Term passed much as it had beforehand. Only Draco's affections for Hermione grew more outward. He held her hand and kissed her cheek. She was surprised by confectionaries some days and others it would be a necklace or a flower. Her suite was overtook with the lavish attentions that came from the Malfoy family.
He managed to make every day a reminder that she was loved.
As was their daughter.
The little witch was not born, yet she was possibly the most spoiled child to have been thought of. The Malfoy family wealth was endless, as was Draco's need to lavish her with gifts. It came to a point where she had to ask him to stop before she needed three trunks to return home.
Their bond strengthened daily. The shared responsibilities of being Prefects and students with top marks subtly pulled them closer and closer together, as if it'd been possible to do so. Draco and Hermione's lives became all about one another.
Potions class became a race. They each went through the instructions as quickly as they could to try to beat the other. Herbology went much the same way, only with deadly plants.
Quidditch was the only relief in each other's company. Draco was the Slytherin house Seeker. It was a duty that was important and skilled. Professor Snape refused any special treatment for him as a player, so he was expected to every practice, no matter how long they practiced. More than once, Draco had practice into the late evening, only a spot of a meal, before he had to study before curfew, then patrol half the night.
Hermione knew that his commitment to his obligations was paramount, otherwise she would have asked Draco to quit. It was a pace impossible to keep. And what of, when their daughter was born? Would be ever be present?
Late one night when Draco was on patrol, Hermione studied in her suite when something happened. Something big and unexpected. It was unlike the movement she felt for the month prior. It was stronger. She felt it move the back of the textbook perched atop her belly.
She stopped writing. Her hands fumbled with the layers of clothing until they were wretched up at her waist with the naked expanse of her impregnated belly in full view. The sensation started again. Small bumps rose up through the pale flesh. She watched the elbows and knees of her daughter brush the surface of the skin and shifted her stomach ever so slight.
It was enough to send her to her feet.
"Draco!" She exclaimed.
It was a force of habit. Even when she knew he wasn't there, her lips cried out for him.
The baby's movements were not the first she felt, but if she could see them, it meant that Draco might be able to feel it, too. He'd been manic for weeks trying to feel the movements ever since they reached the stage in which it was possible.
Hermione pulled on her fluffy slippers and took off through the castle. She knew how to find him. Draco was a creature of habit, trekking the same course every night as he patrolled the corridors for wayward students, and that made it easy for her to locate him in an enormous castle. The light at the end of his wand was the only light through the darkness of a stretching hall. It swung back and forth as a spotlight.
She excitedly jogged forward. The sound of her slippers shuffling alerted a change in Draco's search. He spun around with a wand thrust ahead.
"Who's there?" He projected firmly.
Her arm shielded her eyes. She stopped.
"Hermione? What are you doing out of bed? Is something wrong? Is it the baby?"
"Yeah," she blurted excitedly. Both her palms dropped to her stomach. The sign of life below had stalled, but it was not lost. The run had disrupted the comfort calm their child was used to residing in. She now kicked without mercy at the shift. "Come quick. Before I lose it."
His arms suddenly held her waist. "Let's get you to hospital."
"No. Not that. Wait, let go. Here."
There was a fight over hands, but he allowed her to press his flush against her belly. The thumping pumping of their daughter's fury was a jumble of soft bumps against their fingers.
The moment Draco felt them, she knew. His face changed from concern to a wide-eyed haze.
He went to his knees. Between his hands rested her belly. It went still as Draco's breath quieted.
Hermione watched him with a strange need to study this reaction.
When their daughter moved and kicked once more, her father was overcome with a large grin. He followed the motions of limbs as they stretched across the belly, only to be lost, then reemerge some place else. The grin spread throughout his features, up to his silvery eyes which warmed to the pale love of moonlight.
She was happy about their baby, but her emotions never compared to that of his. He loved the child without question. That kind of faith was something she was uncertain of.
"How do you do that?" She asked him.
Again, his palm swiped across as their daughter's arm did the same. "Do what?"
"How are you so affected by something you can't even see? I mean, it could be an alien for all we know."
Draco rose to his feet. His hands dusted the filth of the floors off his knees. A curious tilted gaze at her face. "But she's not," he said. "She's our daughter."
"You might not feel the same way if she were a Hufflepuff or hated Quidditch or perhaps, was a squib. What if she's a squib? Or, deformed? Would you love her if she was deformed?"
Godric, now all the what-ifs flew through her lips, she realized just how unknown a child was. There was no guarantee that their daughter would be smart or magical or impressive in any way. Everyone expected her to be. She was the daughter to the two most impressive people of their age. Of course, there was pressure that their daughter succeed in the same fashion.
But the world had no idea of what end that genetics dropped. She was a Weasley. The only thing the Weasley's seemed blessed with is fertility!
Hermione felt the panic rush up. She balled her fists and started to pace.
Everything went back to her initial emotion of wanting to terminate. Why hadn't she followed her gut? Why had she allowed herself to ignore the situation and then embrace it like some lunatic?
