Present day

Hermione resisted the urge to curl up on the sofa feeling sorry for herself, and sat down instead, trying to think. Saying the words aloud to Ginny had made the pregnancy real to her in a way that it hadn't been before, even as she walked out of the clinic that morning, having decided not to go through with the abortion.

She was pregnant. In less than nine months, she would be someone's mother. She would be responsible for a tiny human being that would be entirely dependant on her ability not to screw everything up, and what a terrifying thought that was. She didn't feel old enough to be someone's mother; she did not feel mature enough for it. And she screwed up far too often for comfort.

She glanced at the framed pictured on the table next to her, and picked it up. It was a Muggle picture, the people in it did not move, but Hermione still remembered the day it had been taken, still could feel her mother's fingers on the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

"Everyone smile," her father had said, before running over to where they were, just in time to beat the camera's timer.

She missed them. She missed them and she wanted her mum. She badly wanted her mum.

Erasing their memories had kept them safe. It had been necessary; it had been the right thing to do. And it had been such an easy decision to make — she shuddered to think just how easy. No one had ever broken a Memory Charm — not without doing unspeakable things — but she thought she could. She thought she'd manage where everyone else had failed. How was that for arrogance?

She put down the picture with a sigh. She could leave. She could pack up and leave, and start from scratch somewhere else. A clean slate. A chance to do everything right. It was an appealing thought, but Hermione knew better. No one in life got a do-over. Her choices had been hers to make, and the only thing she could do now was make better ones going forward. No more running. She had more than just herself to think about now.

There was no place in Draco's life for the half-blood child of the Muggle-born witch he'd been screwing around with, but she would tell him all the same. He had a right to know. And she'd go from there.

Despite Ginny's reassuring words, Hermione did not believe she still had a place with the Weasleys and with Harry. She did not believe her child would have a place with them either. But she would try. She would try to mend those fences, and she would try to find a place for them both with the people who had once been her family. She could not lose if she was not playing, but she could not win either, and Hermione would try. Maybe she was no lion, but she was no coward either, and she would try.

When Draco came by that evening, Hermione had just managed to calm herself down. Her composure lasted exactly until she reached the door.

Draco kissed her cheek in passing, launching on a tirade about Doris, her elderly neighbour who lived down the hall, who always seemed to know when he was coming and was sure to be waiting by the door, ready to start a conversation about her equally elderly cat Tobias, who — and he knew this because she had told him on multiple occasions — was seeing an animal therapist, on account of his nerves.

"I am telling you, that woman is a seer," he said, ducking into the kitchen for a glass of water. "That's the only possible explanation. There's no avoiding her. I've tried Disillusionment Charms, the Muffliato Spell…"

"Draco," Hermione said, trying to get his attention.

"I have half a mind to buy an invisibility cloak," he continued, "for the express purpose of not having to talk to that woman. And do you know how much an invisibility cloak costs? More than the GDP of some countries, that's how much. I am willing to spend the yearly income of a small country to avoid talking to your neighbour."

"Draco!" she repeated, before adding in a softer tone, "We need to talk."

It was enough for the wizard's expression to morph into one of concern. No conversation likely to go smoothly ever started with the words 'We need to talk.'

"What's wrong?" he asked, coming to sit next to her on the sofa.

Hours of thinking of the best way to break the news had yielded no significant results, so she just came out and said it.

"I'm pregnant."

All colour drained from Draco's face and his eyes went wide with shock. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.

"What?" he finally managed. "How?"

Hermione stood up, unable to sit still. "I know biology is not taught at Hogwarts," she said, wringing her hands, "but I would think the 'how' would be rather obvious."

Draco stared up at her, looking no less shocked now that he had had all of thirty seconds in which to digest the news.

"We were careful," he said weakly.

"Not careful enough," Hermione said with a sigh, sitting down on the coffee table, across from him.

They didn't speak for several minutes, lost in the enormity of it all. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she was anywhere but there, having that conversation. Merlin, it was such an unmitigated disaster.

When Draco spoke again, it took her a moment to fully comprehend what he had said.

"Do you want to get married?" he asked.

"What?"

And up she went again, propelled by all the nervous energy she had been storing since the pregnancy test had turned positive.

"No, I don't want to get married! That's the most ridiculous idea you've ever had, and you once insulted a Hippogriff."

"Well, why the bloody hell not?" He sprung to his feet, propelled by some nervous energy of his own.

"You are engaged to someone else," she shouted, unable to contain her frustration.

"Engaged isn't married," he said.

"It's close enough."

He threw up his hands, aggravated. "I didn't want to marry Astoria in the first place."

"Which brings me to my next point," she continued, too worked up by then to measure her words. "You couldn't even tell your father you don't want to marry her. How exactly do you intend to break it to him that you got a 'Mudblood' pregnant?"

Draco looked as if she had slapped him, stunned and speechless.

"Is that really the issue?" he finally asked, voice low and dangerous. "Or is it the fact that you would never entertain the idea of marrying a Death Eater, even if you have no problems fucking one?"

