Becoming

When Draco returned with his toiletries and a change of clothes (and a few stray biscuits), Hermione was no longer in the sitting room cum office. He heard the sound of running water cut off down the hall, and started in that direction. As he stepped into the hall, he saw the first door crack open.

“Door to the right, and I’ll be there in a mo’,” Hermione said, poking her head out of a steamy bathroom. “Ah, and I can pop your toiletries in here.” Draco held the bag out to her, and she reached out a startlingly colourful arm to take it from him.

Draco froze entirely, and he was sure his mouth was probably hanging open. Tattoos? Granger? He ran through his mental catalogue of all the times he’d seen her or her photo over the last few years, and she was, with the exception of the gala, always in long sleeved tops or wearing heavy jumpers. The shock must have shown in his eyes, because Hermione’s face was tight with suppressed laughter.

“Oh, right. Those would have been glamoured the last time.” Her eyes twinkled a bit as she drew her arm back inside the bathroom. She shut the door with a soft ‘click’ and Draco found himself rooted to the spot for another moment.

He shook his head to bring himself out of his startled reverie, and then headed into the room to his right with a disbelieving smile still playing at his lips.

The door to the rectangular bedroom opened near the middle, and a glance around showed it held little more than a chest of drawers along the far left wall and a double bed to the right. Draco supposed it would be a bit more cramped than his own bed at home, but the bedspread looked soft and cosy. A faded quilt was folded on the foot of the bed. A chair in the corner held an assortment of clothing items and accessories tossed somewhat haphazardly across it. The bedside tables were, unsurprisingly, stacked with books and notepads. As Draco set his bag down on top of her chest of drawers, he spotted another series of sonogram photos taped to the mirror on the wall. These were less defined than the ones Hermione had given him, and he expected that they were from earlier in her pregnancy. As he idly wondered whether she’d have any more photos in the coming months, he heard a sound behind him.

A glance in the mirror revealed part of Hermione – a very nude Hermione. Draco spun around so quickly he felt dizzy. Hermione stood just inside the doorway, scrunching the damp ends of her curls in a faded blue towel. She was completely without inhibition as she stood there, and seemed to be enjoying his gaze as he dragged it from her Cheshire smile down to her toes.

As he started back up in a similar fashion, Draco felt a sense of deja vu as he spotted some familiar scars around her knees, and the puckered slash on her right thigh that he had traced with his thumb all those months before. This time, no taffeta covered her from his eyes, and Draco was once again surprised to see a tattoo standing out starkly on her left thigh. The array of florals and stars drew his eyes up her hips. Draco was then distracted from the beautiful swell of her abdomen by the thatch of hair that rested below it.

He dragged in a ragged breath he was sure Hermione heard, and his eyes roved yet higher. Above her bump, her breasts fell heavily against her ribs, and they were tipped with hard, brown nipples that Draco couldn’t wait to pluck at. Draco discovered that her tattoos covered the entirety of her left arm and part of her right, and his mouth watered as he imagined tracing the lines that decorated her body with his tongue. As Hermione tossed her towel to the nearby hamper, Draco started forward.

In two quick strides he stood before her, and Hermione’s gaze was expectant. He was sure his mirrored her own as he immediately reached for her, with a muttered, “Merlin, you’re so beautiful.”

Draco sank his hand into the damp curls at the base of her neck and captured her lips in a searing kiss. He felt her gasp more than heard it, and he swept an arm around her waist to pull her firmly against him. Her hands rose to grab at the front of his shirt, and Draco revelled in the feel of her grasping for purchase against him.

His hands began to wander, unable to keep to themselves when she was so clearly ready for his touch. Draco traced his fingers down over her collarbone and over the swell of her breast to thumb a nipple gently. He felt it pucker against his finger, and she squirmed when his fingertips grazed her ribs just under her breast. She was ticklish. Draco filed this away in some wayward corner of his brain as he drew a hand up her back. She arched backward in response to his touch, and Draco broke their kiss to latch on to the skin just below her jaw. She keened out, and Draco began manoeuvring them through the room.

