“Mr. Malfoy? Your wife will see you now.”
Hermione started to make Draco wait outside the room now during these appointments, she couldn’t bear to look at him when the tests showed negative again.
Always negative.
What was the point of even trying anymore?
It was all her fault anyway.
He should have chosen someone else.
When Draco entered their bedroom, Hermione was perched up on the bed, her back against the headboard, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. Her eyes were fixed dully on the window overlooking the Manor’s gardens. It was beautiful outside.
She felt like crying, but no tears fell. She had cried so much over the past few months that she would be impressed if she had any tears left to shed.
Hermione heard the hushed whispers being exchanged between her husband and the Healer, shortly followed by Draco’s courteous trademark farewell, “Thank you so much for your time. I’m sure we’ll be in contact.”
He spoke when she couldn’t. He was her voice. Always her advocate when she could no longer speak. Always when she needed it most.
This appointment was one of those times.
When Hermione heard the final click of the bedroom door close, she let out a little flinch. Draco would probably want to talk, but she wasn’t quite ready to discuss anything yet. With her eyes still trained looking out the window, she heard the gentle footsteps of her husband approach the bed, the stop.
The footsteps moved away - followed by another noise Hermione couldn’t quite place. She tore her eyes from the window to see what her husband was up to.
She pursed her lips, a small smile tugging at the corners.
Draco was tidying, making himself busy until she was ready to talk.
That man, she thought.
He had almost made it to the his and her bookshelf they had in their bedroom when she called out to him
“Draco,” she said, savoring the way his name felt on her tongue.
He turned, his brows furrowed in deep thought, but that faded when Hermione patted the space beside her on the mattress, inviting him to sit. Draco hesitated.
“I just,” he paused, still standing in place. “I just wanted to give you some time first. But still wanted to be close in case you needed me.”
“I always need you, Draco,” she breathed. “I’m just afraid I can’t give you what you want. It’s been years and I still can’t give you what you want.”
In an instant, Draco was seated beside her, still conscious of keeping a respectful distance.
He lifted her chin, a gentle reminder, a quiet ask to meet his gaze. “And what do I want, Hermione?”
Her coffee-brown eyes met with his cool silver.
“A family,” she replied softly. “You want a family.”
“You are my family, Hermione.” His answer was defining, resolute.
She let out a huff and partially rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Your definition of family means children?”
She tore her eyes away, desperate to look at anything but him. It was all too much.
His voice was gentle, yet finite, “Hermione Jean Malfoy, I love you with every fiber of my being. You breathe a life into me that I never thought I could have. You are my home. You are my family. You and I - that’s it. We are a family together. Us.”
“Talk to me,” he said, his voice pleading. Hermione could hear the sound of his heart breaking along with hers. “You said you were doing better.”
It was true - she was doing better. Some days, she didn’t care whether they had children. She was happy with their lives together, her life with Draco. After the war, they dove headfirst into their love and never looked back. Never caring about what others thought of them, never giving way to the hateful second-glance looks they received in Diagon Alley. It was just them. But now, a few years into their marriage, they began to ask themselves questions as to why they haven’t gotten pregnant yet. After all, time was moving fast around them. Their friends all had children. Ginny and Harry had three, and Astoria and Theo were expecting their fourth child.
Hermione’s eyes shifted to the desk where the baby shower invitation for Pansy and Neville lay. She hadn’t sent in her RSVP yet.
She was happy for her friends, truly. Happy for their lives and the joys of parenthood and children around them. There was no greater joy than watching her friends, her loved ones, become parents. But sometimes, the emotions crashed down like waves against a rocky shore, pulling her into the dark depths of murky waters.
But who is always there to rescue her? The one who dove straight into the water, reaching out and grasping her tight as they surface again?
Draco.
It’s always Draco.
It will always be Draco.
So, they officially began to try. While their intimacy remained passionate, it became scheduled to match Hermione’s ovulation. And when Draco had been ruled out for potential issues, Hermione wondered if she was even worthy of the man she loved dearly.
It was all her fault.
Always negative.
Her lip trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She attempted to put her walls in place and hide behind her vast wall of emotion. When she opened them again, Draco noticed she was occluding.
“Don’t shut me out,” he murmured, his eyes burned into hers before pressing his lips to her forehead in a searing kiss. “I’m here,” he whispered, “I’m with you. A team, remember? A team.”
His hands found hers, gripping them tightly as he searched her face. “Hermione,” he called, his voice a soft song, singing her name.
At the sound of her name, she let her walls crumble, allowing him in. “Draco,” she answered, meeting his gaze.
Draco reached up and cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Hermione leaned into his touch, into his warm, his comfort. The safety he was always able to provide.
“A team,” he repeated.
“A team,” she confirmed.