In Winter

Mid-December

It was taking an eternity to locate the bloody horcruxes. Of the speculated six artifacts, only three had been found and destroyed. The diary, the ring, and the locket currently resided harmlessly in the vault of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Hufflepuff's cup, something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's, Nagini… The words echoed through Hermione's head like a mantra, over and over again until they became meaningless syllables.

She was in the library. Again. By herself. Again. The boys were off enjoying the break from horcrux hunting, doing Merlin knew what. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Hermione was pretty sure she knew exactly what they were doing, but as the visual it created was not something she wanted ingrained in her mind, she chose not to dwell on the thought too long. Instead, she inserted her nose into a book and tried to search for any clues to help them find the next horcrux.

"Granger. What a surprise. Potty and the Weasel are off getting their dicks wet, and here you are, in the library. Not even the threat of impending doom can force you to have a little fun."

Hermione glanced up from her book. Draco Malfoy sneered at her from the doorway. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the tome in her lap. "Piss off, Malfoy."

Malfoy did not, in fact, piss off. Instead, he casually stepped over the threshold and into the library, pushing the door shut behind him. Hermione sighed. Ever since the Order had elected to hide Malfoy at Grimmauld Place, he'd been bored stiff. Apparently the only form of entertainment he could find for himself was tormenting Hermione whenever she was staying at the old Black mansion in between missions. Not that she was surprised, given their history, but it was annoying nonetheless.

She eyed him surreptitiously as he took a seat in the armchair across from her. In a way, she felt sorry for him. It was almost Christmas, and he hadn't seen his mother since the summer. He didn't even know where Narcissa was hiding; just that she was alive and safe. The Order had placed her with her sister, Andromeda Tonks, and though she was doing surprisingly well under the circumstances, everyone agreed that both mother and son would be safer not knowing where the other was located. After all, everyone had known exactly where Lucius Malfoy was, and after Draco's failed mission, Death Eaters had immediately descended upon Azkaban, broken him out, and publicly executed him. It had been a violent display of brutality, and though Hermione knew that Draco wasn't particularly close to his father, it would be hard for anyone to deal with.

But, aside from all of that, or perhaps partially because of all that, Malfoy was still a rotten, sodding little prick. Hermione shook her head in an attempt to erase all thoughts of Malfoy from her head, reminding her of the Etch-A-Sketch her parents had given her for her eighth birthday. Damn it. Her parents. They were living happily in Australia, exactly where Hermione had deposited and Obliviated them, completely ignorant of the fact that they had a daughter. The mental image of their confused but polite smiles as Hermione questioned them to check the accuracy of her spell work made her eyes prickle with tears that she refused to allow to fall in front of Malfoy.

Breathing deeply in and out a few times, she managed to get her emotions in check. She wasn't finished with the page she was reading, but turned it anyway to keep up the façade of being engrossed in her book. Undeterred, Malfoy conjured bubbles and levitated them to hover directly above the text Hermione was pretending to read.

"Honestly, Malfoy, you are a complete tosser. Anybody else in your situation might at least try to be civil. Certainly even my companionship would be preferable to none at all," Hermione huffed haughtily.

"Honestly, Granger," Malfoy mimicked, "You are a complete prude. Anybody else in your situation might at least try to get shagged. Certainly even your hand would be preferable to nothing at all."

Her head snapped up in a blur. She'd had enough of his harassment. It was time to teach him a lesson. "You think I'm a prude? Shows how little you know."

Malfoy snorted in disbelief.

"Furthermore, perhaps you ought to reconsider your insistence that I attempt to get shagged, unless you intend to offer your services in remedying said problem." Hermione stared at him pointedly.

He gaped in response. So that was how you shut Draco Malfoy up. With a satisfied little curl of her lips, she continued, "No? All talk, are we? Well, then I suppose you are right. Certainly my hand will be preferable to nothing at all." And with that, she slid her book aside, and trailed one hand from her throat down to her lap, pausing to brush over a breast on its way.

