'Let me in, Princess.'

There was no answer from the other side of the door. Draco leaned his forehead against it, trying to calm his breathing. He would not lose his temper. He had to be strong here. For all of them.

Something hard hit the other side of the door and smashed, and he immediately forgot his resolve. His wand was in his hand before he knew it, and the door clicked seconds later. He pushed it open and surveyed the room.

In the doorway were the remnants of a glass jar that had once contain bath salts, which were now strewn across the floor. Towels and mats were heaped in the centre of the grey tiles, some of them sporting darker patches of some soaked-up liquid. And finally, his eyes landed on her.

She sat on the edge of the white claw-footed bathtub, one hand gripping the sink next to her, the other pressed against her back. Her wild curls were escaping eratically from her bun. The long green dress she was wearing was soaked with sweat and what he assumed was more of the mysterious liquid that was on the floor. Her molten honey and chocolate eyes were on him, and he could almost feel his skin blister under the heat of her gaze.

'You.' Her voice was full of venom, and he automatically raised his hands in a sign of surrender.

'Me,' he answered calmly, more relaxed now that he could actually see that she was alright. When she just glared at him, he entered the bathroom, deftly waving his wand and repairing the salts jar, its contents sweeping themselves from the floor. He crossed the room and crouched down at her side, looking up into her face.

'You did this to me,' she hissed, and suddenly her face screwed up in pain. He offered her his hand, but she slapped it away with a snarl. 'Don't fucking touch me.'

'OK, Granger, easy.' He sat back on his heels, still close but out of swiping distance. 'What do you need?'

'Drugs.'

'You don't need drugs,' he said patiently. 'You told me you didn't want them unless nothing else was working. But I can get you anything else. Were you trying to run a bath?'

'Maybe.' Her teeth were gritted together so hard that he nearly missed what she said. He reached to press his palm against her back, against the spot he knew was aching, but she slapped his hands away again.

'I'm fine!' He bit his tongue hard enough to taste copper in the attempt to hold back the sigh that threatened to escape him, and turned away from her.

'I'll go and Floo Molly.'

'No!' Her voice was suddenly soft, weak, and he turned back immediately, his brow furrowed with concern. She gripped his arm, tears running down her face. 'Don't l-leave m-me, Draco. I don't w-want anyone else right n-now. I'm s-sorry.'

'It's OK, Princess,' he murmered. She released his arm and he took the hand she offered him, squeezing her fingers. 'I need you to tell me something, though. Is that - ' he indicated the pile of towels in the middle of the floor ' - what I think it is?'

She looked at him solemnly and nodded, tears brimming in her eyes again. His heart skipped and began to race, but he forced himself to remain calm on the outside.

'In that case, I really don't think you should be getting into the bath right now.'

'I know,' she murmered, playing with his fingers laced between hers. 'I was just trying to get it running, to ease the pain, but then ... ' Her eyes fell to the soiled linens, and she sighed.

'Alright, well, why don't we get you into bed, and then I'll get you a hot water bottle instead?' She nodded silently, and he stood and helped her ease herself up from the tub side with a pained groan. He led her to their bedroom, across the varnished hard-wood floors to their king-sized four poster bed. He pulled back deep green duvet cover and cream sheets, then turned back to her.

He peeled her dress away and threw it so that it landed neatly in the laundry hamper behind him, and it was quickly followed by her bra. He steadied her as she stepped out of her knickers, keeping hold of one of her hands as he scooped them from the floor and threw them to join the rest of her clothing.

His free hand rummaged around under her pillows, and he pulled out the oversized Quidditch jersey and sleep shorts that she'd been wearing for bed this week. He helped her dress, then lowered her gently to the mattress, trying not to over-reacted at her wincing as she lifted her legs up onto the bed. Once she was settled safely, she relaxed back against her pillows, hiccuping slightly. He perched on the mattress next to her, hand still twined with hers.

'Granger, I really do think I should go and call Molly. I'll be right back, and I promise nothing is going to happen in that time. OK?'

'OK.' Her voice was so small and his chest hurt with guilt.