When Hermione’s knees met her bed, she broke from Draco to slide onto it. She eased herself up against the pillows, sitting reclined against the headboard. He watched her every move, and he had only a heartbeat to prepare when he saw her wave her hand casually at him.

The buttons of his shirt began to unfasten, and his belt unbuckled itself with the wave of her magic. As his clothes divested themselves from his body, Draco watched Hermione. Her eyes were sparkling in the light of the low lamps on her bedside tables, and the way she dragged her lower lip in between her teeth as his trousers and pants lowered from his body did not go unnoticed by Draco. When he was free of his clothes, he moved quickly to kneel on the bed in front of her.

Hermione’s legs were drawn up partway, and Draco reached out to lightly grasp the ankle nearest him. He parted her legs slowly, and Hermione’s ragged breaths echoed in the small room. Scarcely breaking eye contact, Draco traced his fingers up her leg, and bent to kiss her knee where it was propped. Her breath caught in her throat, and Draco couldn’t wait to tear that sound from her again.

Hermione grabbed for his shoulders and surged up to meet his lips in a superheated kiss. He caught her lip between his teeth this time, and she gasped as he gave it a light nip before soothing it away with a kiss.

Draco eased Hermione back to recline propped on her pillows once more. He skimmed his fingers over the side of her neck, and bent down to hold himself above her. Kissing along her chest and collarbones, Draco took his time with his descent. Hermione wiggled below him as he neared her areolas, and let out a gasp when he finally pulled one nipple gently between his lips. Her skin was peppered with gooseflesh as he moved yet lower. A reverent hand traced over the swell of her stomach where their daughter rested, and he paused momentarily to press his forehead against it before darting a playful tongue into her navel and drifting lower.

Hermione’s fingers found a grip on his hair as he spread her lips out before him. Her skin was still damp from the shower, and Draco could smell her heady arousal. Nuzzling his nose into the soft curls of her mound, he blew a stream of air across her opening. Hermione gasped and bucked her hips in surprise, and with a groan, Draco dove in.

She tasted just as he remembered from their encounter all those months ago, pressed against the bookshelves of his ancestral home. She was slick, and the tang of her on his tongue had him dropping a hand to squeeze his own erection for some relief. She was responsive as he explored her, circling her clitoris with the tip of his tongue and lathing it up and down her inner lips. When he traced it down to dart just into her opening, she moaned and twisted below him.

Draco let go of her tense thighs to look up at her. She had her head thrown back against the headboard, and the angle she was reclining at gave him a delightful view of her breasts as she cupped and plucked at her own flesh. A hoarse moan tore from his throat, and he pulled back from her opening to refocus on the sensitive nub at her apex.

He suckled and tongued her clit as he moved a hand down to tease her opening with a fingertip. Hermione bucked against him again, and without further preamble he slipped two digits deep into her drenched center.

Hermione cried out, and her fingers twisted in his hair. Draco kept up his pace with his tongue and circled the pads of his fingers against the front walls of her vagina, searching for purchase on the spongy area that he hoped would drive her wild. He knew he had found something of note when she keened again and her hips lifted slightly from the bed, and he dove in further with abandon.

Several minutes later, Hermione was breaking apart under his mouth with a gasp and a stuttered cry. Draco swallowed his own moans as he felt her clitoris seem to spasm against his tongue and the walls of her center grip his fingers tightly. She had scarcely regained her breath before she sat up and tugged him up her body. Without regard to her own fluids on his lips, she took his mouth as hers again. He rested against her, his erection falling hot and heavy against the crease of her thigh, and he moaned at the thought of being so close to sinking into her body.

