Chapter Nine

Thursday, 24 September

Hermione jolted from her slumber, hand to her wand and pointed at the door in the span of a breath, drowsy and confused. Sounds of a muffled conversation and small, scuttling footsteps came from outside her door. A loud thump, as if something was dropped on a rug, awakened her fully.

The long crimson curtains of her west-facing window were drawn, revealing the sherbert orange sky of an early evening, and it took her a breath's moment to remember where she was through her sleep-addled fog.

Home, or what was her new home for the remainder of the school year. All in all not a terrible trade-off. She thought as she sat up on her new bed with a grunt. At least she had a room to herself, and no longer shared it with three other women. Though they weren't girls any more, exchanging whispered gossip and giggles after the candles were blown out, Hermione appreciated the privacy of her new room, especially as her condition became more burdensome.

The turret was much larger than Hermione had anticipated when the headmistress had led them down to the third floor. The statue of Elfrida the Mender guarded the door of their rooms, and with a whispered Infans, she leapt aside, revealing a rough stone passage. Inside was a circular stone room, much like the other towers, but smaller. Next to the entrance, flames licked at the logs in the large fireplace, across towering windows looking down into the courtyard and giving the cozy room abundant natural light.

A couch and several tables and comfortable chairs were spewn about the room. There were three doors: two on the left and one on the right of the entrance. The right door led to Malfoy's room, similar to her own with its own bathroom. On the left was her room next to a smaller one.

The baby's room, had been McGonagall's answer when Hermione had ducked her head in. It was devoid of all furnishings, empty except for the entrance door and the one that led to her bedroom.

Hermione had owl'ed her parents later that night to ask for a mother and daughter shopping trip to buy baby stuff. It wouldn't be the most pleasant experience, shopping wasn't her favorite pastime, but if it could repair any of the damage she had created between her mother and herself, she would swallow the thorn. Her mother had yet to owl her back.

Living with Malfoy wasn't as tense as she expected it would be. To her surprise, she barely saw the boy. In the four days since they had been living together, she had seen him thrice in passing, each exchanging a quick nod of the head and separating as quickly as a blink. His only presence was the faint glow of light underneath his door when she was on the couch studying.

This was what puzzled her as she left the comfort of the bed to investigate the noises coming from their living area. She very much doubted he would have friends over. Hermione wasn't quite sure if Malfoy had friends, to be honest.

A selfish part of her hoped he wasn't the one creating the cacophony; she rather liked having the cushy chair and table next to the window to herself to study in quiet.

After her late afternoon nap, she planned to start the sanskrit rune research project due at the end of term, not to mention the five feet of parchment due in arithmancy regarding the geometry of wand casting. And the book she just checked out about the components of advanced warding was calling to her. After their meeting about her situation, Professor Tagget had agreeably allowed her to skip the N.E.W.T class with the 7th and 8th years to instead complete an independent study.

Pregnant or not, she would receive an O in every single one of her N.E. .

Hermione stepped out of her door frame and said, none-too-kindly, "Malfoy, if you could keep the noise d-"

But it wasn't him out there after all. Or rather, not the Malfoy she thought it would be.

Mrs. Malfoy turned her cool blue gaze towards Hermione. "Ah, Miss Granger, I see you've found your nap….restful." Her veiled eyes skirted across Hermione's form, still dressed in her school uniform, though likely disheveled.

Hermione felt herself blush, subconsciously flattening her wild hair as she approached the Malfoy matriarch, just missing stepping on a house elf running by with a load of boxes in its arms. "May I ask, what exactly are you doing in my quarters?" She asked, hoping her irritation was not too evident in her tone.

"These are my son's rooms as well, and he was the one to invite me, if you must know," Mrs. Malfoy said in a chiding tone. She turned to the box-wielding elf waiting at her feet and pointed to the baby's room. "I'm here to help with the arrival of my grandchild. Much higher, Fivette," she said in the direction of the windows, and Hermione glanced up to see another house elf balanced precariously on a ladder and adjusting green velvet curtains.

"Not to stay, of course?" Hermione asked, incredulous. She was sure there was absolutely no way McGonagall would allow that to happen, if only for Hermione's peace of mind.

Mrs. Malfoy laughed, a soft, tinkling sound, "Oh my, no. After being made aware of the sorry state of the nursery, I've come to furnish it, and perhaps," she paused, glancing around the room then shrugged primly, "assist elsewhere."

Hermione crossed her arms, suddenly defensive of her little room. "We didn't need curtains. The windows are magicked so no one can see in."

"As they should be. It couldn't hurt to add a bit of style to this room, especially since you'll be sharing it with my son." From her intonation and the subtle upturn of her lip, Hermione was sure Mrs. Malfoy didn't approve of the living situation at all, let alone the drapery.

"Your son can go back to the dormitory if he's so unsatisfied living here; we'll be fine on our own. Without the added decor." Hermione huffed, the annoyance at this woman's unwelcome intrusion boiling over.

The house elf hanging onto the ladder stared between Hermione and its master, eyes wide in apprehension. Mrs. Malfoy's lips thinned, her voice as soft and deathly sweet as arsenic dipped toffee.

"I'm sure you're unaware of this, Miss Granger, being that you are new to our ways, but in wizarding culture, the expectant woman's mother is usually the one to help prepare the home. Seeing as your mother is, well, non-magical and unable to be of any use, I've kindly volunteered to take up that duty for the sake of my family." As if that were the end of the conversation, Mrs. Malfoy turned her back on Hermione and continued rearranging the room.