'Can I get you anything else?'

'Tea, please.' She leant her head back against the dark wooden headboard, eyes closed, but before he could move she opened one eye and fixed it on him. 'Proper tea.'

He grinned at this. 'One proper tea, coming right up.' He kissed the back of her hand, then stood and pulled himself away. He walked back along the hallway, down the wide wooden stairs and into their spacious kitchen, dimly registering through the large window over the sink that the sun was just coming up over the horizon.

He filled the Muggle kettle and switched it on, completely at ease with the machine now. He chuckled to himself when he remembered how suspicious he'd been of the thing when she first brought it home. But she had insisted that tea didn't taste as good when brewed by magic, and he secretly had to agree with her.

He reached into the oak-fronted cupboard by his head for her favourite mug, which was large enough to hold two cups of tea and was decorated with dancing otters. A present from him, from at least three years ago now. He plucked a small, square tea bag out of the container she'd hidden at the back of the cupboard to resist the temptation of caffeine, and dropped it in the mug.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he walked through to their front room, aiming for the big, white marble fireplace. The sound of his footsteps was muffled in the thick grey carpet that she'd picked out the year before, to 'offset the mustard-yellow feature wall', she'd told him. And he had told her that she'd been spending too much time with his mother, but they had still bought the carpet.

He squatted in front of the fireplace, dipped his fingers into the small cauldron of green powder at the side and threw some into the grate. Green flames licked up instantly, and Draco stated the address for The Burrow. Molly, who was apparently sat by the fire waiting for the call, answered immediately and, before he could even say anything, told him that she'd be there in 20 minutes and was gone.

He could still hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen behind him, so he also called his mother. She answered more slowly than Molly, but when she did her voice was pinched, nervous. He told her what was happening, and after making sure that Molly was already on her way she made him promise to call her if they needed anything at all.

He finished the call when the kettle clicked over, returning to the kitchen to pour the hot water over the tea bag. He let it sit for a minute while he filled a hot water bottle from the cupboard under the sink, then stirred a heaped teaspoon of honey and a splash of milk into the mug before squeezing the bag against the side of the cup and throwing it away. Mug and bottle in hand, he hurried back upstairs and down the hallway to the bedroom. He placed the steaming mug on the small table beside the bed, then helped her sit forward slightly so he could slide the hot water bottle behind her back. She groaned appreciatively as she settled back against it, and he sat by her legs again, his hand clasping hers once more.

'Molly's on her way,' he said, trying to smile, but her grip on his hand was suddenly vice-like. She arched her back in pain, teeth gritted once again as she huffed. 'Breathe, Granger.'

'Fuck ... off ... Malfoy!' He waited until her fingers released his, then used his free hand to smooth her curls back from her face. His hand skimmed down her throat to her chest, where it paused briefly over her heart. Then it continued its path and finally came to rest on the large, rotund, stretched bump of Hermione's stomach. He felt something roll and press upwards against his palm under her shirt, and he leaned forward to brush his lips across her navel.

'Now you listen here, Scorpius Frederick Malfoy. Your mother is one of the strongest women I've ever met, and you must be causing absolute Hell in there if she's this cross with Daddy. So you just take it down a notch, you hear?'

The roiling under her shirt decreased immediately at his words, and he looked up at her again. Tears poured down her face as she watched the scene.

'You're going to make such a good daddy,' she sniffed.

'Only if you don't kill me before he gets here, Princess,' he smirked, and pressed the back of her hand to his lips, eyes never leaving hers.

There was a sharp crack outside, and he heard the back door fly open.

'We're in the bedroom, Molly,' he called over his shouder, standing to make room as the red-haired matriarch bustled in.

'Oh, my dears!' she cried, flustered but excited, and Hermione burst into sobs once again. Molly rushed to her side and stroked her hair. 'Hush now, Love, it's all right! Look, you've even got a nice cup of tea there.' She murmered soothingly as she continued to stroke her head, and finally Hermione quieted, sipping the tea that Molly handed her. Molly turned to Draco. 'How long has it been?'

