It's finally here, everyone! After 8 months of waiting, I am posting The Gift of Life, the sequel to my first real fic, The Gift of Joy. That story dipped in and out of the canon of Deathly Hallows, and this story picks up shortly after that one leaves off.

I've been working hard making sure that the story I put out there is the best it can be and I really hope you enjoy it. More detailed notes at the end!

Draco Malfoy had received many fantastic birthday gifts in his lifetime.

On his fourth birthday, he received a fire-breathing, flying, stuffed dragon that had quickly become his favorite toy for years.

For his ninth birthday, he received his first real racing broom, and he had jumped around his bedroom for hours, anxiously awaiting the pouring rain outside to pass so he could give it a go.

He had received his first kiss on his thirteenth birthday. Pansy Parkinson had cornered him in the common room after dinner and pressed her lips to his before running off with a squeak. It had been an out-of-body experience, practically.

Three years later, Pansy's gift morphed into his first hand job, given during their Prefect's rounds in an abandoned classroom. That particular birthday had been a revelation.

When Draco turned eighteen, however, he did not receive any extravagant presents. There were no new racing brooms or mind-blowing experiences with girls awaiting him that day. He knew this ahead of time. But that was not to say there weren't any gifts.

The only gifts he wanted were lying beside him in bed and in a nearby cot.

Hermione had been up with the baby most of the night, soothing and nursing. Though he volunteered to bottle-feed Shiloh at night, Hermione insisted on doing it all by herself.

Bloody stubborn witch.

He had been vaguely aware of her body slipping under the covers of their shared bed at Shell Cottage sometime in the night, but he hadn't been awake enough to cast a Tempus charm, let alone soak in just how damn tired she looked.

She had looked exhausted for practically the entire month since the Battle of Hogwarts—as it had come to be called. Forget about his birthday. She deserved a lie-in.

When the sound of Shiloh's tears roused Draco from his slumber on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he didn't stop to selfishly consider that today was his special day, as he would have in years past. Instead, he rolled over and blinked into an attempted state of consciousness.

Hermione stirred in her sleep, and he turned to face her. He drank in the bags under her eyes, apparent even in the early-morning moonlight. Over the past month or so, this woman had been nothing short of amazing. Not that she hadn't been before. But there was something awe-inspiring about watching Hermione become a mother; Draco had whole new layers of appreciation for all she was capable of. It wasn't only that she had she managed to recover from a rather traumatic birth. No, certainly not only that—though that was definitely an impressive accomplishment on its own.

What floored Draco nearly every day was that despite losing so much in the war, she was still able to care for their child with a level of compassion he wasn't sure he could ever possess. Every look, every touch, every word with Shiloh was loving in such a way that only a mother could be.

But looking at her now, it was clear that even she had her limits.

Shiloh's whimpers grew more urgent, and Hermione immediately shot up, blinking, a look of pure misery on her face.

"She can't be crying again. She just can't. I just got her down."

Hermione raked her hands up her face and inhaled deeply, clearly stifling a frustrated yawn. It was hard seeing her like this. Since she had given birth immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco hadn't seen her break down. Not even once. Even though he, himself, had cried off and on in the aftermath of the war, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not yet, anyway.

It was bound to happen, and soon if she didn't get any sleep. It would likely be good for her—cathartic, even.

But perhaps, thought Draco, four in the morning wasn't the best time for a breakdown. Especially with Shiloh about to cry.

"Don't worry, love. I've got her," he whispered, leaning over to kiss Hermione's cheek and guiding her head back down to her pillow.

"But Draco… 's your birthday." Hermione protested as she yawned again.

"Nonsense. You're exhausted. Go back to sleep."

He tried to make his tone as soothing as possible, and sure enough, Hermione snuggled right back into her pillow and was asleep moments later.

Taking a deep breath, Draco swung his pyjama-clad legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. He padded over to the cot, still bleary-eyed. Unlike her parents, Shiloh was wide-awake, her lower lip in a full pout and her grey-blue eyes big and teary. With trained motions, he scooped up his daughter and tucked her into the crook of his elbow.

"There, there, little girl. I've got you. That's a good girl."

With Shiloh safe in his arms, Draco shifted over to the rocking chair. Perhaps he could rest a bit, even if he couldn't sleep.

The chair seemed to do the trick, because within two minutes, Shiloh passed out completely, her little mouth hanging wide open. Draco couldn't help but chuckle, because when he looked over at Hermione, her mouth was in the exact same position.

Like mother, like daughter.

