you are getting back out in the real world and supporting your mother as you promised your father you would."

Millie didn't mention Hermione or the baby, but Draco was positive he could hear the criticism of his neglect of them in her tone, too.

Draco winced at the reminder. "She hasn't come out of her room for days."

"Oh, really?" Pansy asked sarcastically. "Then just who was it who showed up at my house asking for my help?"

The guilt intensified, settling heavily at the bottom of his stomach. "But—" he started to say.

"No excuses, Draco. It is you who hasn't been out. Hermione has been carrying all the slack around here. She's been the one sitting with Narcissa and helping her come to terms with Lucius' death."

"Hermione's been here?" he asked sharply.

He wasn't so drunk that he missed the look that passed between the two women.

"Yes, she's been here," Pansy replied in a subdued tone.

Draco dropped his head into his hands. He was so far out of it that he hadn't even realised Hermione had been in the house—several times, by the sounds of it.

"Merlin, I'm pathetic!" He moaned when he realised he had said it out loud.

A potion vial was shoved into his free hand and he tipped it back without even waiting to hear what it was. The room spun wildly for a few seconds before his mind cleared and a headache crashed into the front of his head with a vengeance. "Bloody hell!" he swore.

"Draco!" Millicent remonstrated. "You should at least wait until I tell you what you're drinking."

"Millie, you gave it to me. I doubt you would want to poison me. You've had better opportunities than the one today."

"Oh, I don't know," she said bitingly. "You were at least two sheets to the wind and a very tempting target."

"Give over, woman, and hand me that hangover potion you're hiding about your person somewhere."

Millicent held the vial just slightly out of his reach, forcing him up out of his chair, his legs almost giving away under the strain, and having to lean halfway across his desk before he managed to snag it off her. He chugged it back quickly, and felt relief as the headache abated and it no longer hurt to open his eyes.

"Nice to have you back with us, Draco," Millie said.

"Okay, so intervention has been achieved. What's next on your list? And don't even try to say you don't have a list," he said pointedly.

"By the smell of you, a shower just promoted itself up to second place," Pansy said with a grimace.

"Seriously, Draco, when was the last time you changed your clothes?" Millie asked, dramatically holding her nose.

He didn't answer that as he couldn't remember. His last coherent memory was storming through the Floo Network after his argument with Hermione, and coming straight here to seek oblivion.

"Bloody women," he muttered under his breath as he lurched out of the study and headed up to his room.

Feeling more human after a shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a much needed mug of tea, Draco made his way back down to his study. There had been a flurry of activity in the room in the forty minutes he had been upstairs. All the curtains were flung back, bathing his study in a glow of warm yellow light. The windows, too, had been opened, allowing the scent of his mother's rose garden to permeate the room. His desk and the coffee table in front of the fireplace had been cleared of the empty bottles and dirty, food-encrusted plates. The coffee table now boasted an array of delicious smelling dishes that had his stomach complaining about its treatment over the past few days.

"Come and eat something, Draco," Millicent said.

Walking over to the armchair which sat at a ninety degree angle to the sofa currently occupied by Millie and Pansy, Draco sat and pulled an empty plate over, browsing over the dishes before selecting a halved and buttered English muffin and scooping some scrambled eggs on top.

There was silence as he demolished his food, his head bent and focused on the task at hand. It was not until he had wiped his mouth with a napkin and poured himself a cup of coffee that he looked up at his two friends. They stared at him, identical expressions of amusement on their faces.

"What?" he asked defensively. "I was hungry."

"So I see," Pansy replied, delicately sipping her coffee. "Narcissa did say she could not remember the last time you ate."

Draco wanted to snap back the exact time just to prove a point, but realised that he couldn't even remember. Everything was a daze of blurry images and tut-ting house-elves. He wasn't even sure just how much time had elapsed since he'd returned home from the appointment at the hospital, angry and disappointed with himself. He spotted the Daily Prophet resting at the corner of the coffee table and quickly snatched it up. According to the date, he had been out of it for six days. Not as bad as he feared, but it would make grovelling to Hermione a little difficult.

"Hermione's been here then," he commented, trying to sound off-hand but just sounding anxious instead.

He winced when Pansy's eyes met his; hers softened considerably at the nervous note in his tone. "Yes," she said.