Tears surged through, a victor over her reigning indifference. Their wet slide down her cheeks was a wretched feeling she wished away with all her might. Alas, the powers refused. More tears flowed down.
"Hermione, whoa, hey. What's wrong?" Draco asked.
She shook her head. No. She couldn't do this. Motherhood? Who was she kidding? A baby was not meant for Hermione Granger. It asked too much of her. Too much.
Sadness was an impossible thing to shake once set. It welled up through everything. Her chest rattled with rising sobs. Painful, pathetic sobs. Her hands trembled. They were placed against her mouth, so that the sobs might not escape. Droplets coated her fingers, weaving through their locked defense, leaving their glistening, salty trail like a slugs.
Two strong arms looped over her shoulders, through her arms and pulled her tight in an embrace. It held her in place. No more hiding her cries or pacing away her anxiety. It all hit like a curse.
"It's going to be alright," Draco cooed in her ear as she cried. "We are going to make it through."
Tears streamed down her face. Gasping breaths sounded through the corridors. Their echoes were pure grief.
Draco held her until the tears stopped and her body went still within his grasp. All the while, his face was against hers. The steadiness of his breath held calm hers. All at once, they were drenched in the quiet of the castle, the only living things awake within the encroaching darkness.
Her voice whispered out hollowly, "I cannot do this."
He held her tighter. "You can do anything, Granger."
That nickname reminded her of a different time. A low time. When the world had shown an ugly face to her and left her to wither away in loneliness. The blood that drained of her wrist that day brought no relief other than the momentary pause in pain, not the end of her suffering.
"You can let yourself love something. Not all love is pain."
Easy for him to say. Every single person in his life ensured his love would never wane. He was a prince. There was enough room for a prince's love, always.
She shook her head.
"Just because Weasel broke your heart like the weasel he is, and Harry Potter hadn't the backbone to stick to your side, doesn't mean that I will do the same. Nor will the baby. You're going to be her mum. A mother. You remember your mum, yeah?"
She exhaled an exaggerated breath. "Yeah."
"Could you ever break your mum's heart?"
"No," she answered in a quiet voice. "Never."
"Exactly. Now think of our little girl. Intelligent. Beautiful. Devilishly charming. Just like her father." He flexed his eyebrows to encourage a laugh. It worked. A small smile tainted her lips. "She's going to worship her mother. You know why?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Because I'm never going to let her forget just how perfect you are." His lips gave a soft kiss against her temple. "Besides, remember what Professor Burbage said? A mother bonds with their baby. It's a natural process. It is impossible for you to fight nature. Even if you are kid wonder, Hermione Granger. You're not that good."
She laughed. "I'm not, eh?"
"Afraid not, love. You're going to love your baby, no matter what."
The comfort of logic calmed her fears. Nature did ensure that all species survived. Her daughter would love her because the poor thing had no choice. She depended upon Hermione for survival. Likewise, to continue the human race, mothers' bond with their babies to be interested in keeping them alive. It was all instinct. Same as it was in animals and magical creatures. They all want their offspring to survive so they themselves might make offspring and thus continue the line.
Draco finally released Hermione from his grasp. Freedom throughout her limbs, the relieved pressure, a startling surge of blood flow to her limbs.
He touched her shoulder. "Come now. Let's get you to bed. You look tired."
They started back through the castle. Its darkness a constant, but quiet without threat. The castle slept. As all things did.
"I'm not," she retorted. "All I did was sleep before. Now I've finally got energy."
"Ah, yes. That stage. I remember Professor Burbage saying that."
"Do you also remember what she said might happen with my energy?"
She thought the implication was rather obvious, but it seemed to fly overtop his rather handsome head. Draco thought a moment. His nose wrinkled as he considered what else he'd learned in their added elective class of "Childhood Development and Parenting."
"Reflux?"
She growled playfully. "No. Well, yes. That's possible, but not what I meant."
The door of her suite came into view. The sconce ignited alive with fire as they neared.
"I meant something along the lines of positive."
"Your breasts aren't sore anymore?"
It might have seemed a tad overdramatic to choke on her breath, but his mention of her breasts startled her and made all other breaths a struggle through the gasps.
Draco opened the door to her private chambers with a scowl. "No need to laugh to me, Granger. It's impossible to keep up with all the millions of changes you're going through."
The fireplace was dwindling downward. Darkness was growing through. She went to stoke up the flames, but Draco placed a hand on her arm.
"Allow me."
She ran a hand through her hair. "You know, I wasn't teasing you. I was hinting at the fact my hormones are going to be a bit heightened."
He tossed a log atop the orange glowing embers. "I know that. Hermione, you did just have a cry in the hall."
"Not that kind of hormone, Draco."
"Not that kind? You're a bit mental, aren't you? The only other hormones are…"
The idea clicked. His neck snapped back. The pulling need of his eyes only confirmed that he understood her fully.
The tension in his throat as he swallowed proved it further. "Oh. Like…" He cleared his throat once, then twice. "Those hormones."
