Chapter 2: The Table

29th September 1998

Hermione was bent over the toilet in the Gryffindor girl's dorm. Another wave of nausea hit her as she tried to keep her short hair from falling into her face. She wasn't hungover, though she wished she was. The party the sixth years had thrown in the common room should have kept her up all night, but she'd been so exhausted that she hadn't been able to bring herself to join the festivities.

"You alright? Merlin, the amount of sick you have in there is outstanding, especially since I don't think I've seen you more than nibble at a slice of bread every meal the last week." Ginny exclaimed, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to look in the bowl. "I know that drinking helps numb the pain, I get it, but this is getting concerning. You can't be doing it so much that you're constantly sick like this."

The concern in Ginny's tone was evident, but Hermione wasn't about to be lectured by the younger girl. She had been just as out of control as Hermione had been – if not more so – and therefore had no room to talk.

"I didn't drink last night." Hermione groaned into the bowl as she had more of her stomach acid come up her throat, gagging the entire time. "It's fine, Gin, why don't you bother Harry," Hermione snapped when she felt the girl's hand come to rest on her back.

Not wanting to entertain the interrogation anymore, Hermione tried pushing herself up. However, as soon as she was standing, her head began spinning, causing her to fall over into her friend's embrace.

"It's not fine. You're getting checked out. Now, come on."

Between the dehydration and not having eaten anything substantial in the past week, Hermione wasn't fully conscious enough to register the trek to the infirmary. The only thing Hermione could really hear was the scraping of a chair and felt a pair of cool hands gripping her face while a hushed conversation happened around her.

"What happened!?" A harsh voice snapped.

"She's been sick like this for, well, honestly a while. I thought she might just be stressed out about coming back, and she's been drinking a lot. I know she doesn't think I've noticed, but it's gotten bad. I found her getting sick this morning and when she stood up she fainted."

"Merlin, alright, get her on the bed over there. Draw the curtains, no one needs to see her in this condition." Hermione could hear the older voice say as she felt her body being set onto the harder mattress of one of the infirmary beds. Without saying anything herself, Hermione let herself drift off into a deep sleep.

ooo

The rustling of parchment and inaudible muttering just outside the privacy curtain pulled Hermione from the deep sleep she'd fallen into. Her head was still pounding and body aching, but Hermione admittedly did feel slightly better.

"Yes, over there is fine. That cabinet is where they've always been stored, Mr. Malfoy. As you would be very well aware since you've spent the last seven years of your life coming to me for medical treatment. Don't jostle them so, honestly! A future potions master ought to know proper handling of sensitive potions!"

"You are a right bloody nightmare," Hermione could hear Malfoy respond, his voice unmistakable.

"And you are drunk. Put those away and then go sober up and get out of my infirmary before any of the students see you." Pomfrey snapped at him, Hermione could hear him grumbling before the clanking of vials rang through the room, shortly followed by the heavy oak doors slamming shut.

Hermione tried to relax against the pillows again and close her eyes to pretend to be asleep, but it was of no use as the curtains around her bed were ripped open. "Good, you're awake," the matron snipped, stepping up next to Hermione to check her vitals. "I realise, being at the castle this past month must have been difficult," the witch began, causing Hermione to bark out a laugh.

Pomfrey levelled Hermione with a look that made her feel like a small child, causing her to lean back into the plush blankets. When it was clear Hermione would not be interrupting her anymore, Pomfrey continued.

"The drinking and not eating, it's all to stop now. I understand that it's a response to the traumas and horrific events that have happened not only around you, but to you." A gentle hand on her arm and the uncharacteristic softness in the matron's eyes had Hermione's shackles rattling. She had an ominous feeling that there was more to this little pep talk than concern for a spot of teen drinking.

"Hermione, I'm sure you were unaware, as your actions–"

"Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, cutting the elderly woman off. Her stomach rolled, and it had nothing to do with being ill and all to do with the nerves of whatever news she was about to receive. "Just spit it out, I'm not a child, don't treat me like one."

Pomfrey's lips pressed into a thin line before nodding her head and letting out a breath to steady herself.

