Figuring Things Out
After she tells Draco, things change as much as they stay the same.
Harry and Ron still come to her for help on half their cases.
Wallace still fills her in on whatever gossip he’s managed to scrounge up.
And Draco still shows up at her flat, cheeky smile and absurdly expensive gift in hand.
Only now, Harry and Ron have to bribe her with dark chocolate covered cranberries when she is cranky and uncomfortable from the swelling in her hands and feet.
Wallace brings her warm decaf tea instead of black coffee when he has a new morsel.
And Draco’s gifts change from flowers, jewelry, and books to things for the baby.
A solid gold mobile that she forces him to return because she immediately imagines it falling on the baby. A muggle towel warmer because Ginny had told him it was a life saver during her first pregnancy. A pregnancy pillow bigger than Hermione’s bed that she is secretly thrilled to have.
At first, the change irritates her.
Not that she’d needed the gifts at all.
Only, she’d liked what he’d seen in the past and bought for her just because.
An amaryllis that required basically no care, thus not requiring any work of her.
The gold earrings that he said made the flecks in her eyes more noticeable.
Books. So many books.
So when the gifts change to being geared for the baby, she is annoyed that he apparently no longer feels the need to give her gifts just because.
But then Draco brings her a gift in a green box that fits in the palm of her hand.
She is terrified it is an engagement ring. Nearly refuses to open it.
Luckily, Draco seems to understand where she stands on marriage in their relationship.
Inside the box is a small silver spoon.
“Draco, what is this for?” She asks, incredulous.
“Granger, I want you to know that I will provide for this child for the rest of their life, no matter what happens.”
She’d needed this reassurance. And sure, it stung to imagine that maybe they wouldn’t last the test of time. That Draco had been thinking about it too.
But she had been afraid that if Draco couldn’t come to love her, he’d leave the both of them.
A promise that their child would always have their father’s love meant the world to her.
The next night, when he appears on her stoop with a bassinet charmed to rock a baby back to sleep, she invites him in and shows him the room she is thinking about making a nursery.
Things don’t get easier after that.
Hermione still struggles with feelings of inadequacy and guilt. Fear and hope.
Feelings that don’t combine well with the first trimester of pregnancy.
Hermione is making life, and she feels awful nearly all the time because of it. Throwing up almost everything she tries to eat.
Meat, veg, pasta, fruit, it doesn’t matter. All of it makes her sick. She manages to keep down decaf tea, but nothing else. No one in the entire world was honest about how hard pregnancy was. They claimed bliss and beauty and a glow that she most certainly hadn’t experienced yet.
Plus, the baby hormones. They make her do crazy things like suck on lemon slices and glare daggers at flighty witches in the steno pool when Draco drops by their desks.
She nearly hexes a witch who flutters her lashes up at Draco while he holds the door open for her.
She has no idea why she is feeling so horridly territorial. All she knows is that refuses to label it as jealousy.
The worst part of the baby hormones is how incredibly horny they make her. Sometimes, after seeing Draco for half a minute while he drops off lunch for her, she spends the rest of the afternoon trying not to think about his fingers or his tongue or his cock.
Somehow, her newfound libido is also the best part of being pregnant too.
Which is how she ends up with Draco’s cock thrusting into her on a Monday morning, guiding her through the throes of a magnificent orgasm.
“Fuck me,” she begs, pushing herself down on his cock as he pistons into her, her hands clawing at his back.
Draco Malfoy is nothing if not obliging and with a few more thrusts and a hand slipped between them, Hermione orgasms hard around him, moaning loudly in his ear.
He slows down, his own orgasm having followed closely with hers, pressing kisses to her chest, her neck, her shoulder.
She climbs off his lap and pushes her curls away from her face, sweat beaded on her forehead.
It is no surprise really that she had gotten knocked up by the beast in front of her.
She shimmies her slip back down over her hips.
“Should we not have…,” Draco trails off, eyeing the rip in the fabric that shows the delicate lace of her damp panties, set askew by the rush in which they had been to fuck one another.
Hermione scoffs, pulling her hair into a bun atop her head and reaching for a scrunchie from the bedside table.
“Worried your massive cock would hurt the baby?”
Draco chokes and then grimaces, as if that was sort of what he’d been thinking.
She laughs.
“The sex is good,” she tells him, looking for her wand so she can stitch her slip back together.
“I know,” Draco replies, smirking, a lock of hair falling over his brow.
“For the pregnancy I mean. It helps the hormones and my breathing. Forces me to relax,” she explains, rolling her eyes playfully. She finds her wand and casts a quick mending charm.
“Oh, well then I will be a dedicated soldier in the war for your relaxation.”