Draco and Hermione had yet to experiment beyond the heavy snog. It left much pent up excitement that only eroded patience. The baby did not help things. All Hermione's hormones made it painful to resist jumping Draco and using him as a scratching post like a cat. What withheld the strength to do so was his intact pride. He was a virgin. Wizards like him were raised to be noble and honest. Sex before marriage was not a welcome activity amongst aristocrats. His parents raised him better.
The last thing she wanted to do was insult him.
However, her courage overtook the respect with the ladder of hormonal want for his body beneath hers.
She was curled amongst a quilt on the sofa. He trekked from the fireplace and was careful to take his place on the other side without sitting too close. He kept himself distracted with smoothing the wrinkles of his clothes rather than looking at her.
The wait was agony. The silence choked her with a strong palm against her windpipe.
The topic of shagging had yet to be mentioned. They wanted it. She knew she did and judging by the bulge in his trousers whilst they snogged, he did, too. However, shagging was different. A snog was easy. They both remained dressed. No harm, no foul. Shagging? It removed their barriers, their sensibilities, their protection, and left them to their own primal devices.
Sex was natural. It was a natural act. Teenagers went through stages where humping anything seemed the right idea. Hermione knew that it was as natural for creatures as it was to breathe.
Gentlemen were taught the exact opposite. Restraint. Draco was raised with a group of men that believed in only one witch for every wizard, and it was done so in the sanctity of marriage.
Despite the situation of their underage, out-of-wedlock pregnancy that the world knew, Hermione was the only one that was not in possession of her virtue. Draco was. He kept it. Through all the layers of witches that dropped to his feet with the hopes he might kick them out of his way, he never found a witch to tempt his fancy.
That was dedication.
Hermione was not that strong. She listened to her body and what it wanted. All it wanted was him.
Draco sat wrinkle-free on the sofa. His breath forced calm, though the throbbing of his pulse within his neck spoke to the restraint. She instantly regretted mentioning it.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I shouldn't have said anything." She patted his shoulder. "I understand."
"I do want to. Don't get me wrong. I do want to and could." It reminded him to readjust himself. Hermione pretended not to notice the pitched tent. Her eyes stayed steady in his confidence. "There are things that make it difficult to…"
"Honestly. I understand. You don't have to explain yourself," she assured.
"I respect you, Hermione. You deserve my patience and my commitment and everything I can give before I can ask you to do that. For me."
She frowned. "You don't have to offer me your landing and holdings just to make love to me. I respect you same as you respect me. If you don't want to shag before you're married, I understand that. I won't press it. But, please, don't believe that you have to do that just for me. I love you. I want you. That's all that I ask of you. That's the kind of honor you should have, not just for marriage. You should only shag someone who wants to, without influence or marriage or promise of endless wealth. Just the pair can make that decision. Not anyone else. And it isn't something you do to me. It's something we do together. For both of us."
The idea that sex was only meant for men to push onto women was sexist and inaccurate. Women liked sex. It was natural for them to want it. It was not some punishment that a man had to reimburse for the trouble. All that mattered was consent. If she wanted it and he did too, that should be enough for their honor.
"I'm sorry. I just can't do that to you," he said.
Hermione cupped his cheek with her hand. He leaned into the touch. His eyes shuttered close as the sensations of her gentle touch against his face moved him. Through his lips released the sweetest sigh she inhaled with greed.
Only a true gentleman would insist on waiting to preserve a virtue she didn't have.
"You're too cunning to be this honorable," she chuckled softly.
His eyes stayed closed. "Who's to say I haven't been cunning to get this far?"
Her smiles curled to a smile. "Well, you've done a royal job if that's the case. Here I am, thinking you're the one."
The flash of grey caught her focus. A subtle jolt to attention spread through his body, now not comfortably sunken within the worn sofa cushion, but at the edge of his seat.
"Say again?"
She thought she saw a ripple of fear pass through him. Finally, the limit to him. Draco was at his end with all the generosity.
Hermione poked her tongue into her cheek. A devilish humor overtook her lips.
"Hermione Malfoy has a nice ring to it, don't you think, Drake?"
What she expected was for him to hop to his feet and run away as fast as he could, like any other wizard might when marriage was mentioned, but instead he launched himself forward, cupped her face, and kissed her firmly until the very air was moist with salvia.
There was an urgent haste to his fingers. They trembled down the length of her throat and onto the front of her shirt. One hand grasped her breast – for the first time! – and an overwhelming pleasure washed through her. The hormones were built heavy. Any stimulation resulted in a rattling gasp to withhold a moan.
"I want you." His lips murmured against hers. The mixture of their wetness tasted strong and sweet. His sweetness of pumpkin juice joined the bitter of her tea was a combination of flavors, like their personalities, seemingly different, but matched so well.
To her, 'I want you' sounded sexual, however the previous conversation had her unconvinced.
"You have me."
"No." His lips ran along the underside of her jaw. The trail was paved in salvia, a feeling she felt even after his lips moved on. "I want you. Now. Right here."