"Ms. Granger, according to my diagnostics, you're about eight weeks along in pregnancy." The woman said, clasping her hands together in front of her. "It would be in the best interests of your child for you to cease the activities you've been partaking in since coming back to school."

Hermione's entire world began to shatter around her as the words filtered through her mind. Shaking her head, Hermione refused to believe that the matron hadn't been mistaken. She couldn't be pregnant, there was no possible way.

"How effective is the contraceptive charm?" Hermione asked, determined to prove her diagnostic wrong. "Because I've never forgotten to use it. Not a single time. Even though I've admittedly been a bit reckless, I wasn't stupid!"

After her breakup with Ron, Hermione had been through a string of wizards. However, she'd always been very careful about casting the charm before any activities took place, not wanting to end up in this exact situation.

The tears were starting to fall down her face, and at the look Pomfrey was giving her, she knew that what the woman had said was true. "Are you positive you used it every time?" Pomfrey asked, her tone non-judgmental. She obviously didn't have a poor opinion of Hermione for the situation she found herself in, only concern.

"Yes, every…oh, no. Oh, no, no, no…" The night she'd gone out with Portia came flashing back into her mind. Alec? Axel? Whatever his name was, he'd been her first one-night stand. The one who had kick started her short-term sexual awakening. He'd been a muggle, and she couldn't exactly pull her wand out in front of him, now, could she?

She could hardly even remember what he'd looked like. It'd been dark in the club, and they'd been drinking. Then, Merlin help her, she had practically dragged him into the alley behind the bar before having her wicked way with him.

"Do you know who the father is?" The kind woman said, taking Hermione's hand as she sat at the foot of the bed. "If you don't, that's alright."

"It was a muggle, or he is a muggle. I'm not even entirely sure of his name," Hermione whispered, her voice cracking with the emotions that were building inside of her. "Madam Pomfrey, I don't know if I can do this. I have no job, no parents, no place to live," Hermione sniffled, swiping her hand at her teary eyes.

"There, there," the woman soothed, running her hand over the top of Hermione's short curls. "These sorts of things always seem to work themselves out in the end. Just, don't think of yourself as so alone in this my dear. If I recall correctly, there's a man you have helped save more times than even I could count. I'm positive that he's not going to let his best friend go through this without him by her side. Now, rest, dear. You're still weak and will need your strength."

As the curtains were drawn again, Hermione couldn't help but curl up and weep. Never before had she ever felt so lost and uncertain of what she needed to do next.

ooo

Draco was seething as he sat in the Hogwarts Library. The first and second year potions essays were spread out before him as he worked his way through grading each. Slughorn had a habit of syphoning off all the tasks that the washed-up old man couldn't seem to be bothered with to Draco.

Draco couldn't help but curse his Probation Auror again as he scribbled another correction. She'd been the one who told him that he couldn't just sit around and drink his way through his wine cellar. His father had a fairly decent sized whiskey collection as well, though he figured she'd be even less pleased to know that was his backup plan.

Pressing a bit too hard on the parchment with his quill, causing ink to splatter up onto his face, he let out another string of profanity. He knew he shouldn't have tried so hard on his NEWTs. Getting an O on his potions had given the infuriating probation witch an idea that he couldn't fight, despite his best efforts.

"You've got to be fucking joking."

Auror Smith didn't bother to try to hide her deadpan expression, only making Draco even more pissed off.

"I am not, not even in the slightest. Luckily for you, the term starts tomorrow and Slughorn said you can join him now to go over his expectations for you as his Mastery student. You should be thrilled."

"Now? What the fuck do you mean now!?"

"As in, I'm aware you have house elves that not only can, but in fact do pack your trunk for you. There's the floo, the connection to his office is open. Get going, you smell like a keg, you'll need to shower."

"My probation stated that I only had to complete my NEWTs!" Draco yelled, smacking his hands against the top of the desk and standing up so that he was towering over the impassive witch. "Not that I had to go back to that bloody castle!" Draco glared at the woman still seated across from him, but she didn't back down.