Hermione gleefully observed that Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of his head as they followed her hand's downward movement. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and Malfoy was out of his chair as if launched from a cannon.

He stood frozen in front of her, an arm's length away, and the expression gracing his pointed features could only be described as uncertain. Hermione was feeling immensely gratified. After months of incessant prodding and instigating, she had finally turned the tables on Malfoy.

Taking the first finger of her free hand into her mouth, she met Malfoy's gaze. She pulled the finger back out slowly, releasing it with a pop. He broke their eye contact, glancing down at her glistening finger.

Letting her own eyes drop, Hermione noticed with satisfaction that a slight bulge had presented itself in the front of Malfoy's trousers. Without hesitation, she pulled her hand from between her legs and leaned forward to graze it down his hardening length. When she reached its base, she quickly curled her hand into a fist around his scrotum, and tugged just hard enough for him to emit a high pitched sound that expressed a combination of both pleasure and pain.

"Pay attention, Malfoy, because I'm not going to repeat myself. I am not a prude, and you don't know the faintest thing about me. Quit harassing me. I don't need a wand to remove your balls, as I'm sure you're beginning to realize. Now, piss off!" Hermione finished heatedly, and she pushed on Malfoy's groin as she let go.

He stumbled backwards, staring at her with a strange mixture of anger, embarrassment, arousal, and just a hint of admiration. A moment later, he had once again donned his cool mask of arrogance, and he wordlessly stalked out of the library.

When she was sure he was gone, she allowed herself a quiet giggle. She knew that she had potentially just made things worse for herself, but she also couldn't deny that literally having him by the balls felt so much more empowering than punching him in the face had in their third year at school. There was something simply wonderful about rendering Draco Malfoy speechlessly indignant. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

XXX

Late December

Draco was in the drawing room, pacing in front of the windows that overlooked the dark, wet street below, only occasionally pausing to take another swig of Firewhisky. He turned to stare at the tapestry of the Black family tree. His name was in the lower right-hand corner, just under those of his mother's and father's. His father was dead. And Christmas had come and gone without him having seen his mother, though she allegedly was alive somewhere. Draco knew it was too risky for either of them to travel, or to even know too much about the other, but that knowledge didn't make the situation any more pleasant for him.

He thrust the Firewhisky bottle down onto a desk in disgust. Drinking by himself wasn't accomplishing anything except increasing his frustration. The Gryffindor saints had returned a few days before, just in time for Christmas, after having been on some mission or another. They'd left the day after Draco's encounter with Granger in the library. He wondered if that was coincidental or not. Well, perhaps one of them would join him for a drink. Draco considered that for a moment.

Potter wasn't thrilled to have Draco staying in his house. But Dumbledore had had hope for Draco, so Potter did too. Draco was a bit skeptical of Potter's blind trust in the old man, but also grateful. It had very likely saved his life. Weasley, on the other hand, was still rather suspicious of Draco, and probably always would be, to some degree. But both Potter and Weasley had treated Draco better than he'd deserved, and certainly better than he'd expected.

Granger was a different story. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that Draco was a constant thorn in her side. He smirked. He couldn't help it; she was just so much fun to provoke. Sometimes all he had to do was look at her to set her off. In school, his main motive in bothering her had been jealousy. But after months of being cooped up at Grimmauld Place, it became boredom. Granger possessed two things he'd missed immensely in his time there: the wit necessary for verbal sparring, and a lovely pair of breasts. As far as Draco was concerned, he could hardly be blamed for wanting to instigate some sort of altercation under those circumstances. After all, the sexy biker chick posters in Sirius' old room only did so much for him. And he sure as hell wasn't looking at Mrs. Weasley that way when she stopped by to check on him.

"Ugh." Draco shuddered, and grabbed the Firewhisky, downing another mouthful in attempt to wipe that last thought from his mind. Realizing he'd come full circle, and was back to drinking alone again, he left the drawing room.