Becoming clearer…
Hermione's hands worked independent of her mind. They dove beneath the cover of his shirt onto the warm flesh beneath. So soft and smooth. Heavenly scented with his honey soap it wafted through the opening of his clothes to the air within. Pregnancy gave Hermione the nose of a werewolf. It only allured her further. His smell, his heat.
"But what about your honor?"
He raised up from her neck. "To hell with what I said. I don't even remember it."
Internally, she groaned. She didn't want to, but she knew she had to ask. "Are you sure?"
"I've already gotten you pregnant," he said in a gruff voice, "might as well get to shag you."
It was the last bit of resistance she had. Her limbs filled with the excitement too powerful to deny. He was beautiful. And hers. She wanted to enjoy all of him.
Their lips tangled together in a dance. Hands moved at lightning speed to grasp all the places they denied themselves before. Draco pushed until her spine rested against the side wall of the sofa. His erection rubbed against her body, only slightly awkward from the size of her belly.
The slimness of the sofa made every position odd. Either he was too high, or she was pushed off the edge.
"The bed?" He asked. His eyes casted a lazy glance upward. The fog of lust made him beauty more addicting. She relished the height of his desire so obvious in his face. It made parts of her soak through.
A perfectly good double bed was there, empty and in need of use.
They moved to the bed, forgetting their shoes at the edge, as well as their outwear. Draco was down to his white-collar shirt and his black suit trousers while Hermione was in a faded olive T-shirt and matching fuzzy pajama trousers.
The change in setting slowed their pace. Hesitation reclaimed the land between them, as if both reevaluated the choice to shag.
All Draco had to do was reach out to her, and she was putty once more.
He pushed her to her back. A pillow of her frantic, frizzy curls beneath her face. Then his weight. It pressed her deeper into the mattress, justly joining parts of their bodies together in a familiar embrace. A firmness at her inner thigh excited her.
Her fingers flew to his buttons that lined his torso. One by one, they exposed his bare flesh.
The fire in her actions encouraged his to emerge with greater strength. His thumbs linked at the waistband of her bottoms and pulled them clean off her thighs in one motion. The cold of the air, the heat of his body against her, swirled a deep delight throughout the flesh, creeping and crawling upward to a spot beneath her knickers.
The freeing of her knickers perfumed the air with her smell. It greeted her nose like an embarrassing old friend, like 'hello, remember me? You know who I am, don't pretend.' A thought of self-consciousness erupted through her thoughts like a freight train.
Before she could close her legs to hide the smell, Draco was already lost in its dazzle. He touched the wet flesh at her core, rubbed the swollen tip of her clit, and send a shiver through her legs.
He liked it. He did it again. This time rewarded with a whimpering moan.
The tent in his trousers raised higher. A fact that she could not ignore. How much higher could it go?
"Do you want me to -."
"Yes." She nodded quickly.
Draco lowered the edge of his trousers. The agony of his pace tested all her patience.
He leaned forward. His lips took hers in his depth, the rising of his bare legs on hers fighting for her attention, then a shift of his body on top of hers. Each arm on side of her head.
The firm head of his cock touched at her open pussy. It swirled the liquid desire around as Draco tried to find the proper angle. It was not all bad as more than once he grazed her hot spot and brought forth a blinding reminder as to why she partook.
Her fingers grasped onto his shoulders as the pressure built. It eased through her folds so gently, yet in a startling difference. The swell of his cock through her had her blink more than once with wide eyes.
"Does it hurt?" He asked. One hand swiped away the fallen curls out of her eyes. "I'll stop."
"N-n-no. It doesn't hurt. You're just…"
"Just what?"
She blushed. "You're big. I didn't know, um, it could feel this way." Her eyes rolled as his cock slid against a piece of flesh inside her that shot tingles to her toes.
His lips smirked. "All things Malfoy are impressive."
He tilted his hips farther inside. The hilt of his cock just stopped him from reaching the back of her throat. Thankfully. Because any bit farther, and it might have actually hurt.
"Bravo." She moaned as it slipped out and back inward again.
The pumping inside her continued. Each with an exaggerated pull out and push back inside. Breath caught in her lips each time he entered. The grith filled her entrance to the fullest without pain. It contracted against this thickness as the pleasures bubbled against her flesh, her midline, the back of her knees, a tightness in her throat. All of it was him.
Her hands dropped away from his shoulders, totally overwhelmed. He took them inside his. Their fingers laced together as their breaths became one, his pace quickening with the ease at the slippery welcome she gave him. She kissed him. The energy flowed through his tissues. She felt the raw power that he delivered with each hard pump into her.
The taut naked expanse of his body over her was nothing like it was with Ron. Draco moved when she did. The slight shimmy of her arse as he reached the end of his length caused him to lessen his depth inside. She felt a building tension throughout her that made her breath quicken, her hips lift to meet his thrusts, and Draco responded with the same motion until she went limp below him with a shivering cry.
Satisfaction bloomed before her. His eyes remained locked with hers as the shaking of her post throes of passion subsided. The burn of their loins only matched the power of the emotion they bared for the other to see.