"Yes, and that was a mistake on the part of the Wizengamot. When they decided on a course to assist in your repentance, they didn't anticipate that you would go the route of just sitting them instead of going back to school. I've spoken with the Wizengamot member who oversaw your hearing, and he agreed that if I could find you a Potions Master to take you on then your probation could be amended. Slughorn reviewed your file and generously agreed to take you on as his pupil. Thus, your terms of probation now reflect that you are to further your education. You are expected to now receive a Masters in Potions, or you can sit in Azkaban for the next four years. The choice is yours."

"My lawyer–" Draco began, but the woman cut him off before he could really get going.

"Is paid by your mother, who also agreed you'll make a fine Potions Master, in due time. Now, here's the floo powder, you'd better hurry or you'll be late." The woman clipped, sliding the leather pouch across her desk, looking from Draco to the sack.

"I don't know if I could hate you more," Draco retorted. Knocking the chair he'd been occupying over, he took an excessive handful of green powder, letting it fall to the floor causing a mess as he walked across the room.

"And you are such a pleasure to work with. Have a good term. I'll come to see you at the castle in a month."

Draco was still so lost in thoughts, that when a bag dropped on one of the stacks of essays, he hadn't been prepared for the interruption. "This still isn't your table, Granger," he drawled. Not taking his eyes off the paper as he kept marking all the mistakes Brandy McFaren had made with a flourish of his quill. Ink splattered onto her bag and her outraged gasp actually caused him to smirk as he continued to the next line.

"You bloody well know it's my table as I've told you numerous times this week alone." The witch stated, still sitting down in the seat next to him. "The natural light helps my eyes from fatiguing, you, however, can go elsewhere."

"And what," Draco asked – not bothering to look up, marking another mistake with an exaggerated flick of his wrist – "makes you think my eyes don't benefit from natural lighting?"

Draco had no idea what she was talking about, and usually Draco wouldn't have become attached to a certain table of all things. However, when he'd realised that Granger was back at Hogwarts, he recalled that she'd always been particularly – and strangely – fond of this table. After that, Draco decided that it was now his new favourite table.

"You've lived in a dungeon for the last seven years," Granger hissed. Draco scowled when she pushed his neatly sorted piles out of her way, causing them all to topple over. "I'd assume you're nearly a vampire and detest the sunlight, especially judging by how pale you are. Tell me Malfoy, have your fangs grown in yet?"

"And because of that, I'd argue that my eyes would benefit even more from the natural lighting. Unlike you, who's been living up in a tower like a bloody princess waiting to be saved."

When Granger didn't have a retort, Draco smirked to himself and chanced a glance in her direction. Her face was turning a nice burgundy red and her hair sparking. Ah, the sights he'd missed the last few years. She'd always been fun to rial up, and it was so easy to do. A favourite pastime, that was certain.

"You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine." Granger clipped, pulling a book from her bag more forcefully than Draco would have thought she would. "It's already distressing enough to know that I have to breathe the same air as you, best to make sure you don't accidentally touch me either."

"Why you insolent little–"

"Shush, Malfoy, add no talking to the rules. Your voice is likely to give me a migraine." This time Draco looked fully up at the witch, who was already busy scratching her quill away at the parchment next to her making notes. Her shorter hair, much too short to be held up by her wand any longer, kept falling in her face, but it didn't seem to distract her as she kept working at a rapid pace.

Huffing, and Draco didn't reply. Not because he didn't have something to say, but because he wasn't going to lower himself to a petty argument. Not with the Golden Girl, she wasn't worth his time. However, when Draco went back to working on grading papers, he made sure to fling a bit more ink in her direction.

ooo

It was now nearing Yule, and Hermione continued to have her monthly check-ins with Madam Pomfrey to assess how her pregnancy was progressing. With her due date being mid-May and NEWTs were to be sat in June, Hermione had spoken with the Headmistress for special consideration in taking her exams early.

McGonagall had agreed, only because her academic history showed that she was more than capable of the challenging and excelled schedule. So, knowing that she had a month less than the rest of the seventh-year students, Hermione continued to make herself comfortable in the library, working late into the night.