'She called me at work about half an hour ago, but her waters broke before I got home. Since then the contractions have been about 5 minutes apart.' Molly nodded at his efficiency, and turned back to Hermione.

'I think it's time we took you to the hospital, dear,' she said softly. Hermione's worried eyes sought Draco, and when he nodded she let out a breath and set her jaw.

'Let's go.' Her voice was steady again, determined. Draco left Molly to help Hermione up and swept over to their mirrored wardrobe, grabbing the large bag that had been sat on the floor inside it, packed to the brim and ready to go, for the past two months. He slung it over his shoulder and went to Hermione's side, pausing with her as she gripped his fingers and crumpled forward slightly in pain. He supported her, counting in his head as he coached her to breathe, and when she straightened he caught Molly's eye. 'Fifty four seconds, three minutes apart now.'

'Come on, dear.' He heard the urgency in Molly's voice, and it took everything he had not to pick Hermione up in his arms and run down the stairs with her. But he refrained, and instead helped her slowly make her way to the fireplace in the front room. They stopped twice more on the way for Hermione to crush his hand and pant her way through the pain, and they were all sweating slightly by the time they reached the Floo.

Molly went first, clearly shouting the address for St Mungo's, and when she was gone he helped Hermione into the fireplace before scooping up enough powder for them and repeating Molly's words. They landed in one of the many professionals' Floo points of St Mungo's, which their fire was directly connected to, and he held both her hands as she stopped again just outside the fireplace, teeth gritted, head bowed.

'Healer Malfoy!' His head whipped up and he saw one of his colleagues, Healer Dawson, watching the scene unfold.

'Don't just stand there, man, bring us a chair!' he snapped, and Dawson seemed to remember where he was. He turned and raced off down the corridor, and Draco shouted after him, 'And find Healer Thomas!'

'Draco.' Hermione's voice drew his attention back immediately. Molly stood behind her, rubbing her back, and Hermione's face was slightly pale. He looked down at her, concerned, but she gave him a weak smile. 'Have I ever told you how handsome you look in your Healer's scrubs?'

He looked down at himself, realising for the first time that he hadn't bothered to change when he got home, too intent on finding her. He chuckled and pulled her to him.

'Once or twice,' he murmered. 'But that's probably not an appropriate topic of conversation right now. I mean,' he teased, his hand dropping to her swollen belly. 'Look where it got us last time.'

She raised her head to look up at him, her eyes sparkling, but before she could say anything more there was a clatter at the end of the hallway. They all looked in the direction of the noise, and saw two Healers running towards them. Dawson was ahead, pushing a wheelchair in front of him, and just behind him -

'Hello, Parvati,' Hermione breathed, evidently relaxing at the sight of her friend.

'Hermione,' she grinned, sneaking in between her and Draco for a hug. 'You look ravishing as ever.'

'I see that smooth tongue of yours has only improved,' Hermione said with a laugh. But the sound caught in her throat as she doubled over again. Parvati signalled to Dawson to bring the chair, and she carefully lowered Hermione into it. Dawson set off immediately, and Draco, Parvati and Mrs Weasley followed quickly behind.

'Where are we at, Draco?'

'Sixty seconds, about two minutes apart. Thank you for staying, Parvati, I know she was quite keen for you to be the one - '

Parvati waved her hand to dismiss his words. 'It's the least I could do. I called Dean the second you left to let him know he'd have to sort the kids out this morning.'

'I bet that went down well,' Draco chuckled.

'How is Dean these days?' Molly asked from her other side. 'And those beautiful children of yours?' Draco sped up his pace a little as Parvati launched into an update about everything her husband and toddlers had been up to recently, and caught up with Hermione with ease. When he drew level, she looked up at him and grasped his hand. His heart ached at the slight fear he saw in her eyes.

'I'm right here, Princess,' he murmered, squeezing her hand. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Draco sat in the chair by the window, his arm crooked to hold his most precious treasure to his chest. He was tired, but so full of happiness and contentment that he couldn't sleep. Besides, why would he want to sleep when he could be looking down at the little face nestled against him?