As he stepped into the hallway, he heard the sounds of a creaking bed frame coming from upstairs. Potter must have the little wife over, Draco observed. If Draco's understanding was correct, the formidable Weasley girl had informed Potter that being apart for her "protection" was asinine, and that they belonged together. So they had married that fall, much to Mrs. Weasley's simultaneous delight and dismay.

"I can't stand it any longer!" a feminine voice exclaimed from down the hall.

Draco glanced up to find the source, and saw Granger storming out of her bedroom a few doors down. She looked irritated. "What's wrong?" he called. "Can't you manage a simple silencing charm?"

Granger stopped for a second, startled, then kept walking once she realized who was talking to her. "Yes, but they keep wearing off. Those two have been at it for hours!" she said exasperatedly. She was about to brush past Draco, but the next words out of his mouth stopped her in her tracks.

"You can't hear a thing from the drawing room, you know," he said.

She looked hopeful. "Really?"

"Really," Draco responded. "And I've got just the cure for your bad mood." He shook the bottle of Firewhisky at her in what he hoped was a tempting manner.

After scrutinizing both the bottle and Draco's face for a moment, Granger gave in. "Oh, all right then. It can't be worse than sitting in the kitchen by myself, I suppose, unless of course, you plan on being a pompous git?" She stared expectantly.

Draco shrugged. "No more than usual," he answered.

Granger rolled her eyes. "I guess that's more than I could reasonably expect. From you, anyway." She edged past him and into the drawing room.

"Granger, you wound me," Draco declared in mock hurt. She ignored him, grabbing a clean glass from the liquor cabinet before taking a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace, staring at Draco expectantly. It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "Would you like some Firewhisky?" he asked, bemused.

"Yes, please," she said pleasantly.

He obliged, filling her glass about halfway before retrieving a glass of his own and settling himself on the other end of the couch. Soon, under the influence of liquor and mutual annoyance with their upstairs neighbors, they were chatting quite amicably, having both apparently made the unspoken decision not to bring up any touchy topics. Draco didn't make any disparaging remarks about her heritage, and Granger politely neglected to bring up his resemblance to a ferret. They didn't talk about the Dark Lord, the Order, or either of their sets of parents.

"I still can't believe you ditched out on Trelawney's class like that. That, Granger, took balls. And I don't mean the crystal kind," Draco said after a short lull in conversation.

Granger burst out laughing. "Imagine if you could see the future in a man's pair…" she trailed off as giggles completely consumed her. She was tipsy, Draco observed idly. And if the warmth in his belly was any indication, so was he.

In fact, with each additional swig, he felt his mood improve just a bit, and he also found himself increasingly aware of how little clothing Granger wore. Her pajamas consisted of an open robe over top of black cotton shorts that rode high up her thigh and a purple top with practically non-existent straps. The creamy expanse of soft-looking skin was tantalizing. Draco hadn't been in the presence of such femininity in months, and he'd be lying to himself if he had claimed to be unaffected. He was only glad for the thick green fabric of his own sleep pants, lest a tell-tale bulge present itself to Granger again.

Draco sighed into his glass inconspicuously. Ever since the night in the library, Granger had, against Draco's will, been starring in all of his lurid fantasies. He wondered if she'd been bluffing when she'd claimed not to be a prude. She was either telling the truth, or she was a rotten little tease for what she'd done to him. He decided that it would be a good idea to ask her. They were both a little drunk, so there was a chance she might answer truthfully. Otherwise, he could just play it off like he was just being his normal prick-of-a-self.

"You know, Parkinson used to think she could see her future in my bollocks," Draco joked, picking up their previous conversational thread.

Granger almost choked on her Firewhisky, but recovered beautifully. Obviously, those Weasley twins had been a bad influence on her. "Is that so?" she questioned, unable to keep a smile from her face.

"Indeed. She even named some of my little swimmers, in case they ever decided to become children," he responded, also grinning.

"You're joking!"

Draco shook his head wryly. "I wish I was." He took another drink. "So, Granger, you ever name somebody's little swimmers?" he asked casually.

"You're trying to ask me if I'm really not the prude you've always assumed that I am," she deadpanned.

Damn. Maybe she wasn't as drunk as he thought. "Yes."

"I already told you, I'm not a prude," Granger reminded him.

"I thought maybe you were lying," Draco mused.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"Are you a virgin?" he persisted.

Granger appeared to be considering whether or not to answer. Finally she said, "No, I'm not that either."

Draco grinned wickedly. "Oh! So you're a slag, then?"

She slapped him on the shoulder. "I most certainly am not!" Draco caught her arm before she could withdraw it, and he pulled her body flush against his.

"You will be by the time I'm through with you," he murmured just before his lips crashed against hers, all the while retaining the presence of mind to set down his Firewhisky on the floor.

Granger, not having any warning, slopped the contents of her glass down her chest as she struggled against Draco, squeaking a little as the cool liquid trickled its way down between her breasts. Her now-empty glass hit the floor when Draco moved his mouth to her collar bone, greedily licking up the spilled alcohol. She had quit trying to resist already. If the liquor had affected her in the same way it did Draco, he surmised, then every nerve ending in her body was on fire, begging to be touched.

"You arrogant bastard," Granger moaned as she arched against him, trying to bring their bodies closer together.

Draco responded by shoving her robe, along with the tiny straps of her top, down her shoulders. Through the thin fabric covering her breasts, he observed that her nipples were straining against their prison. Draco teased her for a moment, circling the hardened peaks with the pads of his thumbs, and then tugged at her neckline until her beautiful tits hung exposed before him. Starting from the bottom curve of her breast, he dragged his tongue up her cleavage, lapping up the rivulets of Firewhisky there.

Abandoning any remaining pretense of discontent, Granger grasped the hem of Draco's shirt and pulled it off of him, tossing it onto the floor. She explored the contours of his chest with the palms of her hands, and he gasped as she found the trail of coarse blond hair just past his navel. Not even the thickest pajama pants could conceal his erection now. Draco was hard as a rock.

He resumed his attention on her bosom, focusing now on her nipples as he took one in his mouth and the other between his thumb and forefinger. His tongue flicked over her pebbled flesh a few times, and Granger rewarded him with a contented sigh. One of her hands tangled in his platinum hair while the other slipped teasingly into his waistband. Draco's unoccupied hand slid around her torso, and he lifted her onto his lap so she was straddling him.

Granger responded by grinding against his cock, and a low groan escaped through his clenched teeth. Things were moving more quickly than Draco had originally meant for them to, but his body wanted to unite with hers in a very desperate way. One finger traced its way down her spine, and she shivered as he gently cupped her arse, unconsciously holding her steady as he began rocking against her.

Evidently Granger was becoming just as impatient as Draco, because she yanked down the waistband to his pants and began stroking his engorged member, starting at the tip to collect the bead of pre-cum there, and then spreading it down his length. Draco bucked against her hand in an attempt to increase the friction, all the while trying to divest her of her shorts without breaking momentum.

Finally, he managed to ease the garment down Granger's hips, and she propped herself up with one foot to allow him to pull it down her leg completely. She kicked the offending article off her ankle and resumed her position, letting the shorts fall to the floor next to Draco's black t-shirt.

Time stopped for a brief moment as Draco realized surreally that Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Queen of Mudbloods, was half-naked in his lap on the couch in his dead cousin's drawing room. A second later, she had impaled herself on his cock. It was glorious. His hands found her hips as he matched his rhythm to hers. Granger rode him at a leisurely pace for awhile, and Draco languished in the view of her breasts bobbing in his face.