"Screw you." All her anxiety and worry had turned to seething indignation. "I never—"

"The Prophet would have a field day with this," he said, cutting her off. "The witch who broke the heart of a war hero got knocked up by the guy responsible for Albus Dumbledore's death. They would tear you apart. Again. And who could blame you for not wanting to go head to head with Rita Skeeter again? But next time you want to call me a coward, start by looking in the mirror."

Hermione was too aggravated even to care that she was crying.

"Get the fuck out of my house," she said with an unsteady voice.

"Gladly."

He stormed out without another word, banging the door shut on his way out.

Draco pushed the elevator button furiously, as if it were to blame for the way his life was slowly, but surely spiralling out of control. He had tried to Disapparate before realising Hermione's wards extended past her flat, so now he was left doing battle with the blasted contraption that always took half a million years to arrive.

Too irritated to stand there waiting for the damn thing, he made a dash for the stairs.

He made it down two flights of stairs before coming to a sudden halt, stuck between wanting to keep going and wanting to go back. What was he doing? What were they both doing? That first night hadn't been a mistake — if he knew anything, he knew that. Neither had any of the ones after. Leaving now would be, though.

No more displays of ego. He was not a child; he did not get to lash out just because his feelings were hurt.

Making his way back upstairs at a more sedated pace, Draco knocked on Hermione's door. He waited for a few seconds, but nothing happened.

"Come on, Hermione," he pleaded, knocking again.

He was beginning to think she was not going to open when he heard a click and the door swung back, revealing the witch. Hermione's face was blotchy and red, but she was no longer crying.

"I'm not leaving," he said. "We're going to talk about this."

After a moment, she nodded and took a step back to let him in. There was always a chance it would end in another shouting match, but for now they were both making an effort. Determined to do better, Draco grabbed Hermione's hand in passing and headed for the kitchen. Maybe he didn't know how to fix anything or make anything better, but he did know how to use that fiendish kettle of hers to prepare a cup of tea. He'd start there.

Ten minutes later they were back in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa. The tea was still too hot to drink, but it served its purpose in providing something for them to look at other than each other.

Hermione was the first one to break the silence.

"A baby," she said without looking at him, "is a terrible reason for two people to get married. You wouldn't have asked me to marry you if I wasn't pregnant, and I'm not going to marry you just because I am."

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?" she asked, as if suspicious of such swift agreement.

"Okay," he repeated. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't always have to be difficult. "But I want to be involved," he said. "I want to be a part of my child's life."

"Okay," she said with a small smile, finally meeting his eye. Her smile fell, however, when another thought crossed her mind. "How will Astoria—"

"Astoria won't care," Draco said, which was true enough. Astoria was more than willing to disregard his indiscretions, provided he afforded her the same courtesy. "My parents, on the other hand…"

Surprised to feel her hand on his, Draco looked at the witch.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," she said.

He shrugged, grabbing her hand in his. "Don't be. It's true enough. Merlin, this might just kill my father." It was not a conversation he was looking forward to having.

Hermione moved closer and Draco put an arm around her, glad of the contact. It was a bloody mess any way he looked at it, but he'd make it work. They'd make it work.

"I'm sorry for what I said as well." He hesitated for a second before adding, "But the Prophet will be all over this. It won't be pretty."

There was something to be said for the notion that the best thing he could do for Hermione and their child was to stay well away.

Hermione was silent for a moment. She was leaning against him, her back against his chest, and from that angle he couldn't see her face.

"When I was fifteen years old," she finally said, "I trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar for a week. I'm not afraid of that woman. I didn't put up a fight last time, but if she comes after me again, if she comes after my child, I will crush her like the bug she is."

Draco laughed softly, kissing her temple. "I do so love it when you're terrifying."

Reaching for his other hand, she settled more comfortably against him.

"We can't keep doing this," she said after a while. They had somehow ended up lying down on the sofa, Hermione half on top of him.

Draco did not need to ask what 'this' was.

"I know," he said.

"You'll be married soon," Hermione continued, "and I draw the line at sleeping with a married man."

"I know," he repeated, tightening his arms around her as if to keep her just a little while longer.

"But we'll be civil." She sat up on the sofa, turning to look at him. "Civil and sensible, and we'll get along. We'll have a child, we can't—"

"We'll get along," he agreed, pulling her back down on top of him.

"We could be friends."

She lifted her head, turning to face him.

"We could. I'm an excellent friend."

And to prove just how excellent, he cupped her face with his hand and kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss.

"That's not very friendly," she complained rather unconvincingly.

He shrugged. "Practice makes perfect. We should start tomorrow."

Smiling, Hermione kissed him again, a soft, teasing kiss that grew deeper and more heated until they were both out of breath.

He and Hermione would never be friends. Not before they had been a great many deal of other things first, and maybe not even then.

There would be no wedding. Even if Hermione did not want to be his wife, he could not marry Astoria. He knew that, even as he pretended differently. He loved his parents and he wanted to make them proud, but the life they wanted for him was very different from the life he wanted for himself. And Astoria deserved better than to marry someone who was in love with someone else.

It occurred to him that maybe he did too.

AN: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it :)