70.

In the end the baby was named Carina Granger-Malfoy, and she was so perfect.

So perfect, and perfectly healthy.

On Wednesday, October 7th, 2020, it took Hermione a little under eight hours of labour, a lot of gas and air, and a sneaky numbing charm from Malfoy, to give birth to their daughter at 11.43 am. She turned out to be 8 lb 10 oz; already well-padded.

Hermione walked around the birthing suite in circles, and breathed how she was supposed to, and sucked on the gas like a champion every time she was in reach of the mouthpiece that snaked out of the wall, all while Malfoy hovered within reach with water, wet flannels, and his arms. He was white-faced and clearly terrified it was all going to go wrong, and Hermione was almost afraid he was going to faint, or have some kind of breakdown. The midwife checked on the baby frequently, at Hermione's request – she knew Malfoy would want to know – which involved stopping her endless pacing and using the Doppler. It didn't seem to reassure him in the way she'd hoped.

He knew the baby was fine, but he was still just as afraid – Hermione thought perhaps he was worried the cause of the previous deaths had been magical in nature. That it wasn't until the moment of birth that the baby died. He tried to cover up his fear with quips, but he couldn't hide how ashen he was, or the grim set of his jaw.

There was no way to ease his worry. So sensibly, Hermione stopped trying and focused on herself. It wasn't really a conscious choice as labour went on, but an inevitablity. Her mind wanted to turn inwards. What she was experiencing took up nearly every part of her focus. It felt primal, and weirdly satisfying. She felt like she wanted to nest in some dark, womb-like cave, and not come out until it was all over, like some kind of animal.

But the suite was as dimly lit as the midwife could approve, creating a soft glow, and it was small enough that it felt cosy – aside from the midwife's station, it had the bed, a comfy chair in the corner for her to sit in once she felt well enough after birth, a Swiss ball, and a pale green birthing stool that seemed wholly undignified and yet fascinated her.

She kept walking. They hadn't left for the hospital until her pains had been strong and regular, about three hours after she'd felt the first one. Rose had taken sixteen hours, and Hugo had been breech, which had made the second stage of labour slower, but he'd still only taken twelve. Hermione expected this baby would be quicker. She hoped so. It hurt, and so far she'd only had a numbing charm to help, not wanting an epidural – she enjoyed being able to walk around, and she didn't want to be stabbed by a giant needle.

Seeing her in pain and knowing he caused it, was clearly deeply disturbing to Malfoy, although sensibly, he didn't say a word. Hermione didn't have the time or capacity to talk him through guilt, and she thought that if he'd mentioned how terrible he felt, that she was in pain, she might have slapped him on principle.

He walked with her around the suite – she grabbing onto him, burying her face against his front, and making a snarling sound when a contraction got too bad. The first time she did it startled him out of his abject fear, his eyes flashing down to hers, bright and shocked. "Did you just growl at me, Granger?"

"Rrrr," she said deliriously, once the contraction had passed, and then laughed, a weak huffing sound, enjoying the brief lessening of pain in between contractions – although she was far enough into it now that her poor muscles ached, with or without a contraction. "Would you rather I screamed?"

The midwife watched silently as she swigged from her water bottle. She'd been enjoying the bits of by-play between the two of them, and the way Malfoy said 'Merlin' as an exclamation made her giggle.

"Well no, my ears appreciate the lack of screaming – although feel free if you like –"

"Oh, thank you, I shall," Hermione interjected – she was feeling a bit snippy. She figured she was entitled to be.

"But that growl was disconcerting, I have to admit." He smiled down at her, his eyes worried and filled with empathy, belying his words.

"Rrrr," she said again, rolling the sound over her tongue.

"If only it had sounded that adorable," Malfoy said lightly as they reached the far end of the room, and turned, ready to traverse back across. Hermione blinked as it suddenly seemed to stretched out forever.

"I think I'm ready to sit down now," she said weakly, eyes flitting to the midwife. "I don't want to walk anymore."

She had to walk back to the bed though, leaning heavily on Malfoy; the midwife wouldn't let him carry her.

In the end she gave birth on her knees on the bed, leaning face-first against Malfoy as sweat soaked her, and she groaned with the effort, and the pain. Her arms were strangle-tight up around his neck and she buried her face against his chest as he held her safe and steady, and whispered reassurances and love. She grunted and bore down one last time, as the midwife encouraged her, telling her she was almost there – just one last push. That push heralded a bizarre rushing, slithering feeling, followed by relief. The pain felt almost entirely gone, compared to what it had been, and Hermione felt done.