Hermione had other plans, it seemed, as she urged him onto his back. She drew herself up over him, and with heavily lidded eyes, she reached out to stroke his erection. Draco pressed his head back into the pillows with a moan as her hand closed around him. He was soon lost in her ministrations, and barely registered the shift on the bed until she stopped her hand. His body immediately felt bereft at the loss of her touch, but as he looked up to see what had caused the pause, he was greeted with one of the most erotic sights he had ever seen.

Hermione knelt over his hips as she held him poised below her entrance. She closed her eyes, threw her head back – curls flying over her shoulders in a riot – and slowly lowered herself down onto his aching member. They gasped in unison as he slid home, and Hermione rocked herself down until he was fully seated within her heat. She gripped him tightly in her body, and as she tipped her pelvis back and forth in search of a comfortable rhythm, Draco just about lost himself in her.

Hermione dropped her hands to his chest, and Draco brought his own up to slide up her arms. When he reached her shoulders, he tugged her down gently. Mindful of not putting pressure on her abdomen, Draco propped himself on an elbow and pulled her into a searing kiss. The new angle had her keening above him, and she rose up a couple of inches on him before sliding back until he bottomed out again.

As she sat back up, Draco took over her ministrations on her nipples. Taking a cue from her earlier moves, he grazed his short fingernails against the flesh of her breast, and alternated between rolling her nipples between his fingers and gently plucking at them. They stood as hard points on her golden breasts, the skin was puckered and responsive.

Hermione gasped out her breaths as she rode him. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she rocked forward, and he felt a few curls brush against his hands as he continued manipulating her breasts. The soft feel of her hair was tantalising, and he dragged a hand up to bury into the wild curls once more. He tugged lightly on the strands, and the small cry that left her lips was nothing compared to how she tightened around his aching erection.

The gentle pain urged her to move a bit quicker, and Draco found himself thrusting up to meet her. They rutted against each other, hands gripping and nails finding purchase in skin, until Draco seized up with a loud cry and stilled. Hermione ground her hips down onto him as he came, riding it out with him.

She remained above him for a minute or two as their bodies calmed down and he softened within her. His eyes never left hers as they settled. Eventually, with a gasping breath, she rose up and allowed him to slip from her sensitive body. She dropped heavily to the bed beside him, and they lay there for several minutes, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

"Well," he said after a moment. "You're full of surprises tonight, eh Granger?"

She snorted a laugh and rolled onto her side to face him. Her pregnant belly pressed into him, and although they were covered in a sticky sheen of drying sweat, he felt a flicker of happiness shoot like static over his skin.

She flung an arm over his chest and propped herself up to look at him. Draco's attention was immediately drawn to the tattoos now spread out before him. He traced a curious finger over the edge of a design, arching his eyebrow at her.

"I've been getting the tattoos for years now," she mused in response to his silent inquiry. They both looked at the contrast of the black ink on her golden brown skin, and her skin against his pale flesh.

"Why do you hide them?" Draco asked, curiously. He'd rarely seen any tattoos aside from his own Dark Mark, which he'd tried unsuccessfully to remove years before.

Hermione hummed, her breath gentle on his skin. "A few reasons, I suppose. Tattoos still have a stigma in our world – and the Muggle world, too. It's easier to keep them hidden with my clients than deal with preconceived notions about yet one more thing." Her disgusted tone was just barely discernible, but Draco heard the undercurrent of her discontent with the societal norms. "It was an obvious decision at the Ministry, and it carried over. Although, I've quite a few more now than I did then. Robes hide them no problem, but my sleeves have had to get longer." Hermione smirked absentmindedly, her eyes gazing off at nothing.

"I got my first one after I found out about my parents' deaths," she said quietly. "It snowballed from there, I suppose. Encapsulating good memories. Covering scars. I like seeing reminders of the wonders of life when I look at myself now, instead of the pain."

