Becoming

At one o'clock that afternoon, Draco Flooed into Hermione's flat. He stepped out onto a bumpy bricked hearth, and vanished the soot from his clothes with a practised scourgify.

The Floo had dropped him in what should have been a sitting room, but it looked more like a study. Books lined every wall, and the chair and sofa were flanked with reading lamps. A desk sat to the side of the hearth, squished into a corner, and it too was piled with books and a number of notepads filled with Hermione's neat script. If he had any doubts that this was Hermione's home, this room would immediately dispel them. Through a doorway to the right, Draco glimpsed a kitchen and the beginning of a hallway.

"Granger?" He called out, stepping further into the room. "Are you here?"

There was a small crash from down the hall, and a loud curse. Yes, she was definitely home.

"Yes, I'm here," she called out. "You can come on back. Second room on the left."

Toeing off his shoes first and leaving them by the hearth, Draco strode down the hall and leaned into the specified room. Granger was sitting on the floor in a small, dim bedroom, surrounded by pieces of wood and an assortment of screws. There was a tall cardboard box on its side behind her, with additional wooden pieces spilling from it, and Draco imagined that it falling had produced the noise from earlier. She looked up at him from amid the debris. Curiously, she was wearing large-framed glasses -- Draco had never known her to wear glasses while at school.

"What are you doing?"

"Attempting to put together a rocker," she answered tiredly.

"Do you want some help?"

"Have you ever put together flat-pack furniture before?" She asked him, a curious look on her face. Her hair was haphazardly secured on top of her head in a large bun, and she was wearing an oversized, stained jumper that hung off her shoulder. Despite her rumpled appearance, Draco was once again struck by her beauty. The glasses, though large on her thin face, set off the sharp angle of her jaw in a striking way, and Draco supposed he would quickly get used to seeing her in them.

"No, but I know how to follow instructions," he said with a shrug. Draco unbuttoned his cardigan and draped it over the side of the wooden crib just inside the door. His heart thrilled at the sight of it, and his hand lingered against the frame for a moment. He dropped to a seated position across from her.

"Thank you," she said gratefully as she shoved the instruction pamphlet toward him.

"This is the third piece of furniture I've put together this week, and even with magic it's a bit frustrating."

"I can see that," Draco muttered. The directions were abysmal, lacking in detail and coupled with images that were poorly rendered.

"I wanted to do as much of it as I could by hand," Hermione fretted. "I lost out on so many months where I could have been preparing and setting up this space for her." Hermione waved her hand at the room distractedly.

"But I woke up this morning with a lot of pain and I haven't been able to do as much as I wanted."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. Pain? "Is the baby alright? Are you alright?"

"Oh! Yes," Hermione clarified in a rush. "It's just residual pain from the war. I get tremors and nerve pain in my arm sometimes." Her left arm twitched almost imperceptibly, and Draco knew she must be referring to the wounds she sustained at his family home during the war. Guilt tugged at him.

"It makes it hard to keep a grip on things, and makes my brain a bit foggy sometimes."

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, cautiously.

"If you could sort this --" she waved at the wood bits -- “that would be wonderful. I think I'll pull together some tea. Have you eaten?"

Draco nodded absently as he secured two pieces together. "Tea would be lovely, though, thanks."

She stood with some measure of difficulty, and Draco could tell her balance was off. "All I've got in is herbal, is that alright?"

"Sure."

When Hermione returned a short while later, levitating a tea tray in front of her, Draco had the seat constructed and was using his wand – clamped in his teeth – to levitate it as he secured it to the legs. She settled the tray nearby and sank back onto the floor across from him with a squeak of discomfort.

"Alright there, Granger? We can move to the sofa or something if you'd prefer."

"No, 'm'alright. I know I won't easily be able to get up off the floor soon enough, so I am enjoying it while I can."

"You enjoy sitting on the floor?"

"Sometimes. Makes me feel young again, like I'm five years old and watching the telly."