Gradually she picked up speed, and soon they were thrusting against each other urgently, desperately seeking sweet release. Draco watched in awe as Granger's face contorted in pleasure just before her walls clamped down on him. The quiet of the room was disrupted as she vocalized her orgasm with the most erotic moan he'd ever heard. Before Draco could fully appreciate the glow that signaled Granger's post-coital bliss, his own undoing was upon him. His arms went around her, embracing her tightly as he rode out the final spasms of his own orgasm.

Granger lay draped over him for several minutes as they both tried to catch their breath. Then, shifting subtly, Draco stretched out on the couch with Granger entwined in his arms next to him. Relaxed beyond comprehension by the Firewhisky and the endorphins released by satisfying sex, he drifted off into slumber.

The next morning, Draco awoke to an empty house again.

XXX

Early February

What the hell had she been thinking? Even after an entire month, Hermione still could not, for the life of her, explain to herself how she'd let herself end up wrapped around Draco Malfoy, semi-nude, in the middle of the night. She wished she could blame the alcohol, but she knew that was a cop-out. She'd still been coherent enough to know what was going on. Unfortunately. So, to make up for her lapse in judgment, she did what any sane person would do.

She woke up Harry and Ron, and immediately set off to follow a lead on the location of Hufflepuff's cup. Yes, she knew what time it was. No, they couldn't wait until morning. It was imperative that they leave now.

It was a good thing that Hermione was the brightest witch of their age, because she actually managed track down the horcrux. Of course, that was the easy part. They'd spent the better part of a month camping in Austria, first attempting to break the wards surrounding the dilapidated old manor in which the cup was hidden, and then trying to find the damn thing inside the huge mansion.

They were cold, exhausted, and hungry. And for the past couple of weeks, Hermione had been suffering from some unpleasant stomach virus. She'd been waking up early to be sick in private. She didn't have time to be ill, and she'd be damned if she let Harry and Ron find out that she was feeling under the weather. If they knew, they'd insist that she return to Grimmauld Place, which was the last place she wanted to be. Especially if she was sick.

That morning, she was puking her guts out in the woods again, alone. Or so she thought.

"Oi, Hermione, are you alright?" a voice called out from behind her as she heaved into the underbrush.

She turned, straightening unsteadily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm fine, Ronald. Thank you for asking."

"You don't look fine," Ron stated. "Harry, you'd better come over here. There's something wrong with Hermione. I think she's sick."

Harry appeared a moment later, a crease in his brow. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

Smiling weakly, she responded, "Of course, Harry. It's nothing, just ate something that didn't agree with me, I guess."

Ron frowned. "She's lying. This is the third morning in a row she's been sick. I've heard her leaving the tent early, but didn't want to say anything in case it was a fluke."

Damn it, Ron Weasley. Why did he have to chose now, of all times, to start being observant? "I'm fine," Hermione insisted.

Shaking his head, Harry said, "Ron and I can finish up here just fine. We've only got one wing left to search, and it shouldn't take too much longer to find this horcrux. Why don't you go back to Grimmauld Place and get some rest?"

Hermione knew better than to argue with Harry. "Fine," she grumbled. Despite her displeasure with the situation, she was still grateful that the boys cared about her well-being. Even if they were exiling her to a dusty old mansion with only Malfoy for company.

Harry must have sensed her reluctance. "Maybe Ginny can come stay with you until we get back?"

She nodded. That would certainly make things more tolerable. By the end of the day, she was back at Grimmauld Place, with Ginny on her way to visit her the next morning.

Ginny found Hermione curled on the bathroom floor, clutching the edge of the toilet bowl. "Oh, honey, Harry's Patronus said you weren't feeling well, and it was no exaggeration, was it?" she asked in concern as she stepped into the room to wet a washcloth for her friend.

Hermione groaned in response.

Donning a motherly expression that was eerily similar to that of Mrs. Weasley's, Ginny asked, "Do you have any symptoms besides the nausea?"