"She's here," the midwife said, and Hermione's heart was in her throat as she sagged against Malfoy, and silence reigned for a second that lasted an eternity. And then there was a little growling gurgle that turned into a wail and Hermione and Malfoy's eyes met, joy surging between them. His fingers tightened on her, and he dragged in a ragged little breath, and the relief on his face was indescribable.

"And she's hungry," the midwife went on cheerfully. "Her Apgar looks good. Sit your wife back, would you dear, and we'll pop baby on for a wee feed before we give her a proper check." They weren't married, not yet, but now was not the time to correct the woman.

A moment later Malfoy had Hermione settled back against the raised head of the bed, relaxing onto a pillow, feeling utterly drained and limp. The midwife laid a wet, rather squashed baby against her chest, tucking a blanket snugly over top of them both and wrapping them together, from Hermione's waist to beneath her arms.

"Oh," Malfoy said, she dragged her eyes away from the little bundle of sheer perfection on her chest – already seeking a nipple – to him. Standing there beside them, silently weeping. His strain-shadowed, bloodshot eyes were wide and wondering, tears sliding down his cheeks as he watched his daughter wriggle. His hand brushed with an aching gentleness over Carina's tiny head as she latched voraciously onto Hermione's nipple, one little fist waving free.

Her heart felt too big for her body when she saw the way he stared at his daughter, alive and well. As if his entire universe was right in front of him.

"Carina," Hermione murmured, looking down at their daughter – downy, honey-coloured fuzz slicked flat on her head, a little sliver of slate-blue eyes visible. "I think she looks like a Carina."

"Carina," Malfoy echoed, gently enclosing one of her tiny, waving fists in his. "Carina Granger-Malfoy."

"We've still got the placenta to come, love," the midwife said prosaically, interrupting the beautiful moment with a dose of reality. "Don't forget. Baby suckling will help it along, but if you haven't passed it in twenty minutes or so, we'll need to give you an injection."

Hermione nodded and murmured her thanks. "Really," she emphasised to the midwife, her gaze on Malfoy as he wiped away his drying tears, and then on Carina, who had her eyes scrunched up as she sucked enthusiastically. Healthy, energetic, and somehow determined. "I can't thank you enough."

"You're very welcome, love. I'll just fill out some of the paperwork over here. Let me know when things start happening, yeah?"

She nodded, and then sighed, exhaustion and adrenaline warring in her body, and both losing against oxytocin. Malfoy kissed her then, his lips soft against her sweaty forehead, his eyes filled with awe as he drew back and looked at her. "I love you, Granger," he said softly, as reverentially as if she had given him the world. "So much."

"I love you too," Hermione said through a yawn, and smiled at him as a dizzy, dreamy bliss surged through her, Carina warm against her chest and Malfoy's hand soothing through her hair. She didn't think it was humanly possible to be happier than she was, right then.

The first few days passed in a sleep-deprived blur of bliss, hormones and recovery, sprinkled liberally with tears that never seemed to have any actual cause. The evening Hermione arrived home, she shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed, only to find there was no toothpaste. She burst into tears.

In the days to come, she would cry over spilled tea, a hole in her sock, Carina scratching her own sweet face with her sharp little baby nails, a news article on an alpaca named Geronimo that had to be put down because it might have TB, and occasionally, over the bouquets of flowers that Malfoy bought her.

The first bouquet arrived the morning after Carina's birth, while Hermione sat in bed, buoyed up with pillows while Carina slept swaddled snugly on the bed next to her. Malfoy brought her a full English breakfast, a cup of coffee, a glass of gillywater – good for milk production and energy – and an unusual bouquet.

"Your order, madam," he said seriously, as he set the tray down on her extremely handy over-bed table, the bouquet going on the dresser, and brightening up the room. She blinked blearily up at Malfoy and clutched for her coffee, feeling like death warmed up.

"G'morning," she croaked, feeling like it was anything but. Her milk hadn't come in yet, and Carina had wanted to feed every two hours last night. Thank God for Malfoy – he'd changed every single nappy, burped Carina, and fetched Hermione whatever she'd wanted, or needed. Including fresh strawberries at 3:32 am. She wasn't sure how he'd pulled that off, because they'd had none in the house, but the label was Japanese. Hermione felt very spoilt. She was possibly the most pampered new mother in the world.