Draco grasped her wrist gently where it lay across his chest. He shot her a questioning glance, and the soft smile she offered answered him. He drew his gaze down to her forearm, and turned her wrist in his grasp. His brow furrowed as he saw, buried amongst the swirling leaves and expansive petals of the English roses and chrysanthemums, the raised scars that spread across her taut skin. The lines had faded to a soft pink over the years, but they crisscrossed in jagged, ugly ways across the expanse of her forearm and up toward her bicep. He played his fingers gently across the textured tissue and saw her skin pebble beneath his touch.

He turned her arm to look at the rest of the tattoos on her forearm. They were a mix of black work and colour, and Draco's eyes wandered from one to the next. An otter. Tall trees. A phoenix feather. On her bicep and shoulder, bright sunflowers stretched their faces to the sky. The London skyline peeked out at him from above her elbow, with a sunset inked behind it.

"Are they all Muggle tattoos?"

She shook her head at his inquiry, and dragged her left leg up over his hips. The large piece he had glanced at earlier was much more detailed than the ones on her arms. The lines were similarly vivid, but they looked more like brush strokes than those of a pen, and the solid spaces seemed painted. As he focused on the constellations scattered in the frame of flowers and greenery, they seemed to twinkle at him.

"The outer bits are static, but the constellations change to reflect what's in the sky at any given moment."

He stared at the patch of skin intently, and noticed the variations in colour -- deep blues and something that seemed to glitter. He saw the Seven Sisters peeking at him near the top of her thigh and traced the Taurus constellation in wonder.

"That is quite the impressive bit of magic," Draco remarked with surprise. "I didn't know that was possible. They're beautiful, Granger. You should show them more often."

"Some of them are more private or sentimental, and I'd rather not deal with questions or being trashed in the rags because of them. Glamouring them and covering up in public places is just… easier." Hermione's voice was very blasé, but there was a note of sadness.

Draco nodded. "You said you got one for your parents?" He knew they had disappeared before the war, but hadn't heard anything else since the night Macnair had reported on his search for them to Voldemort all those years ago. Hearing her share they died had been news.

She hummed an affirmative, but did not go on. Draco didn't press further.

Instead, he rolled to face her, keeping her arm and leg slung over him. In her sudden embrace, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

"I love them, Granger. And I get it. Thank you for showing them to me tonight."

"Of course."

Their eyes met again, and Draco found his hands caressing her distended abdomen absentmindedly. Her skin felt taut with the dried sweat, and Draco wondered if she was comfortable.

It was only when Hermione answered that he realised he had questioned aloud.

"Yes. But I should go brush my teeth and whatnot," she murmured. He nodded in response and gently extricated himself from her.

"You go on ahead. I'll change into my nightclothes. Can I get you some water or anything?"

Hermione smiled brightly at him as she scooted to the edge of the bed and stood.

"That would be lovely. I have a slew of potions to take tonight and they always leave a funny taste, even after brushing my teeth."

The potion master in Draco kicked in. "What did they prescribe for you?" he asked curiously as he stood. "I mean, if you're comfortable sharing," he added hurriedly.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively as she moved to the chest of drawers. Draco saw, for the first time, a tattooed wyvern with its body wrapped around a bouquet of wild poppies on her shoulder blade. "Mostly your standard tonics and vitamin potions. I take a Muggle prenatal vitamin for most of what I need, but my iron is always low because of my medical history. The supplement potion works more effectively than the Muggle capsules, but tastes horrid. And one is an anti-nausea draught. It's long acting, and I take it twice each day. I start on a new one tomorrow that is supposed to help get my blood pressure back under control, but it's going to be a toss up whether the Chinese cat claw works with the peppermint in the anti-nausea draught."

"So you're taking the Holzmaan draught, then?" Draco surmised. "That's generally not given during pregnancy because it can block calcium absorption."

Hermione nodded as she pulled on a pair of loose plaid sleep shorts and tugged a holey, old Gryffindor tee over her head. It stretched tight over her stomach. "Unfortunately, I don't tolerate the standard formulation -- my Healer thinks it's just a mild allergy to the celeriac, but it upsets my stomach so badly that the draught can't even right it 'round. I tried it for a couple of days and couldn't tolerate it -- couldn't keep any food down for nearly three days. But my Muggle vitamins have extra calcium, and my levels were all pretty good last week. We're not currently worried. The blood pressure and iron are of much bigger concern than my other levels."