Hermione seethed where she stood. The gall of this woman to come into her personal space and insidiously insult her family. So what if her mum was a muggle? She would still be involved in their lives, take care of the baby if they need anything, love her grandchild just as much as the prim witch currently transfiguring Hermione's favorite furniture.

The fragile, unspoken truce she and Malfoy had between them did not extend to his mother.

She felt the sudden, impulsive urge to tell Mrs. Malfoy this child might not be her kin, not a Malfoy at all. She was tempted to tell her every sordid, filthy detail of her and Draco's time on the cellar floor.

But instead she took a breath then another until her blood no longer boiled, until her heart beat at its normal rate, and she could think more clearly.

Changing into jeans and a jumper- her more comfortable, muggle clothing - Hermione grabbed her bag and headed to the library to study.

The lanterns of the library had already been lit by the time Hermione arrived, giving the place a charming glow. She inhaled deeply and smiled. She loved the smell of the library - the scent of leather and musty pages, of old magic and dried ink. She could sit here for hours indulging in her yearning for knowledge and feel not one bit of guilt. It was a welcome change to her now claustrophobic quarters.

When does Madam Pince retire? Hermione thought absently as she made her way to the back to the large room, heedless of the whispers and stares she was receiving from behind bookshelves. The vulture-like librarian had to be getting on in the years, and last spring's battle had aged the woman even further.

Perhaps a ministry job isn't in the future for me after all, she pondered then halted as she came to the end of the aisle where her favorite study spot was. The desk was under two, bright lanterns with enough table room for her usual stack of books. But most importantly, it was hidden behind a bookcase, away from most prying eyes.

This time however, it seemed to be occupied by a slim, blond haired Slytherin with his nose in a book.

Hermione rolled her eyes, accepted the fact that she'd have to share table space, and took a seat at the other end. A library table was the least of the things she was sharing with Draco Malfoy, after all.

"Good evening," she said hesitantly, removing scrolls of parchment and textbooks from her bag.

Malfoy didn't bother looking up.

Setting her final book down, she sighed. "If we're going to be living together, we may as well start talking, Mal-Draco," Hermione said, trying out his first name. It felt odd in her mouth, like a sour lemon tart that needed more sweetness.

After a few minutes of his stony silence passed, she continued. "You could have warned me that your mother was coming today."

Draco slammed his book closed, and he finally regarded her with cool grey eyes and a sneer. "Just as you could have warned me last weekend. McGonagall's presence was just what I wanted with my afternoon tea. You should have owl'ed me before you told the whole bloody world, Granger. I'd have preferred to talk to my mother on my own instead of her having to hear it from someone else's mouth," he snarled, his voice raising a pitch at the end in his anger.

"I'm sorry!" She whisper-shouted, "It just sort of came out at the Weasley's when I heard about Greyback's escape and-"

"Pardon? His what?" Draco asked, his posture changing from a slouch to rigidly upright, and his normally hooded eyes flashing open with the news.

Oh, blast. She hadn't told him yet. Though it was rather difficult to have a discussion with someone who would barely make eye contact with her, let alone engage in any conversation. This was the most they'd spoken in, well, months.

"He-well, he escaped ministry custody a few weeks ago. It hasn't been in the papers yet, but Harry said-"

Draco snorted in an entirely undignified manner. "Potter, of course that wanker has something to do with this."

"Well it isn't as if he's personally responsible." Hermione felt herself redden. "There's a full manhunt going on for Greyback as we speak. Monsters like him can't hide in the shadows for long," she finished with a conviction she could almost trick herself into believing. Almost.

"You'd be surprised," Draco muttered darkly, and brought his book to his face as good as ending their brief chat.

The reminder of that heinous werewolf sent a cold shiver down Hermione's spine. Without hesitation, she pulled the advanced warding textbook from her satchel and began reading.

Many hours passed as the two of them sat in silence, consumed by their respective work. Thoughts of Mrs. Malfoy, werewolves, and baby furniture evaporated from her mind as Hermione scribbled out the complexities of wand movement in protection spells, the scratching of her quill overlapping with his. She briefly looked to see him hunched over his parchment.

"Why are you reading that?" Hermione inquired, recognizing the light blue cover of Baby and Brew floating in front of him. The pregnancy potion handbook had saved her more than a few aches and pains. Was he planning on making her potions? While it would be useful and save her time, it was quite out of character of him.

Draco didn't look up, his quill still moving furiously across the curling surface. "There are more than a few potions in here I've found to be useful."

Hermione marked her book on the page she'd get back to, her brows bunching in curiosity. "How are tummy tonics for expectant mums useful to you?"

"Page 214," Draco articulated in an annoyed voice. "Paternity potion. I've sent an order to the apothecary for the ingredients this morning. In a week's time we will know whose child you really are carrying. And if the fates are kind, it won't be mine."

A/N:

I know I'm slow to update. I hate that I am, too. My muse is fickle and unfeeling and frequently runs off into the Marvel universe to play with the X-men. I'm *extremely* hard on my own writing and toss away a lot of it…and I'm trying to repeat to myself every time I put my fingers to the keyboard that this is fanfic, not a dissertation, and, yes, I'm going to upset some people with the direction I decide to take their beloved characters, and THAT'S OK. The fact that some of you have stuck around and are so lovely and supportive means I can't be *that* bad, right?

*exhale*

When this is all finished and Draco and Hermione get to where they're going, I absolutely promise to re-edit and streamline this mess. I have so many more Dramione stories I want to tell, but ideas are a dime a dozen. It's the execution and the actual *doing* that matters.

Anywhos. Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated.