66.

"I think we should probably tell your parents about the baby," Hermione said, as she lay on her back on a blanket in the garden under the shade of a fairly youthful ash, her head pillowed on her arm and her book laid aside for the was a pleasant spring Saturday afternoon. Her head had been pillowed on Malfoy's lap up until recently, but he was currently sprawled out beside her, long-limbed and indolent. He'd pulled up the t-shirt of his that she wore stretched over her small but definite baby bump, so that he could rub her belly and lavish kisses upon it, a sort of urgent love in his every movement that stressed her slightly.

She was just about into her twentieth week, and had the developmental ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow – Monday, bright and early. Perhaps oddly, she wasn't overly worried. She just knew everything was fine.

Malfoy was worried though – she could see the tension in him. He hadn't been sleeping as well the past few nights, and he'd been snippy with her for days – his tone turning irritable and snarky with shades of the old, childhood Malfoy peeking through. A scathing look from her was all it seemed to take to make him realise what he was doing, and he'd apologise somewhat shamefacedly, and then take himself away for one reason or another. An unnecessary shower, or the need to go and fetch something from the shops, or the sudden desire to disappear and make a cup of tea and a snack for her.

He hadn't been the best company, honestly, although Hermione knew he was trying his best not to take his worry out on her.

"We can't hide it much longer," she pointed out as he looked up at her, his fingers trailing up the centre of her belly. "My court robes help disguise the bump, but I'm starting to really pop now, and the gossip rags will catch wind of it before long, if they haven't already." She reached down and slid her hand through his hair, sending it spiking up every which way and smiling at the result. Witch Weekly had already run several pieces on their engagement, including trying to price the ring, which had made Hermione boggle in horror. Malfoy refused to tell her how much any of her jewellery had cost however, no matter how much she had wheedled.

"Can't we just avoid them forever?" he asked lightly, and then sighed, and pressed his lips back to her belly, before propping his chin on his hand, leaning on one elbow. "No, I suppose we can't," he answered his own question, frowning. He groaned with frustration, flopping face down on the blanket beside her belly, and she huffed a laugh at him, smoothing her hand over the back of his head.

"Next Saturday then?" he asked her as he lifted his head, shoving up to lie on his elbows. "If they're free?" He was clearly just trying to postpone it. And honestly, a week might be too long. It occurred to Hermione that perhaps he was actually hoping the papers would do his job for him. He'd done the same with the divorce, she remembered suddenly. Rather than tell his parents the news himself, he'd waited for the Greengrasses to break the news – probably extremely abruptly, and in the worst possible light.

And with the engagement, he'd allowed the papers to break the news – his mother had written him an owl the day after a photo of Hermione wearing the ring came out in Witch Weekly.

Malfoy had refused to show her the letter, saying that stress was bad for the baby, and Hermione hadn't pushed – she could imagine well enough what Narcissa Malfoy had said. He had summarised it for her though; his parents were very displeased and disappointed, and hoped he would come to his senses, he relayed to Hermione, who had rolled her eyes, unbothered. He'd shown her what he'd written back. It had been short, and to the point. Obviously, he was happy to be honest with them via long distance communication. His reply had read:

Dear Mother,

I'm afraid my senses are irrevocably lost. I love her, and I will be marrying her. It's for the best that you try to accept that. Neither of us expect you to like her (although I would prefer it) but I do expect civility.

Your son,

Draco A. Malfoy

It seemed, she thought, as he gazed up at her diffidently, that Malfoy didn't like facing up to his parents in person. He preferred to avoid face-to-face confrontation with them at all costs. Interesting, and not something she would've expected from him. Hermione wondered if perhaps there was still a slight cowardly streak in him. Well, she supposed everyone had to have faults. And avoiding telling his parents bad news in person was hardly a terrible fault.

"Tuesday," she said firmly, still pushing her fingers through his fringe. "Lunchtime. It puts a natural time limit on the visit, it's after the ultrasound, and waiting until Saturday is too long and you know that."

"My father will be busy," Malfoy tried, rather halfheartedly, but she could tell he was already accepting his inevitable defeat. "Business lunches."

"I suspect if you tell him that you and I have important news, your father will be curious enough to cancel a business lunch," Hermione said, smiling wryly. "And whether Lucius is or not, your mother certainly will be."

He groaned again. "Shit. Fine. Tuesday then. You win, Granger, although I don't know that you're going to consider it a win by Tuesday afternoon." He grimaced, a nervous, near panic shifting in his eyes at the prospect of her meeting his parents. Hermione frowned at him, rolling to her side and hitching awkwardly up onto one elbow, tugging at a fistful of his hair.

"Come up here," she bid him and he obeyed, wriggling up and kissing the tip of her nose, propped on his own elbows so that they were nearly eye to eye when he turned his head toward her. But right now he was looking down at the plaid blanket, picking idly at a loose thread. "You're really worried, aren't you?" she realised, and he pressed his lips together and shrugged.