Draco nodded and Hermione left the room to prepare for bed. Draco pulled on his own nightclothes -- a thermal undershirt and some thin grey pyjama bottoms -- and went to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. A detour to the sitting room had him grabbing a book he'd seen earlier in the evening.

He set the glass of water on (what he assumed was) Hermione's sidetable, next to her glasses, and sat on the bed. He opened the worn tome to the table of contents and perused it for a moment before shuffling through the pages. Hermione returned to the room as he stopped on the necessary page.

"What did you find to read?" Hermione mused as she sat down next to him with a small sigh, rolling her shoulders to work out a kink. She had tucked her wild curls up into a blue silk scarf, wrapped up in an intricate twist.

"Have you and your Healer discussed the Fitzwilliam version of the circulation strengthening draught instead of using the other two you're taking?" Draco offered her the book.

Hermione shook her head and took the book from him to read over the ingredients. The small crease between her eyebrows returned as she picked up her glasses from the side table and put them back on.

"It's listed in here, but it's not in common use anymore because the reliance on thyme fell out of fashion in the early 1800s when import law relaxed and the cat's claw became more popular in Britain. But there was a significant amount of documentation that one of the side effects was an overabundance of iron in the drinker's blood. The Fitzwilliam draught couldn't be used for extended periods because it caused too many side effects when iron levels got too high. Nausea, weight loss, and the like. It worked wonders to increase blood volume, lower blood pressure, and improve circulation in the extremities. It also has the added bonus of not counteracting the standard anti-nausea draughts of the day. The thyme and peppermint actually complement one another well. It might help to tackle two of your problems at once, if your blood pressure continues to be a concern."

Hermione's face was thoughtful as she perused the entry in Draughts for Dreadful Maladies.

"What are the indications for use during pregnancy? I see borage listed here."

"Borage essential oil is more of a concern with pregnancy, as it can supposedly stop contractions when cold-pressed and in high concentrations. But the dried borage leaves used here are an excellent anti-inflammatory and circulatory support when added to a draught. The screechsnap root actually stabilises it further, so I don't think it would be of concern. As far as I am aware, there are no contraindications on the books, but like I said, it fell out of fashion almost two centuries ago. I imagine your Healer would like to look into it."

Hermione shot him an appreciative smile. She reached over to her side table and extracted a bookmark from the drawer. She placed it in the tome and set it down.

"I'll bring it up to her on Thursday," she stated firmly. "Thank you, Draco." She squeezed his thigh affectionately, and Draco inclined his head toward her in response.

"Now, I hate to be a downer here," Hermione yawned, "but I am exhausted. Do you take the left or right side of the bed?"

"Right."

Hermione grinned at him again. "Convenient. Because I generally take the left when I'm not flopping all over the bed with insomnia. Oh! And thank you for the water."

"You're quite welcome."

Draco left Hermione to get settled in the bed and he quickly brushed his teeth and rinsed his face in her small bathroom. Out of habit from his own home, he checked the door to the flat before making his way back to Hermione's bed, turning off the remaining lights in the main rooms as he went.

Hermione was tucked under the covers already when he returned. Draco slid into the bed beside her, and turned over on his side to face her.

"Now, here's the most important question of the evening," Hermione smirked playfully. "Is the great Draco Malfoy a snuggler at night?"

Draco smiled back at her. "Erm, I actually don't know my preference. I haven't much experience with a witch in my arms at night."

Hermione's eyebrows rose high on her forehead. "What?"

"I wasn't exactly anyone's idea of comfort in the years around the war," he said stiffly. "And my relationship with Astoria didn't extend to sharing a bedroom."