The coffee was sheer perfection. Hot, freshly ground, espresso coffee, with perfectly foamy milk and no sugar – they'd recently upgraded their coffee machine. She buried her nose in the mug and hummed happily as she took the first sip. Tea was good for drinking throughout the day, but in the mornings there was nothing quite like coffee.

"I love you," she mumbled, and he laughed softly as he settled on his side of the bed, careful not to jostle Carina, who kept napping contentedly between them.

"Are you talking to me, or the coffee?"

"Both," she said, smiling into her drink. "Because you brought me the coffee."

"I suppose I'll have to take it."

"But you get extra points for being my butler. And for the flowers," she added, feeling nearly giddy with sleep deprivation, and only just remembering that the bouquet she was staring at with unfocused eyes over her mug hadn't always been there.

"The flowers that look weird." She squinted. "What are they? Where's the label? And oh – the flower book! I think I left it in the sitting room." But he produced both out of thin air, with a flourish, and she smiled at him as she took them. "You're amazing."

"So are you," he said, rather more seriously than her, and his eyes slid down to Carina. Dry now, her minimal hair was corn-silk – although still darker than Malfoy's – and curly, and her eyes in the morning light had been a medium slate-blue. Hermione guessed they would turn a lighter blue, or grey. She was perfect. She was well-padded, and had a lovely shaped head and neat little ears, with a full cupid's bow of a mouth, and a café au lait birthmark splashed on the nape of her neck, behind her left ear.

Her little toes were tiny, and utterly precious. Her fingers ditto. Hermione knew she'd ooh-ed and aah-ed over Rose and Hugo like this, but she hadn't remembered what it had felt like. The sheer intensity of her absorption in the small, crying, yawning, grasping creature was like being submerged into another world.

Of course, she was also sore, going to the toilet was a harrowing exercise despite the lack of tearing, and she was so tired she could die, so that took the shine off slightly. But only slightly.

Malfoy clearly had all the enraptured, enchanted love, and none of the physical aches and pains to temper it. Hermione could already see that Carina was going to have her father wrapped around her little finger. And she felt better about going back to work, eventually. He was going to be the perfect stay-at-home parent, Hermione knew. She had loved her children, and treasured those younger years, but a good deal of the time she had also felt bored, claustrophobic, starved of intelligent conversation and mental stimulation, and trapped.

The idea of being able to leave Carina with Malfoy and know that he was going to lavish her with love and care until Hermione got home at lunchtime, and then again after work – well, that was like a lead weight being lifted off her shoulders.

"Granger?"

Oh, right! Flowers. Hermione dragged herself back to the moment and cleared her throat quietly, beginning to read aloud.

"Dittany of Crete –"

"That's the weird hanging pinkish-purple spikes," Malfoy said helpfully.

"Strawberry tree –" She glanced at him for clarification on which flower that was.

"Those are the bunches of cascading pink bell flowers," he provided.

"And wood sorrel."

"That's oxalis, it turns out," Malfoy said somewhat ruefully. "The white and yellow flowers. I spent ages trying to kill it off in the garden when I first bought this place. It's a fucking horrible weed."

"How nice," Hermione said, mouth twitching into an amused smile. "You got me weeds."

"Just one," Malfoy protested, adding, "The rest of the flowers and greenery are incidental, by the way. No meaning intended. Just meant to look pretty. Like you."

"Oh my God. That's so cheesy."

He grinned. "Like – no. Not like you." Malfoy scrunched his face up. She thought perhaps sleep deprivation had got to him, too.

"Cheese, like, food cheese? I'm not like food cheese? Or I'm not cheesy?"

"I don't even know, Granger. You're beautiful though, I know that."

Flatterer. Currently she hadn't showered since mid-afternoon yesterday, her hair was – just barely – in a rough plait, and she was wearing an unflattering nightie with a tea stain over her right breast, and she knew she had to look as exhausted as she felt. Beautiful, she was not. But she'd take the compliment gladly. Before looking at the meanings of all the flowers she leaned in, her hand coming up to mould to his unshaven cheek, kissing him lightly on the lips and tasting coffee.

"Thank you, very much, Malfoy. I'm possibly the luckiest witch in the world."

"Oh, definitely."

The flowers, as it turned out, represented birth, esteem and love, and joy, respectively. It was a beautiful meaning, and a lovely way to start motherhood for the third time in her life – so of course, she sniffled, her lower lip quivered, and she began to cry.

Malfoy was solicitous and sweet, and very matter-of-fact about it.