"I love you, Hermione." He grunted with another sharp jab within her.
Her lips moaned out a release. "Not as much as I love you, Drake."
The pace of his body turned panicked. Their bodies slapped together with a sound that might have mortified her if someone had heard. But no one did. It was just them two. The bodies joined together as the way nature intended, lost in each other's eyes and raw dripping emotion, the ecstasy they felt was the second most important feeling.
At one point, she cried out 'oh my god' and his body went rigid with a tightness throughout his muscles. A familiar hotness spread within her pussy, even as he withdrew from her body.
They cleaned up all evidence of their intercourse. It was against strict Hogwarts guidelines to shag on school grounds. Not that they weren't believed to have broken the rule once already. It was true that the rule was lectured more so on their account. Hermione believed the entire sexually active population might hate the pair of them for all the added reminders that sex was a mature decision not to be done on a campus meant for education.
The night had worn her energy thin. She was exhausted. Beneath her comforter, she found comfort in Draco's arms.
It was late. Way later than he should be out. Still, she refused to remind him to leave. The way he felt alongside her was more important.
"Do you think this is what it'll be like? When the baby is born, I mean."
Her eyes were heavy. She rested against him with the edge of sleep only millimeters out of reach.
His touch rested against her belly, as if his hand might protect her from ill will in the night. "I like to think it will. Except we'll be more tired."
Their daughter swirled inside her belly like she would a washing machine. Her excited kicks and jabs were the result of their exercise. Draco chuckled as the little thing fought off his firmness in her bubble. He retracted to only a light touch.
"Too tired to shag." She chuckled. It was difficult to imagine a time where she would miss an opportunity with Draco to do that. The sex was far more stimulating than it was with the quick draw Ronald Weasley, who's greatest effort to please her was to rub her nipples like he was starting a fire. "Draco, where will we stay? My parents house is nice but small. Your parent's house is large and accommodating but so far away."
He nuzzled his face into the mass that was once her hair. Now it was a nest of some prehistoric creature. Godric, she dreaded having to comb that flat.
"We might switch places so that neither one feels abandoned for too long." His eyes were closed, but a smile was on his lips. "You forget our parents will be more concerned with it than we will be."
"Will we share a room?"
"I'd like to."
"Will we share a bed?"
He snorted. "If we're in the same room, we're sharing a bed."
She liked that idea.
"What about our daughter? Where will she fit in?"
Like a ghost on its own accord, a hand rose up and gestured to the space – how minimal it was – between them. "Right about here somewhere I imagine. Or rather, I should say." The hand fell to her breast. "Right here."
Right. Professor Burbage told them that babies tend to feel at home on their mother's chest or breast as it was meant to be a comforting place for a newborn. Their source of food being the breast, it tended to be a favorite.
"I've been trying to think of what she might look like," she said.
"Like her mother, of course."
"And what if she's not?"
He sighed in frustration. "Then her father, I suppose."
Her father.
"Draco." Hermione jolted.
The sudden movement aroused his awareness. His eyes snapped open.
"What?"
"Merlin! How could we have been so blind?"
Red hair. Red hair. Red hair! All the Weasleys were infected with that vibrant, unmistakable red hair. For all her own darker, dominant features, if a witch of black hair produced a red-haired child with Arthur Weasley, what change was there that her daughter would resemble herself?
"Weasley," he mumbled hollowly.
Molly Weasley was a force to be reckoned with. Ron was her favorite son, the last one she was given. Ronald, the baby boy. Ronald Billius Weasley. If either of them learned of a red-haired baby born of Hermione's womb, they'd ensure that it was taken from her. Her muggle heritage would work against her seeing as the Weasley's would be able to ensure a fully protected magical childhood.
That Weasley matron would take away Draco and Hermione's daughter without a thought. Without regret. The witch thought her children were her own property as to be used and controlled to her fit. Ron was clearly in his mother's image as he allowed her to do so, often enabling her intrusive behavior rather than setting up boundaries.
Hermione was banned from having any unapproved muggle clothing at the Burrow. The 'temptation' of the lower necklines and tight trousers would distract the Weasley boys, as she was told. Hand holding was forbidden. Hugging, even if it was done in friendship earned a harsh glare of the witch that resulted in the demanding that Ronald and Harry change their shirts so that she might wash 'the stink' off.
That woman was a monster. She could not have her baby.
In her thoughts, she hadn't noticed her protective hold on her swollen stomach.
"No one will take her away," Draco assured her. His voice was firm enough to offer comfort.
She fell onto his shoulder, pressing her cheek against his body. "We've got to think of something. They can't think she's theirs. If they do, they'll make sure we never see her again."
"Not without a fight, they wouldn't get her without a fight." His lips pressed against her forehead. "I'd do everything in my power to make sure that never happens. Do you hear me? Weasel would be slaughtered before he laid a hand on our baby."
She gave a smile. Not that she was moved by the violence at the statement, but the fact he thought to offer his safety to act on his emotions. It was sweet.
Her fingers caressed his cheek. "That won't be necessary. I've got a better idea."
"Better than cursing that wanker? I seriously doubt it."
"Not better for you." She quirked a brow. "But it would reduce the risk of you being imprisoned for murder."
"Let's hear this mystical plot better than murder."
She snickered. "It shall require a fair amount of research."
"Ooh." He purred in her ear with heat. "Tell me more."
"A charm. It will be simple. The only thing that distinguishes a Weasley from any other is the red hair. All we must do is prepare a spell to cast the moment she is born. It will permanently alter her hair color. We can make the spell to regenerate and constantly keep her hair the same hue for life."
Draco pressed his lips tightly against her forehead again, wrapped his arm around her and held her close. "Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of the age."
Breath exhaled from his nose in long bursts. His fear burned through the small nostrils until it was all lost to the air.
It was in that nature that he was like his namesake: a dragon. Fearsome and armored, nostril breathing, loves a horde.
Their daughter was luckier than all the greatest brewed Felix Felicis. Draco Malfoy was a better gentleman than the biological donor could ever be. Not only did he display maturity beyond their years, he made their time together genuine. There was not a moment she believed him faking through. He was there. For her.
That was a gift that deserved reciprocation.
"I've thought of a name," Hermione whispered. "I want her to be named after her father."
There was caution as Draco nodded.
"Dracona."
He suddenly laughed. "Dracona? No bloody way are we naming our daughter that."
That was not what she expected. Laughing? It was so funny to him. Funny. Their daughter's name.
"It's the female version of your name." She grumbled.
"I know that. I still don't like it." He continued his fit of chuckling. It riled her frustration. She thought it was a nice fit, a brilliant gesture toward the wizard who saved them both from a life of Weasley unhappiness. "How self-absorbed would I have to be to have a child named after me? A daughter no less. No. I was thinking of a different direction."
Hermione knotted her arms against her chest. "How so?"
"My mother's family takes naming to new heights. It is how I got my own name."
"The stars," she breathed. "Like Sirius and Regulus."
For all their blessed communication, not much was said about times before Draco. Harry and Ron were never mentioned unless in disappointment. There was no reminiscing about the World Cup and the TriWizard Tournament or any year before.
Sirius and Regulus Black were two wizards she knew well. Sirius was Harry's godfather. Regulus was the younger, less wild brother of the Blacks, though that was only minimal, as their personalities were as large as their family riches. He was the one whom took to Hermione. Sirius loved the boys. They went flying and played chess while Regulus preferred witty conversation, intellectual debate, window shopping and tea sipping.
"Right. I forgot you're acquainted."
She nodded. "Yeah. Regulus used to say that any one with a name from the celestial was a Black. Every single one he met, he said."
"My idea is not one that has been used before," Draco said. "It is unique. Perhaps, a little too out there."
"Wouldn't be a Malfoy if it wasn't."
He mulled over the name in silence. His courage to reveal it faltered under the direct line of questioning. A pair of pursed, twisted lips registered his doubt.
The disheveled appearance of Draco Malfoy in her bed captured her attention as he searched for his confidence. Blonde hairs tousled, playfully rough against his head. They stuck everywhere. It was just long enough for her to run her fingers through. And the nude body apart from the form fitting underpants did not help.
She fell in love with the uptight wizard as a messy form in her bed. The thrill of holding his hand as a buttoned-up respectable wizard then turned unkempt would make it easy to endure those proper parties of his parents.
Was it a kink to want to make a pristine wizard dirty? If it was, it was hers.
The grey light of his eyes twinkled when he found hers. "Caprica. I thought we might name her Caprica."
"Caprica," she repeated slowly.
"It is short for Capricorn. Like the Zodiac sign and the all the constellations therein."
Ambitious, sensitive, realistic, disciplined. That was a fair mix of Draco and Hermione. Ambition was one of the primary Slytherin traits. A fair criticism of her would say that she is realistic and disciplined. Of course, disciplined applied well to him, too.
The numbers did not add up, however.
December to January was the time in which Capricorns were born. Their baby was due long past the time of the Capricorn.
"What do you think?" He asked.
The look in his eye was drenched with hope. Whatever he went through to find the name, it resonated with him. He was set on it.
"It is beautiful," she agreed, "not to mention unique."
"Do you like it?"
Caprica Malfoy flowed well. It sounded fitting of the aristocracy.
She gently placed her lips against his bare shoulder. "I love that you love it." She smiled. "Let's name her Caprica. Caprica Skye Malfoy."
"Skye?" His forehead wrinkled. Lips crinkled in question. "That's perfect. Caprica Skye."
Their hearts fell in love with the name the more they thought of it. Days after, they were calling her Caprica within Hermione's belly, rubbing her for good luck, and dropping everything to feel her kick. She was lively within the womb. Her kicks were constant.
Eventually the name was found out by everybody. Pansy was to thank for that. She would greet the baby belly as another person, always. Crowded corridor, or classroom, she made a point to say hello.