She straddles his waist and cups his face, pressing her lips to his, butterflies filling her up.
Her recently repaired skirt slides up her thighs and settles around her hips.
“Does that mean you are ready to go again, soldier?” She teases, grinding down gently against him.
He moans and pulls her against his chest, hugging her tightly.
“I thought the baby was meant to make you tired,” he says, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
“Actually,” she turns her face so she can brush up against his ear in the same manner. “Pregnancy can cause increased libido. And… sensitivity.” And then she leans back, shifting on his lap once more.
“Sensitivity? He asks, voice husky. “Where?”
“Here,” she says, taking his hand in hers and guiding it to her chest. “And here.” She moves his fingers now to the heated place between her legs, relishing the hungry look in his eye.
He growls softly and curls his hand to press against her mound.
“I’m so late,” he moans into her neck.
“Already my soldier is trying to take leave?” She teases, her voice breathy.
His teeth scrape at the sensitive skin of her neck and she moans in response.
“Thinking of taking the day off actually.”
And then he is standing up, his hands under her legs, turning them so he can lay her back down on the bed.
She tries to sit up but his hands move to her torso, pressing her flat as he kneels between her legs hanging off the edge of the bed.
“Draco,” she exhales, almost sounding like she is scolding him.
He practically growls.
And then he pulls her knickers all the way off, clearly determined to take his time.
Draco’s hands push her knees wide so he can bite at the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
“Draco,” she repeats, this time keening for him to stop teasing her. To press his face to her sensitive center.
“Patience, Love. I’ve been conscripted into an army of one, so I have got quite a bit of ground to cover.”
“I think we’ve killed the metaphor, Malfoy. Please,” she groans, squirming and pushing her thighs back together until Draco’s fingers have to dig in to push them apart.
He obliges though.
Leans in, his tongue finding her lower lips slick with his cum. He explores her pussy, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin. Doubling down when she moans and bucks underneath his ministrations.
Pressing one hand to the base of her stomach and using his other to keep her splayed open for him.
Each stroke of his tongue against her soft skin makes her muscles tighten. Flat in some moments, darting and fast in others.
Hermione may have been upset that Draco Malfoy knocked her up, but she could never be upset by the way he’d done it. He knows exactly what he is doing when it comes to sex.
“Right there,” she prompts when his teeth graze over the soft bud of nerves nestled between her legs.
His breathing, his fingers, his tongue- they cover her in a blanket of bliss that makes her toes curl.
“Draco,” she praises.
Her orgasm runs through her, spilling into his mouth and making his fingers bruise.
Draco licks her clean, kisses her mons, her thigh, the inside of her knee. Pulls back and lifts high on his knees, smiling at her with smoke filled eyes.
“Fuck you are perfection,” he compliments. “I can’t believe you have my child growing inside of you.”
And then he kisses her stomach. With a gentleness she didn’t know he was capable of.
Hermione gives him the sort of look that speaks of annoyance, but in reality she is filled with joy at his words.
I love you.
Neither one of them will say it. She certainly won’t be the first.
But this is enough. For now.
The second trimester comes with its own challenges.
Draco is really trying. He is so careful with her. Brings her everything she could ever possibly want. Things she doesn’t need. Things she had no idea existed. Potions that make her morning sickness go away. Shoes that cushion each step so she can barely feel the ground beneath.
And he takes care of her like she is something precious.
He massages her sore ankles and washes her hair for her, kneeling beside the bath and talking about all of the things he hopes.
I hope they like quidditch.
I hope they let me teach them how to fly.
I hope they smile like you.
I hope they have my hair. Not that your hair isn’t beautiful.
I just hope they look like both of us.
Really, he is taking everything in stride. It isn’t at all like she anticipated.
Still, she struggles with the what ifs.
What if their feelings aren’t enough to survive having a kid together?
What if Draco wakes up one day and realizes he doesn’t want to do this anymore?
What if he resents her, but doesn’t show it? Goes around behind her back with the witches who didn’t get knocked up.
It isn’t fair of her. She knows that. But she can’t help it.
~Draco’s POV~
It takes an embarrassingly long time for Draco Malfoy to realise that Hermione Granger needs some assurances about his intentions.
He had stupidly figured that she understood he was all in after the way he’d reacted when she told him he was going to be a father.
Maybe the fear had overshadowed his joy.
Because Draco had been afraid. Afraid of ruining something he’d already played wrong.
Draco had been in love with Hermione Granger for almost three years.
Had been able to admit that to himself for nearly one year.
And had actually done something about it two months prior.
By taking her home and sleeping with her.
He’d done it all wrong.
Hermione didn’t deserve anxiety over his reaction to finding out she’d accidentally gotten pregnant.