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione said, "No, that's about it. I've been feeling a bit better as the day goes on, but just when I think I've shaken it, I wake up sick again. This is the most persistent flu I've had since I was little."

Ginny looked skeptical, but before she could voice her opinion, somebody said from the hallway, "Are you daft? You don't have the damn flu. I thought you were supposed to be clever?"

Hermione and Ginny both looked up to see Malfoy standing just outside the open bathroom door. Ginny was nodding reluctantly.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Hermione asked irritably.

"Millicent Bulstrode had the same 'illness' last year. Though who would get close enough to shag her is a mystery to me," Malfoy muttered.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Then Ginny looked at Hermione pointedly. "Have you been sexually active? When was your last cycle?"

Hermione was silent, but the stricken look that crossed her face was answer enough for Ginny. She pulled out her wand and waved it over Hermione's abdomen, murmuring an incantation. Hermione's skin glowed iridescently for a moment, and then faded back to its normal hue.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and stared at Hermione matter-of-factly. "It's not the flu. It's morning sickness. You're pregnant."

Hermione glimpsed Malfoy's contemplative expression before she buried her head in her arms. "Fuck," came her muffled assessment of the situation.

XXX

Late February

Draco was going to be a father. He was terrified. He hardly knew how to take care of himself, let alone look after a child. He wished, more than ever, that he could talk to his mother. She would know what to say to comfort him. Actually… What would Mother have to say about her only son impregnating the most famous Muggle-born witch in the wizarding world? Draco could hardly expect her to be pleased. But then again, he'd also heard that she was very excited for her half-blood niece, Nymphadora Tonks, to give birth to that little were-baby of Lupin's, so maybe only Merlin knew how she would react.

Even so, Draco was worried, not only about his potential parenting abilities, but also about bringing a child into such an uncertain world. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly seek to kill the offspring of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. That baby would be number two on the Death Eaters' most wanted list, right after Harry Potter.

Right. Harry Potter. Once he found out that Hermione was knocked up, courtesy of Draco, all hell would break loose. Fortunately, Ginny Weasley had agreed to keep quiet about the whole situation until Draco and Hermione figured out what to do. Not that they really had too many options. No matter what happened, they were having a baby. Even if Hermione had wanted to terminate the pregnancy, there was no way Draco would agree to it. He may not have wanted to become a father, particularly under these less-than-ideal circumstances, but killing his own child was simply unthinkable. The thought had never bothered him before, but now it was different. Now it was real.

The knowledge that his child was growing inside Hermione's womb changed everything. He was even viewing Hermione differently. Instead of contempt or amused superiority, Draco was looking at her with admiration and respect. Because of her, the next Malfoy heir was joining the world.

Since the realization of Hermione's pregnancy had hit them, they'd formed a tentative truce. Draco knew that, despite all of his shortcomings in the past, this was his chance to do something right. He'd been looking after Hermione to the best of his abilities; he awoke early every morning to fetch glasses of water and lightly buttered toast. He helped Ginny perform basic diagnostic spells to monitor both Hermione's and the baby's health. He even started reading a few books on pregnancy he found in the library.

That morning, Draco and Ginny were sitting in Hermione's bedroom, going through their daily routine of spells to check up on her progress. Draco sat to one side of Hermione's bed, watching Ginny conduct the last few spells.

"How'd you get so good at all of this?" Hermione wondered appreciatively.

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Mum taught me the basics when we found out Tonks was expecting. She thought it might be important to know, just in case. Then, when Harry and I got married, she insisted that I learn it all a bit more in depth. Again, just in case, of course." She rolled her eyes. "As if I'm going to start popping them out like she did."

Hermione chuckled lightly, but broke off in a wince. Draco had her hand in his in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm sure," Hermione said, frowning. "I'm just having some cramping, I think. But that can be normal, right, Ginny?" She turned to her friend for reassurance.

"Well," Ginny began, "It can be, yes. But it can also be a sign of a complication. I don't know if I can tell the difference." She paused as Hermione winced again. "Maybe I'd better get my mum."