"Have you seen her?" he asked.

Pansy shook her head. Draco turned to Millie, who also shook her head and said, "She doesn't have an appointment with me for another couple of weeks."

"Great. That means a pleasant chat with my mother."

But first, Draco needed to replenish his body and he filled his plate up once more. It might look like stalling, but there was no point trying to face the complete hash he had made on a hungry stomach.

Draco found Narcissa in her private sitting room an hour later. Lucius' portrait held the place of pride, hanging resplendently over the fireplace.

"You are alive then?" Narcissa asked disapprovingly as he entered. "I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to organise a second Malfoy funeral in less than a month."

Draco winced at her cutting tone and deliberately failed to catch the eye of Lucius' portrait, which was looking at him as if he were something a Kneazle had dragged in.

"I am sorry for my lack of control, Mother," he said formally.

She sighed and turned to face him fully then, her hands putting down the embroidery she had been occupying herself with. Guilt spread through him as he saw the deep purple bruises under her eyes and the new lines that now marred her forehead, as if she had spent the last few days frowning.

"Oh, Draco!" she said. "You are as much of a fool as your father was at times."

Whilst the words were discouraging, she smiled affectionately at him and patted the sofa next to her. He sank down onto the comfortable, overstuffed sofa and Narcissa put a hand on his knee. "You have made a mess of this, my boy," she said softly.

"I know."

"You hurt her a lot with your words and actions."

He did not even need to ask who his mother was referring to.

"Do you think she can forgive me?"

"It depends," his mother said. "Are you prepared to let her in?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She smiled sadly at him then. "Do you remember the conversation we had when this whole fiasco started?"

Draco nodded. How long ago that felt, when in reality it had been little more than three months past.

"Do you remember how I wished you had divorced Astoria years ago?"

He snorted. "Yes; well, you got that wish."

"I did, and this house is much happier for it. I also expressed a desire for you to marry again – happily, this time."

"And I said I would not remarry," Draco said.

"I told you that you would find the right woman who would make you change your mind, and you have, Draco, you have found her."

"If I remember correctly, you had some less than complimentary things to say about Hermione."

Narcissa laughed. "You're right, I did, and it is proof that even I can be wrong sometimes." She leaned forward then, taking his hand in hers. "She's the one, Draco. The woman who can –who has– made you happy. When we had that conversation, you were so unhappy and stressed. You looked years older than your age and I was worried that all the anxiety was going to drive you into an early grave. But before—" Narcissa hesitated, stumbling over her words before taking a deep breath and continuing, "before your father died, you were happier and more carefree than I had seen you since before the war. She did that, Draco."

"And I ruined it. With one stupid sentence, I ruined everything."

"Yes, you did, but it is not hopeless. She is angry and hurt, but she cares, my boy."

Draco stood then and paced agitatedly around the room. "You can't know that, Mum, you can't."

"No, I cannot know it, but I can see it, and I've seen it every time she has come here and gazed wistfully at your study door when she had to walk past it."

"She was probably thinking about all the nasty hexes she could throw my way," he said pessimistically.

"I have no doubt that she has thought of a good few, but that does not bring sadness to your eyes or have you cradling your baby bump defensively."

For the first time since his father's death, hope infused Draco's soul. If he could just make this right, if Hermione would realise just how much regretted his words, then there was a possibility they could regain all the trust he had destroyed in one angry moment.

"How do I make this right?" he asked, uncertain of how to proceed, never having found himself in this position before.

Narcissa stood and came towards him, cupping his face between her hands. "You have to be honest with her and tell her just how much she means to you. No ducking out, Draco. No feeling scared to open up and let someone else in. You have spent the last six weeks or so running away from your feelings, afraid to confront what you know deep down, but Hermione is not going to except less than all of you. She will demand your honesty and you will have to give her that. You owe her that."

Draco gulped, fear of rejection and of being found wanting swallowing all his optimism for a brief moment before he steeled his backbone and nodded determinedly. Now was the time find his courage and marshal it.

Hermione could hear Ginny rooting through her cupboards, getting more frantic with each one she opened. There was a final bang and a stomp of footsteps as Ginny made her way back into the living room.

"How can you not have a single olive in the house, Hermione?" she asked disconsolately, lowering herself down onto the sofa with the clumsy grace of a woman a few days past her due date.