Doesn’t deserve to feel like a second choice. Or like she isn’t even a choice.
The last thing Draco wants her to feel is like she is a burden or a problem or something Draco would ever walk away from.
Of course, Hermione Granger isn’t the easiest person to read.
He’d seen her insisting that he get a different car as a judgment of the fact that he’d bought the most expensive car he could find. Had missed the insinuation that their child would need something safer to be driven around in.
He’d assumed her outburst over him being late to work in the morning as genuine anger. Not taking note of the fact that she saw why he was late- being held up at the lifts by a witch from the steno pool.
And she never asks Draco for anything. Almost like she is worried he won’t want to give her whatever she is requesting.
She’d been terrified to tell him she was pregnant.
She had been surprised when he’d asked her out for drinks again after the first time.
From the start, she’s acted like he could never really want her.
Love her.
And Draco hasn’t said it nearly enough.
So once he wakes up to the reality of the situation that he put himself in, he takes the biggest step he can think of that won’t get him hexed.
He confesses how he feels about her, completely separate from the fact that now she is pregnant with his child.
Like most of their interactions, it starts in her flat.
She is cleaning up dinner, her wand doing most of the work, when he asks her to sit down.
“Just say it,” Hermione sighs, holding a hand to her stomach protectively. As if this is the shoe she was waiting for him to drop. Asking her to sit down so he can tell her he’s changed his mind. Decided he wants nothing to do with her anymore.
Guilt climbs Draco’s throat.
She really doesn’t realize how he feels.
But he can follow orders, so he does just say it.
“I love you, Hermione Granger.”
Her mouth falls open and her brow lifts. At a loss for words. Probably the first time in her entire life.
“I have been in love with you for three years. And I know that I did everything out of order. Wrong. I did it all wrong. But I am so beyond happy with the outcome. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have you. So maybe that is why I’ve done it all so badly. I didn’t think I’d get more than a night. More than dark rooms and silk sheets. I didn’t dare dream of more.”
Her mouth opens and closes several times.
He can imagine what she is thinking. Where did this come from? Why was he choosing now? How can I believe him?
“You don’t have to say it back. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t. Not that I don’t want you to.”
Draco runs a frustrated hand through his hair and then realizes he’s fucking up again.
Grabbing her hand to keep her there, Draco meets her eyes.
“I just mean that I’d like the chance to woo you. Court you. Properly. Will you let me do that? Even if it is out of order, would you let me court you?”
His nerves are fraying from the long confused looks and silent nothings that fall from her perfect lips.
He’s never managed so many words in a row without her interrupting to share her feelings or opinion.
“You love me?” She asks.
Draco has to put a hand over his heart to calm it enough so that he can answer.
“I love you,” he repeats, his entire body singing at the sunshine soaked feeling the words bleed into him.
“You want to court me. Like betrothal contracts and cigars with my father?”
He smiles.
Shakes his head.
“No. I want to write you poems and letters. Bring you bouquets of flowers picked specifically to express my ardor. I want to take you on outings- dates. I want to walk you home and ask your permission to kiss you goodnight.”
She closes her mouth. Thinks about it. He can see the thoughts so bright in her eyes.
“I- I would like that very much.” Her voice is small, but pleased.
Draco nods, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small folded piece of paper.
It is the first poem he has ever written for a woman.
Terribly written. She might even take a red pen to it.
“This is just for you. Not the baby,” he says as he gives it to her.
Draco excuses himself so she can read it.
By the third trimester, everyone else in their lives thinks Draco and Hermione have figured out what they are doing. What their relationship is. How they will coparent the little parasite.
But they aren’t there for the arguments. The ones that come from the pair of them being idiots.
“I thought maybe you could move in. Or I could move in with you.” Draco says one cold afternoon while he washes dishes in Hermione’s kitchen.
“Because of the baby.”
“No. Because we’ve been together for six months and I want to live with you. It is one of those- what are you so fond of calling them? Grown up life choices?” He is grinning.
She finds it infuriating.
“So you want to move in here? With my leaky faucet and warped floors?”
Draco runs his tongue over his teeth, his smile shrinking.
“Are you going to be thick headed about this, Granger?” He puts down the sponge and turns to look at her.
She glares.
“We spend almost every night together. You wake up in my bed, I wake up in yours. Hell, half of your wardrobe is at my flat.” Draco says it all very casually, like this isn’t a major step.
It prickles at Hermione.
“So it is about logistics.” Apparently she is going to be thick about this.
“No! I literally just told you that I want to live with you. Now, do you want to live with me or not?”
“Fine.”
“Fine? I’m not asking you to get a root canal!”