"I - I didn't mean to pry," Hermione said in a low voice. She was worrying her lip between her teeth. "Are you sure you're up for staying? I won't take offence if you feel you need to leave so you can sleep."

Draco shook his head. He had made up his mind earlier that he would do this and he had no reason to back out now. In lieu of speaking, he opted instead to pull Hermione's smaller frame into his chest. He buried his face into the side of her neck and breathed in the earthy, minty scent of Hermione Granger.

He pulled back after a few moments and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He watched her eyelids flutter closed, and indulged himself in another. A soft smile lingered on her face as they separated. Hermione twisted around in the bed and shifted into a comfortable position that would accommodate her swollen abdomen.

“I’ll probably be a bit restless tonight,” she confessed in an apologetic voice. “It's been hard to get comfortable lately, and today I can’t lay on my left side at all.”

“You do what you need to, Granger. Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Thanks, Draco.” Hermione’s voice was low and sincere, whispered into the tight space between their bodies.

When Hermione seemed to have settled into a position that worked for her, Draco moved back into her. Hermione lifted her head for him to slip his arm under her neck, and her hand fell to his chest as he tucked himself close to her body. Her bump pressed gently into Draco’s own abdomen, and Draco dropped his free hand down to it to discover her shirt had ridden up while she had been wiggling around. Draco could not resist tracing his fingers along her taut skin. Hermione hummed gently and allowed her eyes to fall closed under his gentle touch.

“Goodnight, Granger,” Draco whispered into the dark room.

“G’night, Draco,” came the mumbled reply.

Draco continued to trace nonsensical patterns over the skin of Hermione’s abdomen, and he listened to her breath as it evened out and grew quiet. Holding her felt a bit foreign, he decided, but not unwelcome. Draco drifted off to sleep, his thoughts on the woman in his arms and the family they could become.

Draco awoke with a start to Hermione shifting in his arms and groaning. Draco blinked away the bleariness of sleep as he heard her whimper quietly. Her arm was twitching and trembling between them, and it seemed as if she were in pain. A glance at the clock on Hermione’s bedside showed that it was nearing four in the morning – they had been asleep for hours. She whimpered again, her arm spasming against him. It was so similar to the aftershocks he associated with the Cruciatus Curse that his stomach roiled with a wave of nausea for her.

“Granger,” Draco whispered, bringing his hand up to brush away an escaped curl from her forehead. The crease between her eyes was deep, the set of her mouth a grimace. “Granger, wake up.” She started under his touch when he cupped her jaw, swiping his thumb over her cheekbone gently. “Granger.” His voice was a little louder this time. There was only more trembling.

“Hermione,” he muttered, his eyes roving over the tense lines of her face. “Hey, wake up.” He ran his hand up over her forehead, smoothing his fingertips along her skin in what he hoped was a calming fashion.

With a gasp, Hermione jolted awake in his arms. Her eyes were clouded with sleep and pain, but he saw her gaze sharpen slightly as it met his own. She rocked forward with a whimper and brought her other hand up to grasp at her left arm. She was still trembling as she drew in a ragged breath.

“What can I do?” Draco asked, and he heard the worry in his own voice.

Hermione didn’t answer immediately. Draco’s body was tense, afraid to move in case he sparked more pain.

“Bathroom. Numbing salve.”

Draco slowly pulled away from her, gently extricating his arm from under her and sliding carefully from the bed. Hermione curled in on herself, cradling her arm against her chest tightly.

Draco lit his wand with a soft Lumos and quickly made his way across the hall to the bathroom. On the small vanity, there were an assortment of vial boxes and toiletries, and in the tall cupboard beside the sink, Draco located several dark apothecary jars. One had Numbing Salve handwritten on the label, and he rushed back to the bedroom with it in his hand.

Hermione had lit a lamp and worked her way up into a sitting position against the headboard, and Draco perched gently on the side of the bed next to her. He tossed his wand onto her side table with a quick Nox to extinguish the wandlight.