"Because firstly, the smell of them made me sick, and then just looking at them made me run to the bathroom."

"That was weeks ago." Her red-headed friend said with a moan. "If I could just have an olive, then I know this baby would reward me and finally come out."

Hermione smiled. Ginny's craving for salty food when pregnant was legendary, with olives being her favourite snack of all.

"The baby will come, olives or not," Hermione said cheerfully.

"It'd better. The midwife is threatening to induce me if the baby hasn't made an appearance by the end of next week."

"You'd think someone would have created a potion to make all of this easier," Hermione said.

Ginny chuckled. "There are some things not even magic can help with. Witch or Muggle, the biology of pregnancy remains the same."

Patting her small bump, Hermione said, "Thank goodness! If it was dramatically different, then my mum would really panic. At least this is an experience we can both share."

The further Hermione's pregnancy advanced, the more excited her parents became. Gone was their disapproval of her actions, driven away by the dawning realisation that they were to be grandparents, and whilst they might not have come around to Draco, Hermione knew they would not show any of their dislike of the father to their grandchild.

The thought of Draco brought a familiar ache to her chest. He had yet to show up to apologise for his words and the longer he left it, the deeper the chasm between them felt. Would he want to play a part in their child's life, or had he now decided to wash his hands of them both?

"Stop it!" Ginny ordered.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking about him and worrying. If he's going to be a giant arse, then he doesn't deserve to have you and the baby in his life. Besides, it will be his loss."

Never had Hermione been more grateful for the support system she had around her than over the past week. The Weasleys and Harry had rallied around, refusing to allow her to wallow in her misery. Narcissa had sent over several lunch invites, refused to take no for an answer, and had declared that whilst her son might be a fool, there was nothing that would keep Hermione from being welcome at the Manor. It had been surprising but welcome.

The whoosh of her Floo Network startled Hermione and caused Ginny to swear. Rising rapidly from the sofa and walking into the small room that doubled as her study and Floo connection, Hermione stopped, blood draining from her face as she saw who stood shaking the soot from his robes on her hearth.

He looks thinner, was Hermione's first thought, followed by a rush of blood to her head as anger thrummed through her body.

"What are you doing here?" she asked stormily, her frosty gaze taking in the huge bouquet of flowers that hung precariously from one hand.

"I came to apologise," Draco replied with a distinct lack of apology in his tone and he held out the flowers.

"Are those meant to placate me?"

Draco looked lost for a moment when she refused to move forward to take them from him. "Well…yes."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and was surprised to see the colour flood into Draco's cheeks. He turned, fumbling with the unwieldy bouquet before placing them haphazardly on her desk. "I…er…I was out of order," he said, turning back to face her, his arms awkwardly hanging down his side.

"And it took you six days to realise that."

"No, I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth."

"So, what? You just decided to wait six days before coming to tell me that?" she asked, her temper causing her voice to rise on the last couple of words.

"Hermione?" came a shout from Ginny in the living room. "Who is it? Is everything okay?"

"It's Malfoy and he's just leaving," Hermione called back.

"No, I'm not!" Draco yelled.

"Yes, you are!" Hermione hissed.

"Do you need me to come in there?" Ginny asked, sounding clearly concerned.

"No, it's okay. I can deal with Malfoy."

"Just give a shout should you need any help. I find that pregnancy enhances my Bat Bogey Hex," Ginny shouted somewhat maliciously.

"She's right, by the way," Hermione said. "Her brothers will be happy to testify to that and if you don't leave by the time I count to three, then I will let her use it on you."

"Please, Hermione, just hear me out," Draco said.

"And why should I?"

"Because I want to make this right for the sake of our baby."

"Oh, so it's our baby once more?"

Draco signed and pulled a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Look, I'm no good at this. I never have been, but I know that if I want to rebuild whatever trust we had before, then I need to apologise."

"So you are only apologising to make things easier for you, and not because you should?" Hermione asked, intensely annoyed by his tactless words.

"No! No! That's not what I meant," Draco said, frustration leeching into his voice. "I really am rubbish at this, Hermione, and you'd think with my track record that I would have some experience but really I don't, so I'm making a right mess of this, but if you would just hear me out."