Hermione's labour had been straight forward. Parvati had been a little surprised by how dilated she was, and it had only taken 20 minutes after their arrival for her to deliver Scorpius safely.

Scorpius. His son. Scorpius Malfoy.

He softly kissed the thin, white-blond hair on his son's head, his eyes fixed on the little face. The baby scrunched up his nose in an expression that was so identical to his mother's that Draco felt tears spring to his eyes. He lifted his gaze to the bed next to him, to where Hermione lay dozing. She looked tired too, but her face was peaceful and her chest rose and fell slowly. His heart swelled with love and he couldn't resist reaching out taking her left hand, his finger absent-mindedly searching for the rings that he knew weren't there. She'd had to take them off as her hands had swollen with her pregnancy.

His mind turned back to the years leading up to him sliding that first ring onto her hand. They had graduated Hogwarts at the top of their classes, and had immediately settled into a small flat in central London. He'd used some of the Malfoy money to decorate it, which Hermione had tried to fight him on until Narcissa arrived with paint and fabric swatches and created a vision for each room that Hermione just couldn't say no to.

For three years the flat had been their base while they worked. Draco had attended the St Mungo's Healer training programme, building on his knowledge and skill and working his way towards specialising in curses and scar healing. Hermione, true to her word, had started at the bottom rung of the Department for the Welfare of Magical Creatures and, as he'd known she would, immediately started working her way through the laws pertaining to magical beasts of all manner, presenting proposals for reforms of almost every one.

Those three years were incredibly busy, and they often spent weeks at a time passing each other as Draco worked shifts and Hermione put long hours in at the Ministry. Sometimes they would sit down at their table at the same time, Hermione with cereal and on her way out and Draco with dinner and on his way to bed. Sometimes they missed each other and left notes beside a plate of food or a small gift.

Even more rarely, when their schedules crossed over, they would meet in the shower or the bedroom and come together in a blur of desperation, hot mouths exploring, hands ripping and tearing at clothing. It never lasted long on those occasions, their pent up frustration and need for each other driving them to a quick, mutual end and an even quicker shower before they parted ways again with a lingering kiss.

But they held on, knowing that it was only for a short time. And on Hermione's twenty second birthday, they went on their first real date in a long time. Draco had just received his results, becoming a fully qualified Healer with his chosen speciality, along with a grant to explore the use and magical adaptation of Muggle psychological therapies. Hermione had just presented the Wizengamot with an entirely new book of re-written laws for how magical creatures should be treated and integrated into society, using all of the advice that Narcissa had given her over the last couple of years about how to speak with magical Parliament and how to swing things in her favour. The laws had been passed almost without challenge, and Hermione had been promoted to the Deputy Head of the department the next day.

There had only been one thing left to do. And so, as they finished a nice dinner in one of the most expensive restaurants he could find, Draco had gotten up from his chair and sunk to one knee in front of Hermione, a ring box in his hand. He opened it to show her the white-gold ring, inlaid with small rubies, and asked her to marry him. First she laughed, then she cried, then she nodded, wiping at her tears and holding out her left hand to him. He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her soundly.

Ten months later, they were married in a small ceremony in the Weasleys' meadow. Ministry wards were put up to keep the press out of one of the most talked-about marriages of the day and age - the only female member of the Golden Trio marrying a Pureblood heir turned Death Eater turned gifted Healer. He had bristled at the headlines, but took great comfort in knowing that they'd all be sick as pigs when they found out that the only publication permitted to circulate an exclusive write-up of the event was The Quibbler.

Their families and friends filled large cream tents that were set up in the garden. There were her parents, the Weasleys, Harry, Teddy Lupin, Professor McGonagall and the old DA lot on her side and his mother, Blaise, some of the Blacks including Andromeda Tonks and what remained of his old Slytherin cohort on his. The day was a relaxed affair, and Molly had gone above and beyond with the food. George had produced a new wine for the occasion that magically eliminated hang-overs the day after, which had flowed freely. And, Draco had to hand it to him, when he'd woken up the next morning, his body twined around Hermione's and their sheets askew from the hours of love-making, he had felt surprisingly sober.