Somehow, in the past few weeks, the mundane had become very special. Draco delighted at things as simple as an evening walk, a soft kiss from Hermione, or even just sitting and watching his daughter sleep, much as he was now.

Draco could hear nothing but the sounds of breathing and the soft crash of waves in the distance as moonlight spilled in through the gossamer curtains, painting the room in hues of navy and cornflower. There was something peaceful about these early morning hours when all the world was asleep. In the chaos of a post-war existence, this was the perfect time of day for quiet contemplation. And this morning was made even more perfect when his daughter not only fell asleep, but stayed asleep as she cuddled against his chest.

Yes, if he had to pick a way to start his eighteenth birthday, this would definitely be it.

Surely, a party complete with cake and presents courtesy of Mrs. Weasley would come later, but for now, this was bliss.

Frankly, he was just grateful he could feel bliss at all. Life had turned upside down for so many in the past few weeks—months, even—and Draco had seen a number of his acquaintances struggle to acclimate to the new world that had emerged after the war. Many of those who had lost loved ones had taken to occupying pubs at all hours of the day and night. The wizarding clubbing scene had begun to grow exponentially in the past couple weeks, to the point there had been several articles in the Daily Prophet titled things like Ways to Avoid Questionable Parties and Best to Avoid : How to Attend A Banger While Avoiding Muggle Attention.

The parties were so rampant that even Longbottom had been roped in, it seemed. When Ginny Weasley had dropped by a few days previously to ogle at Shiloh and check in, she reported that he had been seen emerging from a dance club with his arms wrapped around not one, but two witches.

It was all a little much in Draco's opinion.

Still, celebrating a bit too hard was better than burying oneself in grief.

George Weasley hadn't emerged from his joke shop in over two weeks, at least according to Bill. He wasn't taking food. He wasn't making any noise whatsoever. In a panic, Mrs. Weasley had sent Bill over there last week to cast Hominem Revelio just to confirm he was still alive.

It seemed that the Wizarding World was, for the most part, firmly rooted in one of these two reactions to the victory. Even Ron seemed to pick a side. He fell into the party crowd. Just last week he had taken Luna out for drinks. Draco cringed as he remembered the sounds of loud, sloppy shagging coming from the sitting room of Shell Cottage in the middle of the night. He and Hermione had been up caring for Shiloh and had cursed the youngest Weasley brother for forgetting to throw up a silencing charm.

Draco had had half a mind to cover his daughter's ears.

Harry Potter was, of course, an exception to the rule. He seemed oddly steady as the days passed and the war began to settle into nothing more than memories. No doubt, having Ginny to lean on was a big reason that he seemed so… normal. The two of them came around a handful of times a week to sit by the ocean or chat. Harry insisted that he help out with Shiloh in order to be more prepared when it was his turn to watch Teddy without supervision.

As for him and Hermione… they were exhausted and emotionally drained, yes, but Draco was fairly certain that their state of being originated from taking care of a premature baby, not the aftereffects of war.

That was why Draco treasured these early morning quiet moments so much. In these precious minutes, he had the chance to come to terms with his new life.

Cuddling Shiloh into his chest a bit, he watched her sleep. He was so bloody grateful for this little girl. Not only was she his lovely daughter, but taking care of her had added much-needed structure to his life. He was too busy rocking, changing nappies, and winding to spend much time dwelling on much else.

When he did catch himself with a few empty seconds, his first thoughts were often his fathering skills, or lack-thereof, rather than the aftereffects of war.

Hermione insisted that he was a good dad.

Draco didn't really know what that looked like, so he couldn't speak properly on the matter. His care, even at this age, had been provided largely by house elves, so he hadn't the slightest idea what fathers typically did for newborns.

Even though Hermione encouraged him and all the books suggested that they were doing everything correctly, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong—that because of his actions, this sweet little girl would suffer.

Maybe he needed more rest as well…

Draco closed his eyes, allowing sleep to wash over him.

When he woke, the sky was filled with the soft orange of a new sunrise. He must have been asleep for at least an hour, if not two. Shiloh was still fast asleep in his arms. Glancing up, he saw Hermione was still sleeping as well. Thankfully, the bags under her eyes had lightened considerably.

When Draco adjusted his position, his arms jostled just a bit too much, and Shiloh began to fuss. Despite his shushing, the noise woke Hermione. With a yawn and a sleepy smile, she held out her arms to accept the baby.

"Thank you for taking her," she mumbled, unbuttoning her pyjama top to expose her engorged breasts.