“You don’t even know what a root canal is, Malfoy!”
He’s riled her up.
“Why don’t you want to live with me?” He demands to know. Because he gets everything he wants.
Hermione does want to live with him. Has for months. Since the first morning he slipped out of her bed and whispered that he had to stop home before work.
She didn’t want him to have to leave. She wanted his home to be there, right beside her.
In that moment she’d been able to so clearly see the two of them dancing around each other in her kitchen, pouring tea and putting jam on toast. Her fixing his tie and him eyeing her slightly unprofessional length skirt.
The pair of them flooing to the ministry and him kissing her goodbye as they parted ways for their own respective departments.
“I do want to live with you,” she admits.
He huffs, dramatically, as he is prone to do.
“But I don’t want to live here. Or at your place either really. Both are death traps for babies.”
“I’ll start looking for someplace with cushioned floors and rounded cabinets.”
She laughs.
“Just like that?” She asks.
“Just like that? You hardly made it easy on me, Granger,” he defends.
“If I made it easy, you wouldn’t love me.” She is surprised by her own words. So obviously asking him to confirm that he loves her. He’d said it already. Why does she have to always push? Why does she have to ask for more?
“Exactly right,” he answers, equally as casually.
And then he is stepping into her space and sliding his hands around her waist, leaning down to kiss her slowly. Ardently.
Hermione is over being pregnant. Her feet hurt constantly and her mouth always feels watery. The morning sickness had ebbed, but her appetite was still all sorts of messed up.
She gets home from work late, a couple of hours after she’d told Draco to expect her.
So it is reasonable that he comes around the corner with worry on his face.
“Where have you been?” He asks, running a hand quickly through his hair. He’d clearly gotten home on time. If Hermione wasn’t so exhausted she may have even noticed that he’d tidied the house and drawn her a bath, the scent of lavender flooding the air.
Ordinarily, Hermione would have just told him that she got held up. That a million things landed on her plate today and that she is trying to get things in order before her maternity leave.
But her hormones make her do crazy things sometimes. Her emotions are hard to predict and harder to control.
So instead of explaining herself in a rational manner, she drops her bag, her shoes- which she’d taken off before hitting the Ministry lifts, and her coat.
“I am pregnant.”
Draco blinks.
“Yes…” he says slowly.
“I am pregnant. And I am tired. And hungry. I am a starving, exhausted, pregnant woman! And I can't have a martini, and I can’t have coffee. I can’t eat a spicy tuna roll or a greasy cheeseburger. I can barely see my own feet and my back is killing me. And it is your fault!” She gets more hysterical with every word, enraged and desperate for just an ounce of empathy.
“My fault?” Draco asks, incredulous.
“Yes! Your fault. You and your…” she points at his belt buckle, the brash snake one that she hates to love. Or loves to hate. She’s not sure anymore. “You did this to me. I am carrying your child and I am done. I’m-,” she is crying now and she isn’t sure when that started but she can’t do anything about it because her arms barely fit in her blazers from the baby weight.
“You’re tired,” Draco steps towards her and takes her hand, gently.
She nods, snot leaking from her nose and eyes watery.
“Here,” Draco says, walking behind her and slipping his hands around her waist.
She objects, pushing against his arm, not really wanting him to feel just how much her stomach has grown.
“Just- let me,” he whispers, pressing his back against hers and lifting her stomach slowly.
The relief is incredible, and her entire body shivers from the release.
“Breathe,” Draco reminds her.
She nods, smiling and sucking in as much air as she can. It is easy. She hadn’t realized how much harder everything in her body had become since she had entered her third trimester.
They stand together, the flat quiet, breathing in sync.
Hermione doesn’t really stop crying, but the tears aren’t out of frustration anymore. They are pure relief.
“Better?” He asks after they stand there for nearly ten minutes.
She nods, sighing as he moves his hands, letting her bump settle back into place. His hands glide over her dress to skim the top of her stomach, waiting for the faint kick of their child.
“I don’t think one cheeseburger will hurt the baby,” Draco teases, whispering in her ear.
“And chips. Extra crispy,” Hermione turns around in his arms, pressing a kiss to Draco’s lips, her eyes finally dry. “Salt and vinegar.”
Draco nods, “Whatever you want.”
Hermione laughs, presses her hands to her cheeks and tilts her head back.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she tells him, meaning it.
“I’m sorry I did this to you,” he replies, his hand still pressed to her stomach.
“I’m not,” she smiles softly.
“Me neither,” he smiles back, his other hand pushing a stray curl back off her face.
“And maybe a diet coke?” She asks.
“A very small one,” he lifts a brow.
They don their jackets and head to the chippy.