For four years after their wedding they had settled into their lives as a married couple. She took his last name, though he would never stop calling her Granger. They moved out of London and bought a large estate property in the Lake District, close to Narcissa. They spent their weekends walking the hills and peaks, and their evenings curled up by their fire, or decorating the rooms of their house in the Muggle way, or finding new places around the home that they could 'Christen' in ever-more-inventive positions.

Finally, at the age of 27, Draco sat Hermione down one evening and told her that he wanted a baby. She'd seemed surprised, but thrilled, and said that she had been waiting for the right time to tell him. She'd left the room and returned moments later, settling back onto the sofa next to him. He'd cocked his head as she handed him a white plastic rectangle, then looked back at her, still confused. Through tears, she'd laughed and explained that she had missed a dose of potion a few weeks ago, when he'd come home earlier than expected from a medical conference and they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Her meaning dawned on him and, to his surprise, he'd burst into tears.

Over the next 8 months he watched her swell. She struggled with sickness, and nothing magical or Muggle seemed to be able to ease it. He had searched high and low for something, anything that would help it abate. Out of desperation, he turned to George. The man threw himself into the task, and soon came back with something he'd derived from reverse engineering the old 'Puking Pastel' recipe.

Both men had sat in the living room of their house, holding their breath as Hermione slowly chewed the ginger-flavoured sweet. She swallowed, and the colour suddenly flushed back into her cheeks for the first time in days. She'd straightened tentatively, then grinned broadly at them. They whooped and laughed, George clapping Draco heartily on the back before bounding across the room to hug Hermione tightly. A week later, St Mungo's had sent George a contract for a montly standing order for fifty thousand units of the 'Perinatal Pastel.'

She'd gotten bigger and bigger as time went on. Molly had been invaluable for her matronly advice and prompts for Hermione to rest, which she studiously ignored. And Narcissa had visited at least once a week, always bringing something new for her immanent grandson and chatting away excitedly to Hermione and the baby. He'd felt his son move under his palm for the first time about 6 months in, and had fallen apart once again at the realisation that his wife really was carrying his child.

And now, here they were, all together at last. Hermione stirred slightly on the bed, her eyes opening slightly to peer at him. She smiled at the sight of him cuddling their baby.

'Hello, Mummy,' he whispered softly, his thumb brushing her knuckles.

'Hello, Daddy,' she replied, her smile widening. 'You can put him down, you know.' He chuckled, and looked down at his son's sleeping face.

'He's just too perfect.'

'I know,' she said, her eyes tender as she gazed at the baby, then back at him. 'But if you put him in the basinette and bring it close, then you can come up here for a cuddle and still stare at him.'

Draco got to his feet instantly and levitated the high, clear baby bed over, pushing it up against the bed side. He lowered the baby into it, cooing softly as he squirmed and whinged a little at being put down. Draco carefully tucked a blanket around him, the way Molly had showed them, to keep the baby warm and to simulate that he was still being held. Scorpius soon settled again, and Draco tore his eyes away from him as he crept around the hospital bed and climbed into it behind her. He carefully tucked himself against her, but she grabbed his arm and pulled, making him move closer.

'I'm not going to break, Love.'

'I know,' he sighed, kissing her neck softly. 'But you've just been through a huge physical process, so you should at least take it easy.'

'Alright, Healer Malfoy, I get the memo.' She snuggled back against his chest, her gaze fixed on her baby. 'Isn't he just perfect?'

'Of course he is, we made him.' He didn't need to see her eyes to know she'd rolled them, and he pressed his lips to her cheek. 'Thank you, Hermione.' She turned her head, one eyebrow raised.

'What for?'

'For loving me. For trusting me. For being my wife, my life partner. For believing in me enough to give me that chance, all those years ago. And for believing in me enough now to give me the most precious thing I could ever have hoped to wish for.'

They watched Scorpius in silence for a while, and he saw her wiping her tears away from the corner of his eye. Finally, she turned her head to face him, and he dipped to kiss her lips softly. When he pulled away, she was smiling again.

'I really do love you, Draco Malfoy.'