Draco could stare at them all day if Hermione allowed it. Her creamy skin stretched around her dusty pink nipples, stiff and oh, so tantalizing.

Merlin, he couldn't wait for the healer to clear them for sex.

But it wasn't just what someone might think, him being an eighteen year-old bloke and all. Sure, he missed her body and the things it could do to him, but it was more than that. He missed the rush of closeness he felt when all barriers between them disappeared, when he was buried inside of her, every inch of them connected, both inside and out.

Clearly, he must have been staring for longer than he thought, because Hermione started laughing at him.

"What?" he asked defensively, sitting beside her on the crisp white duvet.

"You are so transparent, Draco Malfoy."

"And you're a tease."

"I'm feeding our daughter." Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Draco pouted momentarily, settling on his side to watch Shiloh suckle greedily at Hermione's breast.

"Aren't you the lucky one," he commented to his daughter. "You get to touch your mummy's breasts whenever you want because that's how you eat. I'm not even allowed to think about touching them." Draco waggled his eyebrows and shot a cheeky grin up at Hermione, who had begun to laugh in earnest now.

"Ooh, stop, Draco! Shiloh won't be able to latch properly."

He relented as their daughter finished her meal, offering to wind her afterwards. When she was successfully in a milk coma, he laid her back down in her cot.

"There. Hopefully the little sprog'll sleep for a bit." He collapsed beside Hermione in the bed, turning to grin at her. "Now what?"

To his surprise, a sly smile sat on Hermione's face, one edge turned up. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Did I say thank you for taking Shiloh last night? Because I really should."

Draco raised a single eyebrow as Hermione began to crawl across the bed toward him. He swallowed, but decided to play along.

"You know, I really can't recall. Perhaps I need a refresher."

In one swift movement, she settled herself between his thighs, hands tracing the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. He felt his cock harden. Oh, sweet Merlin. Was she…?

"Well," Hermione began, edging the garment down his legs. "Actions speak louder than words, don't they?"

Draco almost forgot to breathe as his length sprang free, cool morning air surrounding him for only moments before Hermione enveloped him with her hot mouth. He groaned in pleasure. Sweet Circe, he'd almost forgotten this sensation, the feeling of her tongue sliding across his cock, the warmth from her mouth drawing sounds and sensations from him that he didn't know were possible. This witch's lips and tongue were nothing short of magical, the way they swirled over him, wet and welcoming.

Everything else fell away as Hermione lavished his manhood with attention. He was vaguely aware of her hands fondling his sack, but all coherent thoughts evaporated the moment she took him all the way in her mouth. He managed to groan out a string of primal sounds as his balls began to tighten. No. He wanted to hang on just a little longer–he wanted to savor this feeling of pure ecstasy. If he came now, he would have barely lasted a couple of minutes. That was just embarrassing.

But then Hermione's tongue swirled over his tip as one of her hands began to pump him, and he was gone. Throwing his head back, he grunted as he came in thick spurts that she quickly swallowed.

Boneless, Draco fell back against the pillows.

Hermione crawled back up beside him and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Happy birthday, Draco. I love you."

"Love you, too," he murmured, turning to his side to snuggle into his girlfriend.

"I got you an actual present, you know," she whispered against his temple.

Draco drew back, his mouth quirking into a smile. "You didn't have to do that. I've got everything I need right here."

Wrinkling her nose in a laugh, Hermione rolled over and reached into the drawer of her bedside table. From within, she withdrew something hanging from a long, silver chain. Flipping back around, she held it out in her palm for him to take.

The small object sitting at the end of the necklace felt familiar in his fingers–the size, the weight, the texture…

He knew this gift. Draco looked between it and his girlfriend, his mouth hanging open in a disbelieving grin.

"Hermione, when did you find the time?"

She shrugged, shooting him a slightly smug smile. "I'm not the cleverest witch of my age for nothing." Sitting up, she slipped the chain over his head.

Draco looked down to see the pebble that had kept him sane for all those long months now hanging directly adjacent to his heart. The feel of the smooth rock against his skin felt comforting. It felt like home. And then, to his surprise, the pebble began to warm. Looking up, he saw Hermione wearing a nearly-identical chain, her own pebble held between her fingers.

"And I've got a matching one," Hermione said as she cupped his face and leaned in for another kiss. Their lips brushed together; it was his way of saying thank you when he didn't quite know what to say or even how to form words.

Yes, this was shaping up to be an excellent birthday, indeed.

Two days later found Hermione sitting at the breakfast table alongside Bill, Fleur, Harry, Ron, and oddly enough, Luna.