It was then the rest of the castle learned of the baby's name. Susan Bones crocheted a hat complete with the Capricorn star constellation atop the head. The name 'Caprica Skye' was embroidered through. It was complete with a matching pair of baby booties.
"I agreed to be in the creche elective," Susan told her with a kind smile. "Professor Sprout told me early. She knew I loved little nippers and wanted to make sure I knew."
Susan Bones was a good fit to care for a child. She was soft spoken and moved slow and easy. Rocking an infant to sleep would be easy work for the witch.
"That's wonderful, Susan. I'm glad to hear it."
"Do you have a pram yet? They love the fresh air. Helps them sleep, it does."
A pram? Were they supposed to be that prepared already?
She shook her head. "Not yet."
The emergence of the morning post caught their attention. Susan expected a package, so she had to toddle off to her table. She wished Hermione luck and repeated how excited she was.
A rain of letters, newspaper, magazines, and packages from home fell to the tables. Owls called down to their owners in a gentle reminder of love. School issued owls dropped to the tables to demand their payment: a bite of breakfast.
There was joy to have letters delivered from loved ones outside the castle walls. Winter holiday was long forgotten to their studies, and the thought of abandonment crossed all their minds in the still of night or the pause of concentration. The written statement no matter how small eased the woes of long-distance love.
Draco was absent from the morning meal. It was not mentioned by his Slytherin friends. The blaring openness in the conversation left her mind stalling on the open seat at her side.
She meant to ask, but it felt invasive. Slytherins were so private. If Draco was ill, he would not want her to be concerned or risk an illness herself.
Hermione expected her owl to deliver the written letter from her parents, each composing their own portion to convey their own thoughts and well wishes. Her eyes stayed at the plate with her full breakfast. She wished for more tomatoes than beans, as the gas wreaked havoc on her insides. It was the not-so-chummy symptom of pregnancy. Having to sneak away to break wind was not the highlight of her hour.
Instead of a few letters, there were a few letters and a large parcel dropped in front of her. She gasped, spilling her tomatoes atop her toast.
"Brilliant," she grumbled as she wiped the splatters from her tie.
"Oi. Look at that. A package from Malfoy Manor," Crabbe pointed out. The emerald green wax seal with the Malfoy family emblem of a dragon under his finger only proved him right. "Bet it's a care package from Mrs. Malfoy."
"Care package?" Hermione wrinkled her nose as she observed the label.
It was from Narcissa Malfoy, as the label read. Her script was pristine. It resembled Draco's own handwriting. Smooth, perfect, beautiful.
"We are so focused during exam time that we don't eat as much as we should. Narcissa sent care packages so that we kept up our energy," Pansy explained. "Mine had Parisian chocolates. My favorite."
"Mine had home baked biscuits and scones," Goyle stated.
"A collection of smoked meats and pork crackling." Crabbe dabbed the cloth napkin at his greasy, sausage lips. "What do you wager she sent you?"
They were not that well acquainted. Hermione had a variety of favorite snacks, but none that the Malfoy's recognized. Most were muggle snack cakes or crisps.
Her hands ran along the creamy ribbons. "I'm not sure."
Pansy clicked her tongue. "Narcissa has a trained eye. She's bound to have done her research. Not much is done without thought by her."
"Perhaps I should wait for Draco."
"Why?" Goyle barked. "It isn't his. It's for you."
She swallowed. "Quite right."
Narcissa and Hermione shared letters. They were a polite attempt to get to know each other through the only means offered. She still mentioned the fact that Draco hid his relationship from her, a fact that clearly troubled the witch.
She was her son's biggest fan. Draco was the apple of her eye. It was wrong for him to deny his own mother an intimate look at his life. It wounded Narcissa deeply.
Her fingers slipped the ribbon off the box. The length was larger than first glance.
"Ah, ah, ah." A thick, white card dangled in front of her face. "It's rude not to read the card first."
Pansy smirked as the witch was forced to retract from the box in favor of the card. Hermione opened the white card to black calligraphy drafted overtop a pale golden watermark of a dragon. It was astounding detail for an insignificant thing like a card.
Dearest Hermione,
Our hearts fill with joy as the time of year nears,
For all our patient waiting we found a purpose.
Many preparations, hopes, and fears,
Baby Malfoy will enjoy each purchase.
All our love,
Narcissa and Lucius
"Curious," Hermione flicked the card between her fingers. "Each purchase sounds like more than one. But there is only one here."
Crabbe and Goyle instinctively looked up. Most owls were gone. Only a few stragglers fluttered overhead.
"Narcissa is too well written to have made a mistake," Pansy commented.
"Go on, then. Open it." The package was pushed closer. "Sitting on pins and needles, we are."
The lid removed, a bounty of aubergine, grey, periwinkle, and ivory clothes overflowed its rim with an array of bows and ribbons, tulle skirts, and grow suits. Linen blankets were rolled along an edge. Numerous dummies of their shamrock green plastic were the only shade that was not gentle and feminine.