Draco made eye contact with Hermione. If anyone was an expert on pregnancy, it was Mrs. Weasley. But telling her what was going on would be a complication of its very own. Suddenly, an idea popped into Draco's head. "Andromeda," he said.

Ginny looked startled. "What?"

"My aunt Andromeda. She'll help. She's a member of the Order, right? And not only does she have a daughter of her own, but that daughter is pregnant now. She'll know what to do. And she's family. She won't tell anybody until we're ready, and she won't judge," Draco explained.

Hermione nodded. "What he's saying makes sense. Maybe we should go to Andromeda. That might be better than getting Molly involved, especially if it's really nothing."

Ginny appeared to be slightly dubious, and Draco watched in fascination as a silent conversation seemed to pass between Ginny and Hermione. Finally, Ginny nodded as well. "I'll go get Andromeda. The Floo's out; it's not safe these days. I don't want to send a Patronus for something like this. I guess I'll Apparate over and see if she will come back with me." She stood, and heaving a huge breath, said, "I'll be back shortly. If anything else happens, if it gets worse, before I get back, please go get my mum."

Draco was about to agree, but then something occurred to him. "Hey, aren't you too young to Apparate? You haven't passed your exam yet, have you?" he asked Ginny.

Snickering, Ginny responded, "When you have brothers like Fred and George, you learn to make your own rules." She grinned, and then left to retrieve Andromeda Tonks.

XXX

Ginny Apparated to the cluster of evergreen trees near the Tonks residence that had been designated as a safe Apparition point. She glanced around carefully, and ascertaining that no one was in sight, she casually strolled out of the trees and to the Tonks' front door. Andromeda answered promptly, and after asking the Ministry-recommended security questions, led Ginny into the living room.

"What brings you here today, Ginny?" Andromeda asked with unveiled curiosity.

After a brief moment of consideration, Ginny said, "I was wondering if you could come with me back to Grimmauld Place. I can't really explain why; it's not my place to tell you. But Draco has requested you. It's important."

Andromeda was about to respond, but somebody interrupted her. "Draco? Is he okay?" asked a voice from the doorway. Narcissa Malfoy entered the room. "If something is wrong with my son, I insist that I go along. Safety be damned, he is the only thing I've got left in this world."

Ginny and Andromeda argued with Narcissa for a few minutes, but Narcissa stood her ground. Besides, Ginny had to admit that Narcissa made a very good point. Why bother with all the safety precautions if something bad could happen anyway? The woman needed to see her son. And Ginny suspected that Draco would greatly benefit from his mother's presence as well. Finally, they conceded, and the trio left for the Apparition point.

In the hurry to be off to Grimmauld Place, it never occurred to any of them to use glamour charms to hide the distinctively bright blond hair of Narcissa Malfoy.

XXX

Draco thought he heard the faint crack of Apparition down the block. He'd been waiting in the hallway for just such a sound. Hermione sat on the stairs behind him, arms wrapped around her knees. She'd had a few more bouts of cramping in Ginny's absence, and Draco was anxious for her return.

At the anticipated sound, Draco threw the front door open and stared out into the street expectantly. The sight of Narcissa Malfoy, walking down the sidewalk between Ginny and his aunt Andromeda, shocked him.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, and he bounded out the door to embrace the woman. She laughed as he threw his arms around her, knocking her backwards a bit. Draco and Narcissa only had eyes for each other in that moment, and Ginny and Andromeda were busy smiling at the reunited family. Nobody except Hermione noticed the other two figures Apparating into the street.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood staring at the Malfoys like a cat about to eat two very fat canaries, while Fenrir Greyback flanked her left side.

Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a quick Muggle-repelling charm around the area before screaming, "Look out!" as she bounded down the front steps.