“Do you need help with it?” He asked, searching for Hermione’s eyes in the dim light. Her eyes were still clouded, the skin around them looking thin and drawn with the pain. She was breathing more steadily than she had been, though, and she nodded shortly.

“Can you help me get my arm out of my shirt?”

Draco nodded and leant forward to inch her shirt up her ribcage. With gentle hands practised in getting a child dressed and undressed, he helped Hermione pull her arm from the sleeve of her top. The shirt was old and soft, and it stretched easily around her elbow to allow her to free her arm. Hermione tucked the folds of fabric up against her neck and dropped her arm tentatively to rest next to her.

Draco could tell she was forcing even breaths, but her face still betrayed her pain. He uncapped the jar and the astringent smell of the salve filled the space between them. There was something spicy that burned his nostrils for a moment, and an underlying musky smell Draco associated with dried St. John’s Wort. He scooped a lump of the waxy salve into his hands.

“May I?”

Hermione nodded, and steeled her features. “The pain gets worse at first, but I’ll be able to push through it. It needs to be rubbed in. Shoulder down to fingers.” Hermione’s voice was tight.

Draco nodded in response, and rubbed the salve in his hands to warm it. He leant forward and put his sticky hands on either side of her shoulder. With deft fingers, he began working the balm into her skin. The sunflowers under his fingertips grew more vivid under the oily salve. Hermione seemed to be trying to focus on her breath as Draco slowly worked his way down her upper arm. She was tense and trembling under his hands. When he reached the area of her arm where her scars began, Hermione let out a sudden gasp of pain.

Draco stilled and allowed her to breathe through it for only a moment. Hermione schooled her features again and nodded at him to continue. “Just keep going, please,” she muttered. “It won’t get any easier as you get further down, and the faster you go the better.”

“Okay,” Draco murmured back, and immediately launched back into his ministrations. Hermione whimpered and trembled under his touch. Draco felt a twinge of guilt at the pain he was causing, but the part of his brain that recognized the necessity kept going. His fingers were sticky as he worked the slick salve into her skin further down her arm. She twitched and gasped as he reached the worst of scarring below her elbow, but he pressed on. Scooping more salve from the jar, he smoothed it into her flesh with small circular motions. He could feel the tension in every part of her arm as he made his way down.

As he reached her hand and fingers, they twitched violently in his grasp. He held her wrist gently in one hand as he gently rubbed the salve into each of her fingers. Finishing his ministrations, he gently lowered Hermione’s arm to the pillow beside her. She mumbled her thanks weakly.

He answered in kind and got up from the bed to put the salve on the side table. Washing his hands free of the numbing residue in her small bathroom, Draco tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Seeing Hermione in pain had been agonising for him as well, though in a profoundly different way. It had not been quite like the spells Astoria had suffered, though he knew she had experienced levels of pain at times. The similarities were enough to be jarring. Unlike Astoria, however, Hermione had permitted him to assist, and as Draco leaned against Hermione’s bathroom sink, his heart swelled unexpectedly at the trust she had displayed with him.

It wasn’t as though his marriage with Astoria was fraught with dishonesty or mistrust, but they were partners in name only, and driven together out of contractual obligation and a desire for parenthood, rather than a desire for each other. There had been a base respect, of course, but it was not passionate, and not anywhere near as intimate as he had been with Hermione.

Draco splashed some water on his face and scrubbed it dry, and then returned to the bedroom. Hermione was still sitting against the headboard, but she had drawn her knees up as close to her body as she could being six months pregnant. Her head was tilted back against the wood, and her breathing was more measured. A standard numbing salve began to take effect within five minutes, and Draco supposed the effects were just now beginning to spread down her arm. He sat gently on the side of the bed and watched her.

She was doing some sort of measured breathing that Draco found curious. She was breathing deeply for a few seconds, holding it, breathing out slowly, and then pausing for several seconds before breathing back in. As he watched her take the next few breaths, he counted. Seven seconds in, seven seconds of holding, seven seconds out, and seven seconds of pause. He watched the lines etched in between her eyes and the tightness around her mouth lessen as she continued this measured breathing. Seven in. Seven hold. Seven out. Seven pause. Her arm was still twitching a bit on the bed next to her, but nowhere near as violently as it had prior.

After several minutes, Hermione let out a loud, blowing breath and opened her eyes. Draco met them immediately, reaching to her and touching the nearest part of her – her shin, just above her ankle. It seemed to ground him more than her, but he hoped she found some small comfort in his warm hand on her clammy skin.

She held his gaze for several seconds before speaking. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Granger,” Draco demurred. He refused to drop his eyes from hers, and gave her shin a gentle squeeze.

She quirked up the side of her mouth in a weak smile in response. “Still bears repeating. I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime. Really.”

“It doesn’t happen this badly often anymore, luckily.” He hadn’t asked, but she seemed to know he was curious. “Maybe once every six or eight months, usually. But I am off some of my maintenance potions because of the pregnancy.” Hermione smoothed her non-tremoring hand down over her bared belly. “It was unfortunate enough that I was on them for the first few months, but even though there weren't any obvious effects, it isn’t worth the risk to continue. The mid-level tremors, like earlier today, are more frequent. This is my first big attack since going off the potions.”

“Does that breathing technique help?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s called box breathing. You breathe in, hold, breath out, and hold for a certain count each time. It’s a technique rooted in Ayurvedic practice. It helps quiet the mind and bring focus away from external stimuli. It gives my mind something else to do rather than focus only on the pain. You can start in small increments, but I’ve seen people go as high as twenty seconds on each step. Seven is about all I can manage with a tiny, parasitic humanoid shoved into my ribcage,” Hermione joked weakly.

“Where did you pick that up?”

“My mind Healer was Muggle-born and suggested I try out yoga as part of a stress management routine. I learnt it at a studio here in London a number of years ago.”

“Yoga,” Draco mused. “That’s the bendy one, yeah?”

Hermione quirked her lips again. “It’s a practice that includes meditation and body awareness, but yes, there are lots of stretches and poses that challenge your balance and strength.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Your body gets used to it. I could never manage to quiet my mind long enough to master the meditation,” Hermione confessed.

“What a surprise,” Draco drawled. He was rewarded with the first full smile Hermione was able to muster. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back to the headboard.

“Indeed,” she murmured. The smile played on her lips for a few beats.

“What can I get for you?” Draco questioned. He ran his thumb over her leg, tracing a dark scar that slashed across the side of her calf.

Hermione hummed. “What time is it?”

“Half four.”

She opened her eyes and her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to fall back to sleep at this point.”

“You should at least try,” Draco requested. “An hour.”

Hermione muttered noncommittally, but her eyes fell closed all the same. Draco dropped his hand to her ankle and tugged gently. She groaned but allowed her leg to be tugged flat with a smirk, and dropped the other to the bed as well. With some urging, Hermione scooted further down the bed and turned onto her side, but this time on the side of the bed he had previously occupied. When she asked Draco for one of the extra pillows from the closet, he readily obliged. She tucked it against her chest to support her arm fully. When she was settled, Draco slid into the bed behind her with as little movement as possible. He drew her bedspread and quilt up over them and tucked it carefully around her arm.

It was a small victory when Draco felt Hermione begin to press back into his chest. He tucked his arm around her hip and rested it against her belly, and buried his face into the tiny curls escaping the scarf at the nape of her neck. She still didn’t seem to relax.

Draco acted on a hunch and pressed his chest firmly to Hermione’s back. He breathed in deeply and began to count. Seven in. Seven hold. Seven out. Seven pause. After several repetitions, Hermione began to sync her breaths to him. Draco felt his own mind begin to quiet, but held on to wakefulness until he felt Hermione’s breathing even out once more against his chest. Only then did he also doze off in the pre-dawn hours.