Hermione shot her redheaded best friend a knowing look as the eccentric girl slid beside him and dished herself up some sausages. Ron had the decency to turn pink with embarrassment.

"Have a good night, eh, Ron?" Bill asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

"Oh, I should hope so," Luna chimed in as she reached for the eggs. "I found a patch of land previously occupied by a nymph. It's quite auspicious and pleasurable to have relations in such a place, and…"

Ron turned three shades of purple, his eyes wide as he turned to her and haphazardly hissed, "Lu—Shh!"

"Just don't forget the contraceptive charm," Hermione chided. "Shiloh is cute, but I'm sure you have other plans for your immediate future that don't include raising a baby."

One of the first items of business Hermione had attended to once the dust had settled after the battle was to ask for a private lesson on contraceptives from Madam Pomfrey. In fact, during her upcoming year at Hogwarts, she planned to petition newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall to include a mandatory sex education course for all students. She didn't want anyone to be caught in a bind because of a lack of knowledge, as she had.

Not that she regretted Shiloh.

The sweet little girl was her whole world. But not everyone had the wherewithal at eighteen to become a parent, let alone be lucky enough to have a partner who was supportive as hers. Every time she watched Draco care for their daughter, her heart melted and her stomach burst into butterflies, as though she was falling for him all over again.

In a way, she supposed, she really was falling for him again. The Draco she had gotten to know last summer was in an incredibly dark place; he had been surly, vulnerable, and difficult to crack open. She had fallen for Draco as she peeled back layer after layer until all she could see was someone who just needed love and reassurance. She had comforted him, and in turn, he had done the same for her. Looking back, she wasn't sure if the twisting feeling in her stomach had actually been love or just a strong infatuation partnered with lust.

But watching Draco now, there was no way that the depth of her feelings could be explained by a mere infatuation. The man he had grown into was leagues away from the detached, angry boy he had been last year. There was love there–more love than she imagined possible coming from someone who had been so broken. The way he looked at her and the way he cared for their daughter made her heart feel complete.

Draco's love made her feel less broken inside… less torn apart by her horrific experiences from the war. And Shiloh… Shiloh gave her a reason to get out of bed every day; the little girl gave her reasons to smile and to make plans for the future. Hermione wanted to give her daughter the best life.

Just then, Draco clambered down the steps, their daughter cradled to his chest.

Ron hopped to his feet, his chair threatening to tip over in his haste, and his eyes flew to the baby. Whatever embarrassing information Luna had been about to share was cut off as Ron spoke over her a little too enthusiastically.

"There's my goddaughter!"

Hermione watched confusion pass over Draco's face for a brief moment when Ron practically raced over, his arms outstretched.

"Did you wash your hands?" Draco asked, clutching Shiloh tightly as he looked down his nose at the redhead.

"Well, yeah. A bit ago." Ron's hands faltered, dropping to his sides.

"Go and wash them again and then maybe you can hold her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco may have changed, but he could still be haughty when he wanted to be.

The blond settled beside her at the table, passing Shiloh over. Her daughter stared up at her with big grey eyes.

"She really is a lovely baby," cooed Fleur. "Bill, what do you say? Let's have one of our own."

Bill choked on his eggs, and Harry leaned over to pat his back. After clearing his throat, he became the second person to abruptly change the subject that morning.

"So, you lot—have you decided what you're going to do with your holiday before you return to Hogwarts?"

"Well, Harry and I weren't planning on going back," admitted Ron, who had sidled back into the room and sat down at the table. "Seems like a step backwards, dunnit?"

Hermione rounded on her best friends.

"You can't be serious. You need to complete your education if you want to have any hope of a meaningful career."

To her surprise, Harry answered her nagging with a single raised eyebrow. "'Mione, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offered both of us a spot in this year's training class. Didn't they owl you as well?"

Hermione frowned, shaking her head. She had not, in fact, received an owl offering her any sort of job. She could understand Harry being offered a job over her, of course, but Ron? A bitter jealousy bubbled in her stomach as she continued stewing at the breakfast table. Why had she not received any job offers? Not that she would have taken them, of course—she wanted to finish her NEWT year, but her heart sank a little at the thought that she hadn't even been considered.

As if he could read her mind, Draco rubbed her back, shooting her a reassuring look.

"Doesn't matter anyway. We're definitely heading back to Hogwarts in September, so a job offer would be wasted."

An awkward silence hung over the table for a minute until Luna piped up.