Bellatrix strode toward the group in the street, cackling. "Well, if it isn't my two beautiful little sisters. It's been much too long, don't you think? Or does time pass differently for blood-traitors?" she cooed.

Narcissa and Andromeda visibly stiffened. Draco pulled out his wand and stepped forward, putting himself in front of his mother.

"Oh, and Draco too!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "My darling boy, how I've missed you!"

"I'm not in the mood, Bellatrix," Draco spat. "Stupefy!"

She deflected the curse easily. Greyback made to advance, but Bellatrix stopped him. "I didn't come here to fight you, dear Draco."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Bellatrix took another step toward him. "Of course not. I came to kill you." She smiled maliciously and raised her wand.

But before she could utter the killing curse, Hermione shouted, "Expelliarmus!" At the same time, Ginny disarmed Greyback while Andromeda stunned him. Greyback was out of the running, but Bellatrix managed to retain her wand, though she had to momentarily abandon her attack on Draco to do so.

"What is this?" Bellatrix shrieked. "The Mudblood is protecting you, Draco?"

"Leave her out of this," Draco ground out. He could have never guessed how much it would mean to him for Hermione to save his life, but it would all be for naught if Bellatrix went after her instead. Unfortunately, his words seemed to have the opposite effect on Bellatrix.

Her face lit up with glee. "And you're protecting her. How charming. Crucio!" This time, Bellatrix was too fast.

Andromeda and Narcissa were trying to keep an eye on Greyback, and Ginny was tossing out charms all around them to keep Muggles from interrupting the skirmish. Draco and Hermione were simply caught off guard by Bellatrix's move.

Hermione fell as the curse hit her, the impact only slightly softened by the accumulation of snow beneath her. Draco shot a hex at Bellatrix, and she let up on Hermione for a moment to block it and put up a shield. Then she turned her attention back to Hermione.

Draco aimed a few useless spells at Bellatrix, and watched them bounce harmlessly off of whatever complex bit of magic she had working around her. He looked back over at Hermione. She was writhing on the ground in agony, and as Draco watched, a spot of red appeared in the crotch of her jeans and rapidly expanded outward, tinting the snow around her. Within moments, her pants were soaked, and Draco realized what was happening.

Rage washed over Draco. He physically launched himself at Bellatrix, finally breaking her concentration on the curse as he collided with her, knocking her over. Landing on top and sandwiching her body between his and the ground, he pressed the tip of his wand against her throat. She smiled benevolently up at him.

"You killed my baby, you bitch. Avada Kedavra." Shock marred her features for only a nanosecond, and then in a flash of green light, Bellatrix stilled.

Draco heaved himself off of his dead aunt, and raced to Hermione's side. She tried weakly to sit up, and Draco put his arm around her to steady her. Hermione stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then reached up to brush away tears he hadn't known he'd been shedding.

Nobody said anything, though Narcissa and Andromeda were studying the younger pair with astonishment. Finally, Draco lifted Hermione into his arms and carried her back into the house, leaving the others to deal with Bellatrix's body and the immobilized Greyback.

He took Hermione straight into her bedroom, where he deposited her onto the bed. "There's some procedure that will have to be done on you now, I think, but I thought you might like to be comfortable while you wait. Mrs. Weasley will be here soon, I'm sure." Draco turned to leave the room, but felt a hand on his arm.

"Wait here with me, Draco. Please?"

He glanced back over his shoulder, and though she was sprawled on the bed, soaked in her own blood, all he could see was the earnest expression on Hermione's face. Maybe they didn't have a baby to bring them together anymore, but their relationship had been altered significantly in the past several months. Maybe they didn't need a baby to bring them together.

Draco nodded, and stretched out on the bed next to her, wrapping her in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the crisp scent of her shampoo. No, he decided. Baby or no baby, Hermione was his. And maybe someday, after the snow melted, after a proper courtship, after Scarhead defeated the Dark Lord… Maybe someday, they would have another chance to have a child together. Maybe someday, they would have their happy ending.