Draco nodded in understanding and surveyed her. She had her legs folded underneath her, and had leaned back to support her upper body on a braced right arm. Her left arm -- the one that had been tremoring -- was draped across the top of her baby bump, framing it. She looked calm, despite the pain in her eyes.

Draco smiled at the sight.

"What?" Hermione inquired.

"I like seeing you relaxed like this." Damn. He'd spoken without thinking again.

She chuckled. "Yes, I can imagine this is a new experience for you. As you know, Hermione Granger has never relaxed a day in her life." Her tone was self-deprecating, cynical.

"Why?"

She was silent, and Draco cringed, feeling immediately that he had gone a step too far. He was surprised when, after a few breaths, Hermione answered him with a frown.

"Because there's always something that needs to be fought for, I suppose. I've often found myself being one of the few voices doing so, and that means no days off. And it's expected that I work twice as hard as someone with higher status in order to accomplish anything."

"That's a load of shite."

"True shite, though. It's part of why I left the Ministry."

To his knowledge, Hermione had not publicly discussed her resignation from the Ministry. She had worked for two years in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was on track to become department head by the turn of the decade, and then had suddenly transferred to a clerking position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her transfer had been big news at the time, because she had made waves within the DRCMC. She had completely revitalised their census program, and had initiated reviews of dozens of policies in that time. Draco was vaguely aware that she had been working on a reform for the werewolf registration program, as she had been lambasted in the papers for endangering youth by allowing werewolves to integrate into the wizarding community. The reforms had gone radio silent after her transfer, and Draco had assumed she had been transferred by some higher ups solely to shut her up. When she had quit less than a year later, the papers were abuzz, calling her a tryhard and a failure at reform. Some even went so far as to say she had been fired for attempting to overthrow the Ministry with unnecessary reform and turn control over to the Muggle government.

Of course, Hermione had long since finished her law programmes by this time, and she had enough confidence and clout to immediately sue several publications for libel and defamation of character. She had represented herself. She won, and launched herself into a career in magical law. Her new firm had been highly publicised for some of the clients she retained, which ran the gamut of private businesses and nonprofit organisations alike. She was a dab hand at contract law, and also lent her skills to a number of creature rights groups in the country, pro-bono, as they fought for more protections and new legislation. She had been directly involved in influencing a number of endangered creature tracking laws, and also a revitalization of the dragon rights arena, helping to impose stricter consequences on poachers.

“They were blocking me left and right even when my pureblood colleagues were getting their recommendations sent to the Wizengamot without hardly any review. I was brushed off so many times that I lost count, and I just completely lost faith in the Ministry after transferring.”

“Do you sometimes wish you had stuck it out?”

“No.” Her answer was firm and unequivocal. “Sure, I miss the stability of the salary and the hours, but the entire reason I started working there was to make a difference. They tolerated me while I was focusing on creatures, but the moment what I was doing inconvenienced any pureblood institutions, I was nothing but a threat.”

Hermione sighed, and rubbed her hand over her belly distractedly. “I think it just wasn’t my time there. Too many of the old guard still stand.”

“That’s changing, though, at least,” Draco offered up. “I know a handful of the familial seats in the upper house of the Wizengamot have turned over to the younger generation in the past few years. And some of the seats passed to sympathetic folks of our parents’ age.”

“Yes, and I know it will get easier as we go on. I imagine I will end up back in the Ministry at some point in my career. I just need to wait for the tides to shift, and I’m using outside pressure in the interim.”

“I think you could be Minister someday if you wanted,” Draco said earnestly. “You’re influencing law from where you are, and I think it will only get easier.”

“One can hope so,” Hermione said, and Draco could see her cheeks redden at the praise. Her caramel complexion flushed, and she wouldn’t meet his eye.

Draco secured another piece onto the rocker and stretched out his neck before grabbing for his tea. The mint tea had been spiked with some very floral honey, and the overall effect was pleasant. Draco didn’t normally go for tea, but he imagined that herbal teas were all Hermione could drink at this stage in her pregnancy.

After a few moments savouring the hot brew, Draco broached the topic of their meeting today. “So,” he began, “Theo and Padma seem to be quite happy for us. And I had an illuminating conversation with Daphne Greengrass this morning. They’re all in support of us however we choose to approach the media circus that will be coming.”

“Yes, I spoke with Theo yesterday afternoon. He popped into my office quite unexpectedly to chastise me for begging off sick from our in-person meetings,” Hermione laughed. “Padma has rubbed off on him after all these years. I can’t say I’ve ever had such an earnest hug from a former Slytherin.”

“Theo, as in Theodore Nott,” Draco said slowly, flabbergasted. “He hugged you? I don’t think he’s ever even hugged me, and I grew up with the bloke.”

Hermione nodded, smiling at him. “He seemed so genuinely happy for us, and for Scorpius. You didn’t tell me that he’d been asking for a sibling for so long,” she chided, good-naturedly.

“Scorp has been asking for a sibling since he could talk, it feels like,” Draco mused. “Once Daphne had her youngest, it was all he ever wanted. He is so full of love, I just don’t understand it sometimes.” Draco shook his head, and the wonder of fatherhood washed over him again.

“He’s a remarkable child,” Hermione murmured. She caught his eye and held his gaze. “I meant what I said the other day. You’ve done quite an excellent job raising him.”

“I just want his life to be everything mine couldn’t be,” Draco confessed. “Full of promise and unconditional love, and without the threat of death at every turn. I just really don’t want my mistakes to dictate his path in life any more than they already have.” The rawness in his voice must be just as apparent to Hermione, Draco thought, as his throat itched with the emotion.

“You’re a good father, Draco. Scorpius is lucky, and Sage will be too. Merlin, I know it’s not really my place, but I’m so proud of the changes you’ve made in your life over the years. They’re obvious to anyone who takes a moment to look. I know I wouldn’t have shagged you if I had any doubts,” she laughed. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better as we tackle this,” Hermione finished, gesturing to her belly.

"Me too," he agreed.

Although he appreciated her support, her words only made Draco more aware of how little Draco and Hermione really knew each other. As adults they were completely different people than who they had been at seventeen. Aside from cordial small talk here or there at events and the blowout argument after his trial, they hadn’t spent more than five minutes in conversation up until the fateful anniversary ball that had thrown them together. All they knew of each other in the many years between was what made the news.

Draco had slipped out of the ballroom as soon as he could. Ron Weasley had been complaining loudly about his presence at the event, making sure he was in earshot as he slung insult after insult. Death Eater. Evil. Waste of space. Should be in Azkaban. Draco was so very tired of it.

He eventually found a small alcove down one of the halls of the massive castle the Ministry had rented for the memorial, and he slid down the wall to sit on the cold flagstone floor. Draco wasn’t even sure why he allowed himself to be talked into attending the event in the first place. Theo had been adamant he got out of the house, and Draco wanted to jinx him for it. Sure, he hadn’t attended any events since Astoria’s death, but why did he need to? It wasn’t as though he felt particularly welcome, even after years spent carefully dismantling the Malfoy image and restructuring it in a way that his son could one day be proud of.

It would just never be enough for some people. Draco was debating finding Theo and begging off. He just wanted to go back home and read a book with his son. Draco almost didn’t hear the tapping of the high heels that approached him, but when they stopped just in front of his alcove, he dragged his eyes up from the flagstone.

The tapping belonged to a pair of gold pumps. Brushing the tops of the shoes was a silk taffeta gown in a deep plum. Through a high slit on one side, Draco saw a stretch of caramel-coloured skin, marred only by the discolouration and pucker of scars. The leg disappeared into more silk at a set of wide hips. Draco dragged his gaze further up, past the nipped in waist and over the shapely breast. The dress was secured with a single over-the-shoulder gather, and the one-armed design set off the woman’s sharp collar bones and the long column of her neck. As Draco finally skimmed over the lips – a corner tugged up into a smirk – and reached the eyes, he recognized the woman.

The years had been kind to Hermione Granger, he decided. It had been a couple of years since he had seen her in person – though Draco supposed he hadn’t really seen anyone except the Greengrasses and Notts in the last two years. She looked healthy, and she held herself with confidence; she exuded power in a way that was altogether unfamiliar to Draco. It was very different from the dignified, aristocratic power of his mother and the Greengrass women, and nowhere near the unhinged power his aunt displayed. Hermione held herself out as a woman who demanded respect and who, failing to receive it, would fight for it. She would attack you with logic, and knowledge, and she knew she would win. Something tingled across his skin as if the magic in the air was being charged by her mere presence. And it was damn sexy, Draco realised with a start.

“I kicked him for you, if that helps,” Hermione said, breaking the silence with a smile. She leaned against the corner of the alcove wall.

“I hope it hurt,” Draco rasped out.

“Oh, it did. I wore my pointy shoes tonight, so I know there will be a nasty bruise.” Hermione kicked a foot out from the slit to illustrate, a cheeky smile on her face.

Draco nodded his thanks. After a moment, Hermione stepped toward him, and held out a tumbler full of an amber liquid to him. He took it, and the rich, peaty smell of the scotch permeated his senses.

Hermione turned, and with some manoeuvring of the expansive fabric, sank down to the ground next to him. Draco watched her, bemused. The skirts of her gown flared out around her, and her thigh came into full view as it slipped through the slit on the front of the dress. She toed off the pumps with a sigh, took a sip from her own tumbler, and leaned her head back against the rough stone wall.

“I hate these memorial balls,” she muttered.

“Likewise,” Draco answered, lifting his glass to her before taking a sip. The scotch burned in a pleasant way. Hermione wiggled and stretched her feet, obviously cramped from the pointed pumps.

“I haven’t seen you at an event in a while,” she noted plainly.

“My presence is usually only tolerated at these types of events, Granger. The Malfoy money is still in demand, but you and I both know my attendance only causes people pain.” He was blunter than he intended to be, but she didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry you still feel that way.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Granger. I made my bed and I will lie in it for the rest of my life. People like Weasley will make sure of it.” He took another sip and relished the burn on his tongue.

“Draco,” she started, hesitantly. “I don’t pity you, you know. I’m not interested in a repeat of the argument we had after the trials. I know you don’t seem to want to believe it, but not everyone sees you only for your past mistakes. There are plenty of us who see you for what you’re doing now and the atonement you’ve shown. I hope you realise that someday.”

He was silent. They sipped at their scotch in a quiet that hovered somewhere between companionable and tense.

“So tell me,” she said after a while. “What brought you out tonight, as you seem to be unaccompanied?”

“Theo Nott.”

“Ah. Yes, I saw him and Padma dancing inside.”

“He told me I’d been moping in my house long enough, and I suppose I have.”

“Grief doesn’t have an expiry date, Draco. It doesn't follow a schematic or schedule. You’re allowed your time, and to hell with everyone else.”

Another few beats of silence.

“I didn’t love her, you know.” Draco wasn't sure why he had admitted that.

Hermione made a noncommittal noise, acknowledging his words.

“It was arranged. I’m sure you saw the papers. But she was kind, and we were as fond of each other as we would have hoped. I will always be grateful to her for making me a father, but we were never more than partners in a business exchange, really.”

“You don’t have to love someone to grieve their life being cut short.”

“I think I grieved more for Scorpius losing his mother than I did for losing my spouse,” Draco was surprised to hear the words tumbling out of his mouth. He would blame the scotch, later, but he supposed he just needed to say it out loud to someone.

“I spoke with Astoria a few times at events. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.”

“She did. I’m hopeful that Scorpius will take after her more than me.”

Hermione elbowed him suddenly. Just a light jab to the arm, but enough to shake him out of his self-deprecating spiral.

“Violent sort tonight, are we Granger?” he teased with a smirk. “First Weasley, now me.”

“You both deserved it.” She was unapologetic, and he appreciated it.

The silence was definitely on the companionable side this time. Draco used his wand to refill their drinks.

"Thank you," she breathed out. She took another sip. He heard her gasp and cough.

"How --" she spluttered, "how the hell did you manage to make that scotch stronger?"

"Malfoy family secret," he drawled, amused as he watched her blink away the burn.

"Not a standard refilling charm, then?" Her tone was challenging, intrigued.

"Quite different, in fact. Not everything can be learned from the Hogwarts library, you know."

"No, but it was a good start," she said, grinning broadly.

"It was nothing compared to the treasures in the Malfoy library," Draco boasted with a smile. "So tame, and so boring. Nothing priceless or exciting to be had there at Hogwarts, what with everyone's grubby hands over the centuries."

"The Hogwarts library was at least safe for Muggle-born students," she countered offhand.

Draco paused. A sour taste filled his mouth as he thought of the danger that had been present in his family's library in prior decades.

"I gave most of the dangerous books to the ministry for research, or they were destroyed, you know," he said flatly. "There's nothing cursed left in the manor. I made sure of that." His voice sounded bitter even to his own ears.

The touch of her hand on his arm startled him from his wallowing. At some point in their conversation, they had drifted closer together, and her shoulder pressed into his with a steady warmth.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That was harsh, and didn't reflect all the work you've done."

"S'fine," he muttered.

"I think it's really admirable that you got rid of everything," she said gently. She hadn't removed her hand from his arm, and it drifted down from his elbow toward his wrist. Her fingertips brushed the cuff of his formal suiting. "It says a lot about your hopes for the future."

They lingered like this for many minutes. Sipping their drinks in silence. The feel of Hermione pressed against his side began to fill his senses. He felt every breath she took, and it reverberated through his own body.

"I hope you didn't get rid of too many books," she said suddenly, wistfully, her voice jolting him to his core.

The earnestness in her voice had him doubled over in laughter in a moment. She snickered alongside him. When he finally straightened up, he allowed his arms to drop from his knees as he splayed his legs out on the floor next to Hermione's.

With his head leaned up against the stone and eyes closed, he heard her ragged intake of breath. As she shifted against his side, his eyes snapped open in understanding. As they had subconsciously shifted closer to one another during their drinking, her thigh had pressed against his left hip. When he had dropped his hand, it had fallen to the bare expanse of her thigh.

They both froze, neither pulling away. Draco's fingers were pressed against the side of her thigh, ghostly pale against her deeper tone. Her skin was hot to the touch despite the chill of the stone corridor. Draco gave in, at that moment, to the feel of her. He swiped this thumb across her skin, feeling the bumpy texture of a mottled scar contrasting against her smooth, tan flesh, and his pulse thrummed in his ears. They both sat, watching his hand as it stroked her thigh tentatively.

He grew bolder at her silent acquiescence and spread his palm flat across the top of her leg. Draco's pinky slid down to a sensitive part of her inner thigh, and her fingers curled into his sleeve as she shifted her hips in anticipation. At that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to feel her shifting against his bare skin.

Acutely aware that they were in a public space, just a hundred feet from a party attended by half of wizarding Britain, Draco chanced to speak.

His voice was gravelly, and hardly more than a whisper. "I gutted most of the manor, you know. The only things still intact are the gardens --" he drew a breath "-- and the library."

"Oh?" Hermione's voice was breathy. Draco dared to look at her.

Her eyes were wide, and her painted lips were parted as she dragged in another ragged breath.

"Would you like to see it?"

After a moment, she spoke, and Draco knew he was done for.

"Yes."

Draco found himself replaying their conversation in his mind as they slipped out of the corridor and down to the Apparition point. They stopped only to retrieve their cloaks, but neither bothered to put on the garments as they hurried away.

"If you hold on to me, I can Apparate us straight into the manor."

She nodded firmly, and boldly stepped to his chest. While they both knew that her hand on his arm would have been sufficient to side-along her straight through, neither wanted to give up the thrill at the closeness of their bodies.

Hermione brushed her chest against his and placed her hands on his shoulders. He felt himself trembling under her touch. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and stifled a groan low in his throat.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Hold on tight."

He breathed in the intoxicating scent of her, and forced himself to focus. He turned deliberately, and Apparated them directly into the hall outside the Manor's library.

The hall was empty, save for a few sculptures and paintings leaned against the wall haphazardly. With one hand still around her waist, Draco pushed open the large wooden door with his free hand. Inside the library, lamps sputtered to life, revealing the rows and rows of bookshelves.

Hermione's eyes darted, taking in what she could from their vantage point in the doorway, and then turned to him. A breathy chuckle left her throat, and Draco seized the chance.

Draco could taste the scotch on her lips as he pulled her face to his forcefully. She froze for scarcely a breath as his lips pressed against hers, and then her hands were winding around his neck and burying into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Draco groaned into her mouth as she opened her lips to his seeking tongue, and he dropped his hands to the swell of her bum. The silk of her dress slipped under his fingers as he played his fingers over the curve of her hips and down to cup her arse. She arched into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Draco swore he could feel her heartbeat as he backed her slowly into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

The low lights in the room flickered across her face as Hermione broke the kiss to take in their surroundings. She gasped, her pupils blown out as her eyes roved the tall shelves, and in response Draco growled and dropped his mouth to her throat. The column of her neck bent under his ministrations, and he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder. The low moan she issued had him dragging the skirts of her gown out of the way frantically. His hands made contact with the smooth flesh of her thigh through the slit in her dress and he nearly came in his trousers at the stilted gasp she let out as his hand trailed higher… higher.

Draco tugged aside the gusset of her lacy underthings to graze the soft, damp flesh of her core and he let out a chuckle.

"So wet already. Why am I not surprised you have a library kink, Granger?" Draco whispered into her throat.

Hermione huffed in annoyance and shuddered in response, her nails digging through the thick fabric of his suit and biting into his shoulders as he brushed a finger through the folds of her sex.

As he slipped a finger firmly across the swollen bud of her clitoris, she swore loudly. Draco pulled back from her neck to grin cheekily at her as he slipped a finger into her hot core.

If Draco thought he had been close to coming before, the feeling of Hermione pressing and clutching at his body frantically had him desperate for release.

He growled, and manoeuvred them to press against the nearest bookshelf. Hermione gasped as the shelves bit into her shoulder blades, but she recovered immediately. He removed his fingers from her core to drag the scrap of lace down her thighs. He knelt down and helped her step out of them, tossing them to the side somewhere down the row of shelves.

From this vantage point, Draco could smell Hermione's arousal and feel the trembling of her thighs as she swayed in her gold pumps. Draco couldn't resist and encouraged her to spread her legs a bit before ducking under the skirts of her gown. Hermione scrambled to drag them up to bunch around her hips, and then let out a sharp cry as Draco's tongue plunged into her folds to taste her.

She was more intoxicating than the scotch, and Draco thought he would never get enough as he swirled his tongue around her clit and suckled it between his lips. Hermione moaned above him, and was soon tugging at his hair to draw him up.

He stood and pressed against her, canting his hips against hers to show her exactly what she was doing to him. They moaned together as Hermione drew his mouth down to hers. He knew she would be able to taste herself on his tongue, and he swept it across her lips teasingly. She accepted it greedily, and slipped a hand between them to grasp his erection over the placket of his trousers.

"Please, Draco," she gasped out, fumbling with the fly of his trousers. He wasted no time in brushing her hands away to take care of the fastening himself. When he sprang free and fell heavily against her hip, Hermione brought her wide eyes up to meet his once more.

"Now. Please."

He couldn't have told her no even if he wanted to, and he hooked her thigh over his hip, tipping her knee outward and opening her up to accommodate his hips. With her heels, she stood at the perfect height and his erection rubbed against the length of her folds. She braced herself on his shoulders, and with a few shifts against the shelf, Draco sank into her to the hilt. They both cried out at the feeling, and Hermione tossed her head back against the shelves. He began to move in jolting thrusts against her, and Draco saw her curls pulling loose from the perfectly tucked twist as her head rubbed along the spines of the books.

The intoxicating smell of the leather, ancient parchment, and the heady scent of Hermione invaded his senses.

"Tell me what you need, Granger," he muttered, nipping at her ear as he rocked his hips into her. "You feel too bloody fantastic and I want to watch you come undone on my cock."

Hermione shuddered against him, and he hooked his elbow under her knee to get at a different angle that made her cry out.

She slid a hand from his shoulder and slipped it between their bodies. She circled her clit rapidly, and Draco could feel her fingers brush the base of his aching member as he ground into her.

Her breath came more quickly, shallow and gasping. Draco bent down to nip at her throat again, and as he bit down to suck the tender flesh in between his lips, she clenched around him with a loud cry. The hand between them stilled and her other flew above her head to grab at the shelves.

Draco groaned at the feeling of her ecstacy, and picked up his pace. He chased her over the edge as her fingers found purchase on the wood and she arched against him. He stilled within her as he pumped his release deep within her body.

After he finished, his erection softening, he let her leg down. He slipped from her body as she found her footing again.

After catching his breath, Draco leaned to capture her lips in a tender kiss. When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

Several long moments passed before Hermione shifted against him. She was still pressed against the bookshelves, and Draco jumped back at the realisation that she must be in some state of discomfort from the heavy wooden shelving jamming into her back.

Hermione offered him a satisfied smile as he pulled back.

"That was --"

"Yeah."

They stood there for long moments as their breathing and hearts returned to a normal rate.

When Hermione met his eyes again, some uncertainty was in her gaze. Draco was sure his own read the same.

"Do - do you want to come back to mine for a nightcap?" Draco asked hesitantly.

She faltered. "I - I shouldn't."

"Oh." Draco's jaw drew tight, and he felt a pang of disappointment shoot through him. Before he realised what he was saying, he had uttered something he couldn't take back. "Can't have you ruining your fucking perfect reputation by spending any more time with a bloody Death Eater. Good enough for a quick shag though, eh?"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The immediate hurt that shone on her face made him close his eyes at her obvious pain.

"Granger, I --"

"Save it," she muttered. He opened his eyes as he heard her heels clicking away from him. As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, "Bye, Malfoy."

He didn't miss the return to his surname, or the hurt in her tone.

Before he could take more than a step toward her, she had turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Silence had fallen while they sipped their tea and Draco had replayed the night of the ball.

"I'm sorry, Granger."

Her eyes flew wide. "Whatever for?"

"How we left things that night. I shouldn't have said that to you."

She held his gaze for a long moment. "Draco, how can you not see that I don't hold those types of comments against you anymore? It's so obvious that you are still buried in this pile of self-doubt and self-hatred. I can't stay angry at you for that."

"But --"

"No buts." Her eyes flashed at him. "I do not hold your past actions against you when you are making an obvious effort to do better. It serves neither of us to do so. I know I left, but I was upset, and more than a bit drunk. I was so caught off-guard by your nasty comment that I couldn't even respond. If I'd been of a mind to do so and had been able to put that anger aside, I would have explained why I didn't want to go home with you that night. And it wasn't because I didn't want to shag you all night long, or because I was ashamed of being with you. I was drunk. You were drunk. And you had a four year old waiting for you to return. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position with your son before we'd been able to discuss it with clear heads."

Her eyes challenged him. He caved immediately, in a way that only Scorpius and Hermione seemed to be able to do to him. He dropped his head into his hands, pressing at his eyes. Of course, she made perfect sense. He'd spoken rashly.

"M'sorry," he mumbled again.

A moment stretched out, and Draco heard a faint rustle as Hermione cleared away the rocker parts with a wave of her hand. He suddenly felt her hands on either side of his face.

He allowed his head to be drawn up, and her eyes sought his and held the gaze.

"Draco, I need you to stop apologising." Her voice was low and calm. "You are a phenomenal father who is working every day to build a legacy your son and your daughter will be proud of. You are a good person here and now, regardless of the decisions you were forced to make in the past. It was a lifetime ago, and you have spent long enough wallowing in this guilt. You can acknowledge the pain your actions caused, sure, but that kind of self-hatred serves no one. It's time you stopped dwelling on the past. I think you'll find it makes the future brighter for us all."

Draco had dropped his gaze as she spoke, but drew it back up to her eyes at her insistent nudging of his face.

"Okay," he breathed.

"Okay," she whispered back, and dropped her grip on his face to draw him into a hug. After freezing for a moment, he returned it gratefully.

Once they returned to their task, the rocker was finished quickly. Hermione gleefully tested it out, pushing herself with bare feet and giggling to herself.

"You look beautiful," he blurted out.

If she was surprised by his complimenting her, she didn't show it. Instead, she offered him a sincere, "Thank you."

After a few more rocks, she started wiggling out of the chair. She got to her feet slightly awkwardly, and at his amused smile she rolled her eyes.

"You try having your centre of gravity shifting week-to-week." She purposely bumped into him with her belly. Draco stumbled slightly, chuckling.

Draco let out a final breath of a laugh and turned to her. "May I?" He gestures vaguely at her bump.

She nodded. "You don't need to ask, Draco. She's yours, too, and you should experience it."

Instead of having him fumble around with her oversized top, Hermione drew the hem up to her ribs. Draco marvelled at the skin of her belly, taut over her swollen womb. He trailed his fingers down the sides of her stomach, smoothing his thumbs over her skin. The skin of her stomach was a little paler than the deep caramel of her arms, and it displayed a number of dark pink lines along the sides as evidence of where her body stretched to accommodate their daughter's growth.

Astoria had not shared this much of herself while she was pregnant. He had been permitted to touch her, within reason, but she had drawn the line at sharing her body in this way. She loved becoming a mother, but she was deeply uncomfortable with the changes her body was experiencing, and how ill she felt for the duration. It made this moment with Hermione all the more beautiful.

"How is she doing?" he asked quietly.

"She's growing," Hermione answered. "Still small, but my Healer isn't too worried right now. She hasn't stopped growing though, that's the important bit. My oxygen was good this week, but my blood pressure was too high. Not to a dangerous level yet, but my Healer put me on another potion just to be safe. She doesn't want to take any risks."

Draco nodded. "Good. And you?"

"Just stressed," she breathed out. "I'll be alright."

"What can I do?"

"Well, I --"

Hermione cut off suddenly, grabbing Draco's hand. He felt a swell of panic.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione didn't answer, but instead dragged his hand down to press into the underside of her bump. Draco was bewildered, until he felt a small thump against his hand. A slow grin spread across his face and he immediately dropped to his knees in front of Hermione. He felt another thump. Overcome with joy at feeling his daughter moving, he felt tears threatening as he leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to the skin of Hermione's belly.

He froze, worried he had overstepped – Hermione dropped her free hand to his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. He lingered for another few moments with his forehead pressed against her.

When he finally pulled away and stood, he captured Hermione's hand in his own. He pressed a shaky kiss to her knuckles, whispering his thanks. She smiled brightly at him and squeezed his hand tightly for a moment.

"I hate to ruin this moment," she said seriously, "but she was just knocking ‘round my bladder and now I have to pee."

Draco cracked a smile and let her go. She disappeared into the loo.