Her fingers caressed the spread with wide eyes. The tiny trousers, she could not stop looking at the little legs were her baby might fit.
"I see Narcissa decided upon a hue for little Caprica," Pansy said. Her eyes flashed an approval. Hermione, too, had to agree.
The clothes were fine and intricate. Colors, beautiful. These were not garb found in any department store in London. Some had to be specially crafted. They were too lovely to be for common purchase.
The wizard's interest in the gift faltered seeing as they were infant clothes and not expensive treats. The girls, however, were on high alert. Daphne, Millicent, and Daphne all stood to peer through the opening to get a closer look. Their hands ran over the small grow suits fitted with the same pair of disbelieving eyes as Hermione held.
"Can you believe she will be so tiny?" Daphne murmured.
"Oh, Merlin. Makes me want a sprog so bad."
There was an answering laugh. "You can't even decide what you'd like to do on holiday, Mill. You think a baby won't come with decisions to be made?"
Pansy held out a patterned jumper of silky-smooth material. "Look, Hermione. Narcissa made matching jim-jams. Aren't these darling?"
They were. The words were unfounded to describe how much she loved them all.
Her lips curled to a smile. The emotion back behind her eyes, threatening to ruin the happy calm with an outburst of pouring gratitude, when her eyes caught a pair at another table, then another, and another. The entire Great Hall seemed to have stop to watch the unboxing of her gift. Heat flooded through her cheeks. Curls fell to hide her stage fright.
Just as she scanned through the rest of the room, her eyes caught with a pair of emerald greens that greeted her with a kindness rather than profound interest. Harry was at the Gryffindor table. All their old friends were gathered around. A few stared. Harry did not. He'd taken to a soft smile of recognition.
Her lips sputtered. "I-I better take these back to my chambers."
"We'll carry the box for you," Crabbe said. His hand gestured to the towering, thickly built wizard with arms the size of her thighs at his side. Goyle was more than capable of carrying the box on his back. Packages given to owls were given special charms to lighten the load. Once they were delivered, the charm broke.
It was the only explanation as to the red face Goyle made when he collected the package in his arms.
Although there was no room to assist, Crabbe still walked with them to her private suite. Their silence too comfortable in Draco's absence. Without him, they were a pair of bumbling ogres tripping over their feet and wandering aimlessly.
"Are you certain you're alright?" Her fingers tapped nervously against her wrist.
His face was contorted with exertion. "Yeah. I got it."
"We can help," she clarified, "if you need us."
"It's just up here. I can hold it for that long," Goyle said. The wince on his face as he stepped higher on the staircase did not ease her worry.
Of course, true to his word, he handled it all the way to her door. She popped open it and let him enter first so that he might rush in and toss it down as soon as possible.
"Just set it anywhe - ."
Her voice stopped. The suite was not the same as it had been when she left that morning.
The walls were no longer deep purple. A pastel blue wallpaper coated the walls, split only by the ivory linen bed canopy that draped down the sides of the wall around the frame and lush ivory drapes. The fireplace? It was stark white. Not a shred of soot or ash within. Hogwarts standard candle chandelier was replaced with a vintage crystal one like one found in the Queen's castle.
Her bedding was changed to a pale blue and an ivory comforter. Every piece of furniture was lined in a white wood, not the mismatched collection it had been before.
A Moses basket with a similar canopy rested in the corner near the windows. The matching rocking chair coated in fluffy white cushions and a little stuffed lamb sat alongside. An easy pull string sat within reach from the seat to draw the flowy drapery closed.
"Just in time!" Draco suddenly emerged from the office doorway. "I just finished."
"Finished what?" She asked.
Goyle placed the box on the floor with a long groan. "You didn't say it would weigh ten stone."
"That was Mother's idea. Not mine," he answered.
She was able to collect her jaw to form a semblance of a coherent statement. "You planned this?"
He nodded, too pleased with himself. His typical black suit absconded from his body. Casual jean trousers and a white shirt hugged his lengthy frame. It was the first time she'd seen him dressed down. Her jaw dislodged once more.
Messy Draco was definitely her kink.
"I wanted it done before Caprica was born. It was ghastly. Made me want to leap from the window there if I stayed too long," he said.
It was dramatic. It had not been that bad.
"Not everyone is accustomed to royal luxury. It was adequate before."
"Are you saying you don't like it?" His brow quirked high.
He knew the answer.
It pained her to admit it. "No. I do like it. Quite a lot, if you must know."
"Then it was worth it," he said with a triumphant smile. "You had no idea how many design spells I had to learn from Mother just to do this. I'll know nothing else for at least a fortnight."
She shook her head and hid a wry smile. His charm worked so efficiently that she wondered how she'd not noticed it sooner. The kissable way he moved his eyes, squinting to relish every expression of surprise as she looked around the room. It drove her heart into overdrive.
Draco placed a gentle kiss at her cheek. The slippery slide of his hand from her shoulder, down her arm, into her hand and laced their fingers together in an unbreakable hold.
"Allow me to show you where our daughter will spend her first year at Hogwarts."