Her irritating study partner – who she'd yet to figure out how he was a master's student – just would not go away.

"So, who was it?" He asked one night about a week before they were to break for the holidays.

"Who was what? The wizard you paid off to import that obnoxious quill?" Hermione asked, not looking up from the Runes assignment that wasn't due until March. She, on the other hand, needed to have it done by early February. "I'm not sure how you think I would know that. I don't follow in the trade of the offensive things rich people waste their money on."

"It's not obnoxious," Malfoy muttered, going silent for a bit, making Hermione think that he was done speaking.

She'd even gotten up and disappeared into the stacks in search of a new reference text and came back to Malfoy still working on his term research paper. They sat in a comfortable silence, both scratching away at their assignments.

Something Hermione would never admit to the thorn in her side but being near him had become oddly pleasant. His presence kept most of the student body away from her. Being a war heroine had made her popularity skyrocket, much to her dismay. The new attention was most certainly unwanted, especially now that all she wished to do was blend into the background more than ever.

It wasn't only that he repealed their classmates. It seemed that Draco Malfoy was also a bit of a chatterbox. And some of the things he said were – unfortunately – very clever and occasionally funny. Though, she'd cut out her tongue before she'd ever openly admit such a thing to him.

Under the tough exterior he showed to the world, she'd also found that Draco Malfoy had a bit of a soft spot. He wasn't as unphased by the past few years as he wanted the world to believe. That was something that had only come out late one night when she'd found Malfoy sitting at their table alone and drinking a bottle of firewhisky.

He unwillingly told her of the horrors that his home had been during the war. How he'd heard his mother's screams when he couldn't perform a task that had been assigned to him. How her hands now had permanent nerve damage from her own sister's wand, and that since his trial he'd hardly spoken to her out of guilt.

She wasn't sure how much Draco recalled from that night, but she'd told him she understood. The feeling of helplessness when it had come to trying to protect her parents.

She'd confessed what she'd done to her mum and dad out of desperation. That after the war was over, she'd gone to find them, only to learn their memories were gone forever. How her aunt, her mum's twin sister, had been diagnosed with advanced cancer while Hermione was on the run. Ultimately, she'd passed away without Hermione knowing until months later.

The only family Hermione had left was her cousin, and she was Hermione's age. Luckily Portia at least still had her father she could lean on, but Hermione didn't know the man. He'd never been married to her aunt, therefore Hermione had never been around him.

So, while she sat in silence, assuming he'd met his quota for speaking for the evening, she was shocked by the next thing he said.

"Who's the father of your baby?"

Hermione's hand stilled and her heart began to race. She'd told no one. Not wanting to write such sensitive information in a letter, concerned it would be intercepted and published in the paper. She'd been waiting until she saw Harry and Portia in person over the holiday to tell them about her pregnancy.

Even though Ginny had been friendly enough since her and Ron had split, Hermione had decided against telling the younger witch. Ginny was one of the only people at school who she considered a friend and didn't want to ruin that. That meant no one, aside from her healer and the headmistress knew her secret. Or at least she'd thought.

"That's an odd question to ask," Hermione snapped. "Just because I've put on a bit of weight, you have to make assumptions. And here, I thought you had grown up some."

"Granger…"

"No, Malfoy, you can't sit there and say such a thing," Hermione hissed, looking around. Thankfully this conversation was happening in a secluded corner and there were no other students around. "If someone heard you asking something like that, it would be front page news of the morning edition."

"Granger, I've seen you taking the prenatal potion that Pomfrey has added to my brewing." He stated, his silver eyes full of worry and not an ounce of judgement. "I'm not going to tell anyone, I just wanted to make sure, shit, I don't know. I guess I just wanted to make sure that you aren't dealing with it alone."

Hermione was stunned speechless before the emotions that had been filling her heart finally bubbled over. Her head dropped into her hands and the tears spilled from her eyes in such strong waves, Hermione was powerless to stop them. Her body shook, and when she felt herself being pulled into an embrace, she didn't try to fight it, instead leaning into the comfort he was offering.

"Whatever you may need, Granger, I've got you."