Warning: Flashbacks and somewhat disturbing images later in the chapter.

Chapter Twelve

No.

The word wouldn't stop repeating itself in his head as Draco thought again of the white flash, the fatal beacon of his cataclysmic circumstances.

"There has to be….this is a mistake," he muttered, feeling faint. He was sure he had brewed the potion correctly, had measured each component as precisely as one could, and cut each piece to within a millimetre of accuracy. Unless it was the ingredients themselves that were off, Draco reasoned.

As he turned towards his bedroom door, he was surprised when a hand gripped his forearm.

"No," said Granger, her brown eyes narrowed in anger. "You're not running off to your room and avoiding me again. We're going to sit down and have a chat."

Draco surprised himself by allowing her to lead him to the couch where he plopped down, still nonplussed.

Granger gingerly leaned back into the chair, her hands coming to rest on her pregnant belly.

Pregnant with….with my child, Draco thought, running his hands through his hair and breathing deeply. Oh, Merlin.

There was a pause as neither one of them spoke.

Granger cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Look, Draco, you insisted we conclusively know who the father is, and now we do. We need to figure out where we go from here."

He had insisted, he knew that. He had also been convinced this child wasn't his, so absolutely certain that the potion would prove him right that he hadn't even thought of the alternate possibility.

But now the answer was as plain as day. He was going to be a father. He was going to have a child with Hermione Granger.

Draco didn't know which prospect was more alarming.

Where did he go from here? He was sure Granger had everything mapped out for the next five years, had a concrete plan for both herself and the baby while he sat there, mute, in utter disarray. Draco remembered her in class, dragging around her two oafs, always one step ahead of everyone else. He wouldn't be surprised if she was going to make a bid for Minister for Magic right out of Hogwarts.

Probably had the speeches already written.

Draco blew out a huff of air, sat back on the couch, and finally looked her in the eye.

"Under normal circumstances, we'd get married," he said, his lip turning up in distaste.

Granger snorted, sharing his sentiment. "I'd rather eat every book in the library, one page at a time."

"Well, what do Muggles do with bastards?"

"Stuff them into burlap sacks, and let the river decide their fate," she said acerbically. "We're not monsters. Children born out of wedlock aren't treated any differently. Anymore, at least."

"The child won't be entitled to any inheritance from my family." It's not a matter he had any choice in; it's just the way it was. Wizarding laws were antiquated, but the magic powerful and hard to circumvent.

"We'll be able to support ourselves with or without your heirlooms, Draco," she bit out his name, fingers interlocking over her extended abdomen protectively. "I plan on working after we graduate. We'll be just fine."

"You plan on working? With a child that's only a few months old? What nonsense," he waved his hand dismissively.

A dusky flush crept up Granger's tan neck. "My parents can help, and I could sign them up for a nursery when we're busy. It's not that expensive"

"Brilliant. Put it in a pen with a bunch of dirty, runny-nosed little muggles," he drawled.

"They'll be fine," she gritted through her teeth, her whole face now blooming crimson, making the light freckles on her nose stand out.

The words gliding out of his mouth faster than he was able to catch them. "Well, it seems a ludicrous waste of money to pay strangers when I could mind the baby during the day," he muttered awkwardly.

"You're…you're going to be around?" Her eyes widened slightly at him then, her expression open and filled with question.

Draco shifted on the couch in discomfort. "Yes, of course," he grunted, his arms folding across his chest. "As we've literally just established, Granger, the child is mine, too."

For all his flaws, Draco understood blood obligations. Family always came first, a line his father had repeated endlessly throughout his life, and now as an adult, Draco agreed by his own volition. They had stuck together through the horror of the Dark Lord, through the turbulence and fear, racing across the maelstrom of spells during the battle in search of each other.

Of all the things he was coming to realise about his parents, both the good and the ugly, their love of him and each other was never in question. Who would he be as a man if he didn't do the same for his child, wanted or not?

"Hermione," she shot back, her surprised expression shifting back to irritation.

"What?"

"My name is Hermione. We're having a child together, Draco. The least we could do is refer to each other by our first names."

"Whatever," he grumbled.

"It's important that-"she started then was interrupted by a loud grumbling from her stomach. If at all possible, she turned a darker shade of crimson. "Pardon me. I'm a bit hungry."