Where Ron might have tried to flee the scene, dismissed her callously, or possibly even taken offence at her mysterious tears and thus made it all about him, Malfoy was entirely different. He raised an arm in invitation, and one eyebrow in question. Hermione immediately tipped sideways into him for a cuddle; he was warm and solid, and his arm came down around her reassuringly as she tried to cry quietly, so as not to wake Carina. He rubbed her arm soothingly and then kissed the crown of her head.

"Deep breaths, Granger." He snuggled her close, and she breathed deeply and slowly, and felt herself slowly calm down. His heartbeat was steady and strong.

"Maybe I should've got you…" She heard a scrape and then a rustle of paper, her face firmly pressed against his chest. The shriiick of pages as he leafed through the flower language book. "Hmm." The sound rumbled in his chest against her ear, oddly soothing, as pages turned. "Helenium, for tears," he said, a smile in his voice.

"You're mean," she accused him, not meaning it, and he kissed her head again.

"Or white poppy," he said seconds later. "For sleep."

"Oh Merlin, sleep; I remember that. It was a thing I used to do. It was lovely."

The past three nights had been full of disturbed sleep – last night, of course, and the night before that, Hermione had been in labour and got none. And the night before that, she'd been restless and wakeful, experiencing the cramps of pre-labour. She desperately needed sleep. She'd take a potion, but what she really needed – not wanted, but needed – was to catch brief periods of sleep whenever Carina did. Cat naps.

"Eat your breakfast, Granger," Malfoy said, tipping her back upright, his hand soothing over her hair as though she was a child, and oh it felt nice. She just wanted to be taken care of right now, and Malfoy was doing so wonderfully at it. "It'll steady you. And then you can wake Carina to feed her, and I'll take her out into the garden for some fresh air while you sleep."

She nodded and was happy to do as she was bid.

They had owled the children – with photographs – the evening Carina was born, and replies arrived the next afternoon; excitement, mostly on Scorpius's part. Ron and Chastity's baby had been born only a few months earlier – a little boy, named Johnnie – and over the holidays, Rose and Hugo had discovered just how boring having a baby half-sibling really was. They wrote back with congratulations and relief that their mother and the baby were okay, and they said they were looking forward to meeting her, but Hermione suspected they were less than interested.

Hermione didn't mind. Scorpius seemed thrilled, and besides, she and Malfoy were excited enough for everyone.

Then, all the other congratulations trickled in.

Her father talked to her over the phone, sounding slightly emotional, and said he'd give them their presents when he met Carina in person.

Molly sent them congratulations from her, Arthur, and the rest of the family, along with a bundle of adorable knitted vests, cardigans, booties, mittens, and hats, which Malfoy grudgingly admitted were very nice. Harry and Ginny sent Hermione a basket of lovely, pampering toiletries and treats, and an over-crib mobile of magical beasts for Carina. And Ron texted his congratulations, just as Hermione had when Johnnie was born – but unlike Hermione, he didn't think to send a gift. It was more amusing than annoying.

To Hermione's irritation, Lucius and Narcissa sent their congratulations via house-elf, along with a delightful antique rocking horse that wouldn't be useful for quite some time, and some very frothy, lacy baby dresses, which looked more confection than clothing. Hermione was pleased to note that Mopsy had no injuries on her – the Malfoys had been mysteriously investigated nearly four weeks ago, and were currently under observation by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, much to Lucius's annoyance.

"Maybe now he'll treat his house-elves as well as he does his bloody dogs," Malfoy had said darkly to Hermione, upon getting the news from his mother at one of their parties. Hermione still hadn't braved those – she'd had no interest in parading herself around in front of judgmental pure-bloods while pregnant and retaining more water than a wet sponge.

Mariska sent a card, a framed copy of the Witch Weekly issue that announced Carina's birth, and a blanket for Carina's crib that was embroidered all over with flowers that had sweet meanings – it was an extravagant, beautiful gift, and both Malfoy and Hermione loved it.

Other friends and colleagues sent cards, and small gifts – Viktor, Neville and Hannah, Padma, Colin, Andromeda, Kingsley, and a dozen or so others. And on Malfoy's side, they actually got acknowledgements from Theo and Pansy, and Blaise. Of course, Theo and Pansy had merely sent a perfunctory card, and Blaise's gift had been a wild selection of sex toys and accoutrement, 'For when she's ready to get back in the saddle'. Ridiculous and crass, just like it seemed Zabini himself was, from the stories Malfoy had of the other man's occasional appearances at his parents' parties.