"Well, I am planning to go on holiday with Daddy as soon as he is discharged from St. Mungo's. We're going to look for another Crumple-Horned Snorkack horn since the old one was destroyed during the war."

The three Gryffindor friends shared a knowing look with one another. The horn—that had actually belonged to an erumpent had destroyed the Lovegood's home that past winter, nearly killing everyone on site. Hermione opened her mouth to tell Luna exactly what she thought about such an expedition, but Harry shook his head at her, as if to say, 'It's not worth it.'

"I was actually thinking about giving the Amateur Summer Quidditch League a try." Ron diverted everyone's attention to him. "They're looking for some new players and I thought I'd go to tryouts. Try to have some fun before Auror training."

When Harry suggested that he just wanted to spend a quiet summer with Ginny, Fleur had to remind her husband in hushed tones that the Boy-Who-Lived did not need a lecture.

"And what about you two?" Bill asked after he had taken a couple calming breaths. "Are you going to hang around here all summer with the baby? We'd be delighted to have you."

Hermione shot Draco a look. She hadn't really had time to discuss it yet, but… it had been a direct question, after all. Keeping her eyes on her daughter, she began to speak.

"Actually," she began, "I was hoping to take a trip to Australia. I sent my parents there when I Obliviated them, and I want to see if I can reverse the spellwork."

Stealing a glance to her right, she was met with Draco's kind eyes. The rest of the table didn't really respond. Obliviation reversal was notoriously difficult, and what she had done to her parents was considered more than mildly unethical by the handful of people she had spoken to since the war ended. Hermione could no longer count the number of times someone had warned her that any attempts to restore their memories would likely fail.

But none of that mattered… not when she had a chance to have them back in her life… not when she had the chance to introduce them to their granddaughter.

She hadn't quite had the time to discuss it all with Draco yet. Their conversations now mostly centered around nappies.

In her nervous state, she found herself continuing to babble on. "And of course we'd take the baby. I don't want to overburden you all summer. Is that… Draco?" She looked over to see a slight frown on his face.

"Are you sure you're up for such a trip?" He set his fork down. "You only had Shiloh a month ago, and you haven't been cleared by healers to travel. It seems a bit reckless if you ask me."

Draco's words hung in the air between them. Hermione's insides squirmed with guilt; she knew she had a history of recklessness where Shiloh was concerned. It seemed every time she looked at her daughter, she was reminded of what almost wasn't. Those rosy cheeks had been born blue, those powerful lungs, silent.

One month ago, she had vowed never to put herself, Draco, or Shiloh in that kind of danger again. In her opinion, Australia did not warrant the definition of reckless.

"I read that it's perfectly safe for babies to travel by Portkey," she began. "Also, I would be traveling with you the whole time. We'd be staying in a hotel and we could relax most of the trip." Hermione shot Draco a pleading look. "I've thought this through. I have a meeting with my healer later this week to make sure I'm ready. If the healer says no, I'll postpone it."

Draco sighed. "A holiday would be nice, I suppose. Of course, I had always pictured Italy for our first one together, but Australia is lovely as well." He smiled softly at her, patting her hand.

Hermione grinned back, relief flooding her chest. "I could arrange an international Portkey for next week sometime. What do you think?"

"Sounds perfect."

Hermione soon discovered that International Portkeys were handled in a different manner than domestic ones when she made inquiries with the Department of Magical Transportation. While domestic Portkeys could be regulated from outside the Ministry, all international travel had to be conducted from a departure point within the underground complex to ensure proper procedures and laws were followed.

Once arrangements were made, Draco and Hermione packed for winter in Australia. It was, admittedly, difficult to find cold weather baby clothes in the middle of June, but Mrs. Weasley had stepped in and knitted a small bundle of blankets and layettes for Shiloh. Ginny had whispered later that evening that it was the first time she had touched her knitting needles since the battle, and Hermione felt a wave of gratitude wash over her.

On the morning of June thirteenth, bags packed and the baby strapped to Hermione's chest, the young family Flooed over to the Ministry of Magic thirty minutes prior to their scheduled Portkey time. Saying goodbyes to everyone proved more difficult than she had imagined. Since they had no idea exactly how long they would be in Australia, they had not yet arranged for a return Portkey. Hermione had hardly been apart from Harry in almost a year, and his goodbye was the hardest. They had hugged for a rather abnormal amount of time beside the fireplace until Draco had heavily implied that it really was time to go.