"I am aware we have to tell them eventually, as much as I wish we could avoid it, but no, I'm not looking forward to it, Granger. My mother's prejudices may have mellowed over the years, but she's still a horrendous snob, and I have a feeling her acceptance of Muggle-borns doesn't extend to her son marrying one. She was furious enough over the divorce – scandalised and horrified – but I think secretly she's still been hopeful I might lose interest in you, and marry a younger pure-blood I can reproduce with."

"Still? Even after your letter?" Hermione raised her brows, and he nodded. "Well, she's persistent, I'll give her that. Anyway, you're reproducing fine with this old Muggle-born."

"Salazar's sake, I wasn't calling you old –" he protested immediately, and Hermione laughed.

"I know that." She pulled her t-shirt back down over her belly, rubbing it as the baby kicked and squirmed – still not quite strongly enough to be felt on the outside. Malfoy was waiting for that with bated breath, she knew. "Maybe the prospect of another grandchild – even a half-blood – will be enough to warm Narcissa toward me slightly," she said, probably a vain hope.

"Maybe," he allowed, expression thoughtful, stretching out on his side, facing her, and arranging them both so that her head was resting on his upper arm, her right leg hooked up over his legs, and his left hand at her hip, thumb rubbing over her in an idle caress. "That might actually do it. She's wanted another grandchild desperately for years. Although I suspect she'll still begrudge that it's you and not a pure-blood witch," he added, frustration and anger seeping into his voice.

"She can begrudge away, for all the good it'll do her," Hermione said brightly. She couldn't help but think that Narcissa would dote on a new baby grandchild. In fact, she and Malfoy would have to make sure Scorpius didn't get shunted aside in favour of the new baby. And good God, how would they deal with Rose and Hugo? Hermione tried to imagine Christmas if they visited Malfoy's parents, and couldn't – would she take the children? Would the Malfoys shun her children? Would Malfoy end up taking Scorpius and the baby without her and the children? Would Hermione be okay with that? She spiralled until she got hold of herself. It was rather a moot question – she imagined Malfoy wouldn't accept anything less than polite acceptance of them all.

"I'm sure she'll adjust," she said aloud, pushing away those thoughts as Malfoy skated his hand up her side, his fingers combing through her loose cascade of hair. There was no point in her worrying about scenarios that might never occur. His parents would probably end up not wanting anything to do with her or the baby – which would certainly make things simpler.

"Mm," he agreed. "She might, honestly. She's a sucker for babies. I'm not so sure a baby will win my father over, though."

"Lucius isn't fond of babies?"

"He's not overly enamoured by infants, no," Malfoy said drily. "And he's far more attached to the ideals of blood purity than my mother is. He's a bastard, honestly. When you were abducted –" his voice went tight, and so did his grip on her, holding her closer.

"I'm fine," she reminded him, nestling closer, her belly getting in the way. "And it's fine. We'll go in on Tuesday and have lunch at a restaurant, or the Manor if they'd prefer, and if they're awful, they'll just never see me again." She grimaced. "We'll have to see how they feel about the baby. Merlin knows. Maybe they'll hate me, but accept the baby. Or your mother will want to build a relationship, and your father won't."

"Fuck," he muttered wearily. "What a mess." He kissed her forehead, the gesture somehow apologetic. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with this."

"Oh yes, I'm shocked and devastated that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy don't like me," Hermione said, amused. "It's hardly a surprise to me, Malfoy. I wasn't expecting any different. It honestly doesn't bother me much – I have more important things to worry about, and I really don't require your parents' acceptance. It's a little stressful, but hardly the end of the world."

"Good," he said vehemently, fingers still brushing through her hair. "I'm glad. But stress is bad for the baby, and if they're awful, I might just be done with them. They haven't been outright horrible to Scorpius, but whether they say it or not, I know him being openly gay makes them uncomfortable. He still wants to see them, so far at least, but if they're going to reject you and the baby –"

"Well, let's find out if they do, before we start making any plans," Hermione said brightly. "There's no point in borrowing trouble. Also, I'm hungry," she segued abruptly, suddenly sick of talking about Malfoy's terrible parents. They both needed a distraction. "And I want toasties. Tinned spaghetti toasties." Her stomach gurgled in agreement and she pushed herself up on one hand, looking down at him. "Make me some? Please?" She gave him a forlornly pleading gaze, fluttering her lashes, and he smiled fondly at her and nodded – she could see him letting go and refocusing, some of the strain easing from around his eyes.

"Come on then, Granger." He got up with an ease Hermione envied, and then helped her to her feet, her book in hand – Ancestral Night by Elizabeth Bear. It had been released early last year but thanks to the hecticness of life, it had been sitting on her TBR list ever since. "Let's go get you and baby Granger-Malfoy fed, before you melt down like you did on Thursday night."

Hermione shot him a ferocious glare as she adjusted his t-shirt over her belly – it was really rather too tight. "I had gone three hours without food. Three hours!"