Draco gestured toward the large windows, darkened by evening, where a silver cloche, dinnerware, and a goblet with a pitcher were laid upon the table she normally used for studying. The house elves knew to leave him dinner there as he hadn't frequented the Great Hall in some time.

"It's all yours," he drawled, rising. His stomach was a tight ball inside his chest, and he was no longer hungry.

He heard a soft thank you before his door clicked shut.

"Granger?" Draco's words echoed back to him in a thousand mocking voices as he crept down the narrow cellar stairs.

granger….Granger? Granger! They spat and shrieked, whispered and begged. The words repelled off the walls, crawling back up his throat, and he choked, coughing.

The pinprick of light at the end of his wand was eaten by the dark, and he descended further deep, deep down into the mouth of hell.

He heard the grunts, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh before his bare feet touched the soft earth of the forest floor. The canopy of trees above shook and shuddered, stark black against the luminescent full moon.

Two figures struggled in the shadows beneath a thin, dead hawthorn strangled by vines, and he approached, moss silent.

The great beast's hairy back was turned away from him, moving above the naked girl, her bronze limbs frail as a sparrow, her blood as bright as her fear. Her eyes found his in the fading light.

Please, they begged.

But Draco was struck still as stone, his wand the only thing moving, trembling between impotent fingers.

It paused, sensing him, muzzle slick and sharp and dripping red down his shaggy chest, and glee reflecting in his predator eyes.

And in a moment the Beast was upon him.

The stone slabs sweat where Draco fell on them, the wet chill permeating his naked flesh, and he moaned and writhed upon the floor, looking up and begging for help from the indifferent sky as the Beast feasted.

His throat an open wound, Draco looked down at his bare chest, the long, pale torso of criss-crossed, uneven scars. His mouth hung open, a silent scream of agony while his limbs elongated, his chest expanded, and the silver fur sprouted from his body, every hair a razor sharp needle through his skin.

When he stood, sleek and beautiful in his gleaming new coat of fur, Draco raised his muzzle and howled at the moon.

The girl before him quivered, drawing backwards into herself. Her body naked and ready for the taking, he came to her, moving gracefully, hungerly toward his prey.

Long, chestnut curls fell to her front, and with a claw he moved them to the side, tenderly, so tenderly, revealing her soft, ripe breasts - a feast to his carnivorous eyes.

A slimy voice chuckled behind him. "Show this Mudblood how it ought to be."

And Draco grasped her clawing hands, trapped them above her head, ready to taste his reward...

Draco awoke gasping, his sweat-soaked sheets coiling around his body, his neck, choking him. The wild thud thud thud of his heart pounded. But it wasn't only the rapid beat of his heart he heard pounding.

"Draco? Are you ok? I heard yelling," came her reedy voice through his door.

"I'm fine, Granger," he meant to yell, but it came out in a raspy creak.

"Are you sure?" The doorknob turned after her cast alohomora, and without thinking Draco grasped his wand, slamming the door shut with a spell, and locking it once again.

"Stay out!" He screamed, and only when he felt her presence move back toward her room did his bow-tight body release, trembling, and his head fell forward into his hands. Looking down, he noticed his nightshirt had somehow come open in his tossing and turning, and his pajama pants were tented.

Acidic bile rose to Draco's mouth as disgust rippled throughout him, and he ran to his bathroom just in time to coat the pristine porcelain sink with the small contents of his stomach. Tearing off his sweat-damp clothing, he turned the handle of the shower and gasped as the freezing water hit him like a thousand little spikes.

Head down, he glared at his erection, willing it to go away. How could he be turned on by such a revolting dream? Why did his brain continue to live the moments of horror over and over again, his own personal tormentor?

Disgusting, he thought, moving his head under the frigid stream to wash the recreant tears from his eyes.

Draco lathered his brush, brought it to his skin, and scrubbed until he was raw and aching and clean. Until he thought of nothing but the smell of sandalwood and the tingle of every goose pimple rising upon his body, and no longer saw her terrified eyes or felt the heat of her breasts or the hot blood on his hands.

A/N:

I was originally going to have Draco leave dramatically, but, honestly, I write that way too damn much. Time for him to stop avoiding and get to accepting. This chapter is a bit plot lite, and shorter. I need to get more interaction between the two and Draco's POV, which I've kept in the back of my mind, but hadn't written.

Next chapter: Gender reveal!