Hermione felt herself softening in light of his honesty and anxiety. She folded her arms, keen not to appear as a pushover, knowing that if she just forgave Draco outright, then he would have no motivation to actually let her in. "Go on, I'm listening."

He moved a couple of steps closer to her and reached his arms out as if to cup her shoulders before thinking better of it and letting them drop back to his side. "I messed up, not only with what I said after the scan, but in blocking you out. It's just I've never been very good at letting anyone in," he said before laughing bitterly. "The last person I opened up to was Astoria, and you saw how well that turned out."

"I'm not Astoria, Draco, and I thought you realised that."

"I do. It's just—" He hesitated for a moment, obviously looking to regain some composure before he took a deep breath and opened his mouth once more. "It goes against the grain with me, okay? I'm not good at letting anyone in, not even Pansy, and then the mix-up at the lab happened and suddenly you and I are linked. Somehow, despite the hostility, we managed to get past the fighting and the suspicion. Merlin's beard, we even weathered Astoria and her crazy stunt and, suddenly, you're not just this pain in the arse who is carrying my child, but you're a friend, and one who has managed to worm her way into the centre of my world. My mother adores you, and my father—even my father— sang your praises before, you know…" He broke off again, taking a deep breath before restarting. "But you've become important to me, and not just because you're carrying our child, but because you're you. Then my father dies, and it all becomes too much, and I'm not prepared for all the emotion. I've never been any good at dealing with emotion."

Draco stopped, and Hermione could see that his hands were shaking. He smiled at her before looking down at his feet and she found that all the affection for him that she had spent the past week pushing down and turning into anger and resentment resurfacing. Maybe he wasn't a lost cause.

Draco lifted his head once more, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that had her shivering delightfully. "I've survived the last decade by controlling my emotions and not letting all the disappointments affect me. But you drove a sledgehammer through my walls, Hermione, and I wasn't prepared for it. I've tried to resurrect them and regain that control, but all I did was hurt you and hurt myself."

Taking another deep breath and steeling his shoulders, Draco stepped closer to her and raised a hand, his fingers brushing softy down one of her cheeks, leaving tingles in its wake. "You want to know what I've been doing for the past six days?"

Hermione nodded mutely, unable to give voice to the answer due to her heart pounding so heavily.

"I was drinking myself into oblivion in the hope that I could bury all these pesky feelings you've drawn out of me. I swore once I divorced Astoria that I was done with women, but I hadn't counted on a pesky, stubborn, intense, amazing and wonderful witch to prove me wrong."

"I take it you mean me?" she asked unsteadily, desperate to hear the answer.

Draco laughed shakily. "Yes, I mean you. I didn't intend to even like you, let alone fall in love with you when this whole thing started."

"You love me?"

He hesitated before nodding, almost as if he was deciding whether to lay all of his feelings out for her to see. "Please tell me that I haven't scuppered any opportunity I had with you."

Hermione could not help but be glad that he had; she knew she would accept nothing from him unless he gave her everything. She would not put herself through any more hurt at this man's hands. "Oh Draco!" she said huskily, grabbing his left hand and squeezing it gently with her own. "You so very nearly ruined it all."

"Please tell me that you'll give me another chance."

"Only if you promise to continue to be this honest with me."

Draco laughed self-consciously. "I can't promise, but I will try. It doesn't come easily to me."

"That's all I ask for," Hermione said, reaching up to pull his face down to hers.

A sob escaped her throat as his lips met hers and she muttered, "Stupid pregnancy hormones."

Draco drew back and caught a tear on the end of a finger. "And here was I hoping that you would have a different kind of pregnancy hormone."

She laughed at that, happy for such a silly moment after the intensity of the conversation. "My pregnancy hormones have yet to ascertain whether you're any good at kissing before they head in that direction."

"I would hate to keep them waiting," Draco murmured before pressing his lips against hers.

Hermione was cheeked and swollen-lipped by the time they were interrupted by a strained call from the living room. "Er…I hate to break up whatever is happening in there—and please tell me it's only kissing—but I think my waters broke!"

Hermione giggled happily, wiped the tears from her face, and called back, "Good job you brought your baby bag!"

Pushing Draco towards the Floo Connection, Hermione said, "Go track Harry down. We'll meet you at the hospital."