Stepping into the Ministry atrium drew a number of stares from passersby. The Daily Prophet caught wind of the birth of a baby between star crossed lovers shortly after the battle, and had run several columns featuring outlandish speculations about their little family ever since. Until this moment, Hermione had avoided the Wizarding public for this very reason. But their Portkey was waiting, and they couldn't avoid going out forever.

She shielded Shiloh's face from the view of all those around them and led Draco over toward the lifts. Her feet seemed to lead her automatically, as she had become intimately familiar with the layout of this place during the infiltration last year.

If she thought about it this was her first time at the Ministry when she wasn't in any sort of danger. It was almost odd.

The lift carried them swiftly to Level Six, where the small family made their way down the hallway to the left, where the Portkey Office stood.

"Ready?" Draco asked as he placed his hand on the doorknob, poised to enter.

"Let's do this."

Hermione had expected to see a handful of office workers sitting at desks when they walked in. She had expected to see, perhaps, a bin full of objects ready to be turned into Portkeys.

What she hadn't expected to see was a group of Aurors huddled together, whispering. The moment they stepped through the threshold, the entire room seemed to freeze. All eyes turned their way as the typical sounds of office hustle and bustle died, replaced by the faint flaps of paper airplane memos and the buzz of empty air.

The hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. In fact, something was terribly, terribly wrong. An all-too-familiar twisting feeling returned to her stomach as she watched one of the Aurors step forward, his eyes glued to Draco.

Hermione watched all the color drain from his already-pale face.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy?" the man asked.

"Yes?" Draco responded, his voice hesitant.

"You're under arrest for the torture of eleven people using the Cruciatus Curse. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"I think you're mistaken," Hermione rushed forward as she watched two Aurors approach Draco with magic-suppressing cuffs. "Draco was on our side. He fought with us at Hogwarts. He gave Harry the wand that ensured he could beat Voldemort!"

The Aurors all flinched at the name.

"That may be the case, but he will have to prove that in front of the Wizengamot. In the meantime, he will be detained here at the Ministry."

"But you can't! We're meant to be going to Australia, the three of us."

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but there is nothing–"

"You can't take Draco away from his daughter!"

Hermione shifted to the side to show tiny, sleeping Shiloh to the Aurors. They paid her no mind, leading Draco away. He looked back at her over his shoulder, sheer terror shining in his eyes.

Her heart beating in her throat, Hermione looked around wildly for someone—anyone to do something.

"Excuse me," a small voice from a nearby desk piped up. Hermione whipped around to see a short wizard with a large, grey mustache holding up a straw hat with obnoxiously pink gloves. "Your Portkey is about leave. You'll need to grab hold of it, Miss Granger."

She managed to speak through her panicked breaths. "I'm sorry, but did you just—I can't go. I'll have to cancel."

"Oh, I'm afraid not. Policy dictates that once an international Portkey has been arranged, cancellations must be made more than twenty-four hours in advance. We've already filed paperwork with the Australian Ministry, you see."

"To hell with the paperwork!" Hermione protested, stamping her foot, her eyes filled with angry tears. "I can't go! Not now!"

"You can arrange for a return Portkey upon your arrival in Australia. Your destination will be the Portkey office at the Australian Ministry. With any luck, you will be able to make immediate arrangements." The tiny man looked at his pocket watch and squeaked. "Please, Miss Granger, grab hold of your Portkey. It departs in fifteen seconds."

Hermione's head pounded, her mouth dry. She clutched Shiloh to her chest through the baby carrier as if her daughter were the only thing keeping her grounded. Draco had been arrested. He had been arrested for torture!

She wanted to throw up.

Damn the consequences. Her parents could wait.

Hermione was about to turn around when she felt the rough texture of straw fill her hands. The employee must have shoved the hat at her. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but before she could get a single word out, the Portkey activated, and she felt herself being pulled up and away, out of the office.

When she landed in a similar-looking office moments later, she fell onto her knees, her arms still wrapped protectively around her daughter. The baby was, understandably, crying. Using a Portkey was an awful sensation, after all.

As for Hermione, she actually did throw up all over the floor of the Australian Ministry's Portkey Office.

Oh, were you under the impression that this would be a pure fluff story? Guess again!

Down to business. I am planning on this story being about 23 chapters. I will be updating EVERY OTHER WEEK, on Saturdays or Sundays. This every-other-week business is so that I don't ever leave you all anticipating a chapter that I haven't written yet.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are buckled up for the ride. I hope that you like where I'm taking the story. It's gonna be a journey.

Follow me on tumblr at BiscuitsForPotter for some nonsense. Leave a comment if you're feeling generous.

Love you all!