"So you said," he said drily, waving his wand and charming the picnic blanket to fold itself up. "Multiple times." His lips twitched.

"I will eat you if you insist on teasing me instead of feeding me, Malfoy," she threatened, hands on hips, still glaring. The picnic blanket floated into his grasp but his eyes were on her. On her small but definite bump. There was a heady mixture of awe and possessiveness written all over his face as he stared at her for a second longer, before blinking, sheathing his wand, and tucking the picnic blanket under his arm.

"Merlin forbid," he said distractedly and took a step toward her, his hand sliding tenderly over her belly. "I see your point about not being able to hide it much longer."

"Food, Malfoy," she prodded, shamelessly enjoying the way pregnancy seemed to have placed him at her beck and call, and he grinned, and ushered her inside.

They went in for the twenty week development scan on Monday. Hermione had to take the entire day off work because of not being able to apparate while pregnant – it took a while to get into the Harley Street obstetrician from Diagon Alley, with the London traffic the way it was. Malfoy had been taking Muggle lessons to learn to drive, but there was no way he was anywhere near capable of braving London traffic. And even if he had been, he wouldn't be capable of it today. He was ashen and hollow-eyed, and she suspected he'd hardly slept the night before, too worried about the results of today's scan.

He stood by the bed and held her hand as the gel went on her belly, his expression grim and his whole body stiff with tension. And then the heartbeat came through, as precious and moving every time they heard it, and the sonographer pointed to the screen.

"There we go. There's your baby's head." And Malfoy squeezed Hermione's hand tighter, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were wet and filled with fear-tinged awe. The sonographer went through, measuring everything and narrating what she was looking at and doing the whole time. And then the woman looked up at them. "Right, do you want to know whether the baby's a boy or girl?"

They'd already talked about this. And Hermione actually thought she already knew, from watching the video. But she nodded, as the sonographer wiped the gel off her belly. "Yes. We do."

"You're having a baby girl. What looks to be a healthy, perfectly normally developing baby girl."

Malfoy made a choked sound and dropped her hand, disappearing into the corridor, the door banging shut behind him. The sonographer looked at Hermione, concerned. "Is there an issue? With the baby's sex –?"

"No! No," Hermione said swiftly as she pushed to her feet, tugging her top down. "It's not that the baby – she's – a girl. He and his first wife – they had a number of stillbirths, many years ago. We were both worried…"

"Oh. I see. I'm sorry." The woman looked sympathetic, and then smiled as she passed over a flash drive with the video on it. "But there's no need to be worried, in terms of development. Your baby girl looks very healthy."

Hermione thanked the woman and hurried out into the corridor, the flash drive tucked in her handbag, her belly feeling vaguely sticky from the gel. Malfoy sat in one of the standard plastic seats lining the corridor, his head in his hands. He looked up as the door shut behind Hermione, and his face was blotchy and tear-streaked, his hand trembling, and the sheer naked relief on his features made her want to cry.

Pregnancy made her so emotional. She was like a walking cliché.

"You look like you just got terrible news, instead of the best," she said, moving to stand between his knees as he reached out to her. He held her gently by the sides of her bump, and pressed his lips to it, reverence radiating off him. He was properly crying, Hermione realised, his shoulders shaking, his tears wetting her shirt, and now she did cry, more than a few tears welling over. She felt oddly calm as Malfoy came apart; she was an ocean of zen. She rested her hands on his head, fingers pushing through his hair over and over, her nails scritching lightly over the nape of his neck.

"A girl," he said, awestruck, to her belly. And then his eyes flicked up to meet hers; red-rimmed silver sickles. "We're having a girl. And she's healthy."

"We need to think of names," Hermione said, still running her fingers through his hair soothingly as he cradled her belly, his lips pressed to it again as he slowly put himself back together again. "And tell the children that she's a girl."

"And healthy," Malfoy added, taking a breath and properly collecting himself until every trace of emotion had been smoothed away, except his wet, bloodshot eyes. She stepped back and he stood, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "We should owl them as soon as we get home."

The children had been undeniably worried. Although Hermione and Malfoy had downplayed it as much as possible when explaining the situation, the knowledge that Scorpius had multiple older stillborn siblings loomed in their minds. From the moment they'd told the children she was pregnant during the Easter holidays, they'd had three concerned children to reassure by owl several times a week, while they were both scared half to death themselves. Malfoy in particular – Hermione had more confidence, having had two healthy children already.

It would be a relief to be able to tell the children it was fine, even though Hermione didn't think Malfoy would relax completely until the baby was here in their arms. And they had lunch with Malfoy's parents to look forward to, tomorrow, she remembered with a grimace.

But right now they'd had good news, and Hermione would savour it. "A girl," she said thoughtfully, running through potential traditional Black names in her head, as Malfoy carefully escorted her down the steps to the carpark – her centre of gravity had started to go a bit wonky the past two days. "Well, we're not naming her Bellatrix."

It startled a laugh out of him, and she smiled to herself, pleased.