Malfoy had shown her rather nervously, worried she was going to be insulted, she supposed. But with Carina cradled contentedly in her arms it was hard to be annoyed at anything. She'd laughed instead, and told him to stash it up in the wardrobe, just in case – after she'd had a look through it. Why not? Some of the items in there had looked expensive.

"Flowers are lovely," she'd told him, "But it's not every day that a witch gets a bouquet of dildos."

He'd looked at her, both scandalised and amused. "You're full of surprises, Granger."

"Good," she'd said, and grinned at him.

"I'm not telling Blaise you kept it though. I can't."

Having a newborn was an entirely original experience with Malfoy by her side.

He'd already taken off Ministry work, going on extended sabbatical. The advantage to hereditary positions, Granger, he'd told her, is that they can't fire you unless you break the law. He still had to keep abreast of the Malfoy family investments of course, but Lucius handled most of those, and they were things that could be taken care of via owl or fire-call. Most of the time, Hermione had Malfoy at her beck and call, like some kind of magical butler-cum-nanny, and she thought she had never found him so attractive as now.

Their home filled up with bouquets that periodically vanished as they aged – dwarf sunflower for adoration, linden for conjugal love, heliotrope for devotion, pineapple flower for perfection, and agrimony for thankfulness. Hermione loved them. Sometimes the simplest, plainest posies had the most beautiful meaning. Like cowslips: you are my divinity. Or a spray of cedar leaves: I live for thee.

Considerately, Malfoy side-along apparated her father to visit when Carina was six days old, rather than Hermione having to leave the house before she felt ready. Her father threw up on the doorstep, and proclaimed disapparition both thoroughly awful, and fantastic. He'd also thought Carina was fantastic, cooing over her adoringly as Hermione showed her off, overflowing with maternal pride. She was thriving – putting on weight well, breastfeeding beautifully, and holding her head up well.

Of course, being a parent, he had to throw a well-meaning fly in the ointment.

"Have you noticed her left eye is darker than her right?"

Malfoy went ashen.

"What?" he asked rather hoarsely.

Hermione had not. And she didn't know how she'd missed it, but after they'd all spent several seconds crowded over Carina – who watched them all with wide-eyed curiosity – it was confirmed. Her perfect baby did indeed have a distinctly darker left eye.

"It's likely nothing, or they would've picked up on it at birth. Or with all the testing you did in pregnancy," her dad said sensibly, probably regretting pointing it out. "I'm sure it's harmless. Just mention it at your next post-natal check up, just in case. Babies' eyes do all sorts of weird things though. They might just be darkening to brown at different rates." He frowned. "I can't remember if yours did that, love.

That didn't satisfy Malfoy, who didn't want to wait until their post-natal check up tomorrow either. So he googled it – which could have gone horribly wrong, but for once was oddly reassuring. There were apparently many parents of newborns worrying about that online, and none of the cases appeared to be anything worrisome. Just an odd quirk of development. Idiopathic and harmless.

It was at this point that Hermione's father remembered something that Hermione herself had forgotten – her mother's younger sister, Aunt Lucy, had heterochromia, with one hazel eye, and one blue. Hermione was so used to it, she barely noticed it behind her aunt's glasses anymore. "Maybe it's that, love."

Buoyed by Google and memory, they diagnosed Carina as fine.

"See," Malfoy said, pleased, as he put his phone away. "Reddit is useful."

And then her father distracted them from the worry he'd caused with presents.

He'd made Carina a ridiculous scrapbook full of press headlines and articles, complete with wizarding photos, and witty comments he'd jotted down to go along with them. It was, admittedly, utterly precious; even the more insulting headlines seemed somehow memorable when compiled with all the others. It was their story, told through the twisted eyes of the press, and in a way it was fascinating.

"Carina will love this when she's grown up enough to understand it in context," her dad said, as Hermione flipped through. "Knowing what a splash she made in the press – such scandal!"

Besides the scrapbook, he'd brought a set of touch and feel baby board books, and an otter stuffed animal that he and Karen had bought at Dunvegan Castle, when they'd visited the Isle of Skye several weekends ago. "I knew your spirit animal was an otter, you see."

"It's not a spirit animal, Dad, it's a patronus."

"What's the difference?" he asked brightly – mischievously – and Hermione gave up, and thanked him. It was lovely.

"So what are you going to do when your three months' full leave are up?" her father asked, Carina cradled on his lap. She'd charmed him thoroughly. She was a particularly charming newborn. Or perhaps Hermione was just biassed.

"Well, I'm going to have a Ministry subdivision to run. I've been wanting MLAI for years, and I can't wait to get in and reinvigorate it. I'm probably going to spend a bit of time – once I'm feeling up to it – planning the changes I want to make."

Malfoy tried to cover a laugh with a cough, and Hermione shot him a sharp look. "What?" she asked, smiling at him as his lips twitched, his eyes smoke-grey and soft.

"Probably," he said, and smirked fleetingly. Hermione's father laughed, and she had to admit they were right.

"Fine. Definitely. Although not for a while yet," she insisted. "Once I'm back, I'm going to give expressing milk a go, but I'm not going to kill myself over it. Studies show modern formula is perfectly suitable for babies –"

"Well, your mother and I gave you formula, and look how you turned out, love. Brilliant," her father said, and Hermione thought of her mother with a pang. She would have loved Carina. She'd missed out on so much – Rose and Hugo had only been tiny when she'd died. Hermione sniffed.

"I miss Mum," she said in a small voice, and embarrassingly, she began to cry.

"Oh, love… So do I. She would have adored Carina," her father said, which didn't really help. She stifled her tears nearly immediately, though the twist of sadness lingered, an open wound. The eventual application of fresh hot tea thanks to Malfoy helped, although it was probably more the fact that first he called her through to the kitchen on the spurious claim that he couldn't find the tea-bags, and then comforted her in private.

"Come here, Granger," he said, drawing her into the circle of his arms. She clung to him as though he were a safe haven in a storm, and he held her for a long moment. "I love you," he murmured in her ear, and she held him even tighter.

"Love you too," she said, and kissed the underneath of his jaw. He tipped his face down and caught her lips, kissing her sweet and soft, but properly, and her stomach fluttered with arousal and her breath caught. "God, Malfoy, don't do that," she said when the kiss broke, going on quickly as he began to look apologetic. "It's unfair when we can't do anything for weeks and weeks."

"Deeply unfair," he said, heartfelt, and took hold of her hand, pressing it against the bulge in his trousers. She snickered, and he gave her a wounded look.

"Well, I'm going to go sit down again, and entertain my father, while you sort out the tea. That might give you a chance for this –" she gave it a gentle squeeze and a rub, and he left out a soft groan "– to go down."

"You're so cruel to me," he said, and she went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

"You'll live."

Sex was something Hermione thought of more than she'd expected. She healed up well and fast, and aside from the traces of post-birth lochia she still had, by the third week she was keen. And yet, she still couldn't. The risk of infection remained no matter how she felt, and so she was firmly off limits, like it or not. To be fair, it was probably a pipe dream, anyway. In honesty, she was still somewhat tender, and while she had moments of exquisitely intense desire, they never lingered long. And by the time they got the chance to either snog or sleep, Hermione found herself choosing sleep instead, something Malfoy encouraged.

They were curled up in bed together one morning, his erection pressed rather firmly against her bum when she rolled over and offered to take care of him, pointing out her hands and mouth still worked. He gave her a scandalised look, not dissimilar to the one he'd had when the words 'bouquet of dildos' had come out of Hermione's mouth.

"No, absolutely not," he said, frowning. "Not until I can return the favour."

"But I want to," she protested as she cuddled up face to face with him, curled in a ball so that her knees pressed to his chest, and her hands roamed over his chest, which was bare and delicious.

"I have hands for a reason, Granger," he said sternly, tugging at the end of her braid, and Hermione laughed. Quiet, snuffling snorts, trying not to wake Carina, who slept peacefully in her bassinet – who so far was still perfectly healthy, her one darker eye pronounced "adorable and harmless" by the obstetrician.

"You have hands purely so you can wank?" she asked through her snorts.

"Well. Amongst other things," he said straight-faced, and then smiled sweetly and kissed the tip of her nose. "D'you want a cup of coffee?"

Hermione hadn't thought it was possible to love another human – that she hadn't given birth to – as consumingly and easily as she loved Malfoy. Every day that went past, with every kiss and quip, and all the things he did for her, big and small, she loved him more. "I'll come help," she said, and kissed his mouth. "You'll let me help you with that at least, won't you?"

He did. She cooked up porridge, and he made the coffee, and they had breakfast at the kitchen island with The Daily Prophet open between them, sharing a golden, peaceful half hour chatting idly before Carina woke.