So, this is my first fanfic since middle school. And all I wrote in middle school were crappy Mary Sue-ish OC fics ... so this may as well count as my first. Haha. I LOVE feedback on my writing. Constructive criticism is valued just as much as a compliment. I don't so much need input on the canon-ity of my content, since I'm clearly ignoring certain parts of canon. I try to stick to it for the most part, though.

Oh, and this chapter greatly lacks explanations for current circumstances of our beloved characters. They'll be revealed in the next chapters. :)

Anyhow, enjoy?

Not one person in the entire wizarding world expected to find a Hermione Malfoy joining the class of would-be graduates returning to complete their seventh year at Hogwarts. The witch in question was herself having trouble with the idea.

It was not that anyone doubted that she'd continue her studies. Her hard-earned reputation as perfect student/compulsive know-it-all was not forgotten even amidst her fame as a hero of the war. No, it was only that common knowledge held that she was more likely to marry Minerva McGonogall than the boy whose surname she now bore.

The young witch permitted herself a sigh as she threw the last of her robes into her trunk, mulling over these very sentiments.

"What a mess," she murmured, not for the first time, standing at the center of the spotless room. "And to think, all of it because of one little-"

"Talking to yourself, Granger? Shall we ask the train to make a detour to St. Mungo's?"

She spun sharply to face the door, glaring at the figure in the doorway. His infuriating, cocky smirk was ever-present as of late. No matter how he hated the situation, he did relish her current dependence on his family. Her right hand twitched as she briefly remembered knocking that smirk off his pretty little face in third year. She took on a cool tone as she straightened out her clothing.

"It might do you good, Draco, to call your wife by her given name." His eyes narrowed.

"It might to my wife good to get her arse downstairs for breakfast. Mother wants to speak to us both before we leave."

"I'll be right down, then. I've just finished packing."

"Hah. So that's why your house elf was downstairs sitting on her hands. Mother nearly had a fit, you know. She's really trying to be careful about your condition."

"I sent the poor elf away because I am perfectly capable of packing my trunk, regardless of my 'condition'," she snapped. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid."

The words hung between them as they stood glaring at each other, reminded again of the reason for the surely disastrous change in the direction of both their lives. It was Malfoy who broke eye-contact first.

"Very well. You can hash it out with Mother, if you're so adamant. I'll be downstairs. Hurry up." And before Hermione could even blink he was walking swiftly down the hall. As soon as he left, her posture relaxed and she gave another sigh, this one more resigned. She looked down at her stomach, rather flat still at only two months.

"And to think, all because of one little baby I can't bear to let go."

Hermione's gut clenched as she and her now-family arrived at the apparation point on Platform 9 ¾. Though she had been chomping at the bit to escape the cold manor and Narcissa's incessant suggestions that she "mind the baby" and "not overwork herself" by doing the most mundane and unstrenuous tasks, she was now facing a year amongst the most judgmental people one might ever hope to find – teenagers. Her own peers, moreover.

She could ignore the papers and their sickening attraction to scandal, but she knew that her classmates would not. Bad enough that she was married to an ex-Death Eater and son of one of Voldemort's right-hand men, but rumors had also surfaced that she was pregnant with his child. The family had yet to comment on the claim, but the moment she puked in front of a classmate, everyone would know it was true.

'This is absurd; I fought in the front lines of one of the greatest wizarding wars. Being judged by a bunch of children shouldn't scare me.'

Nonetheless, her vision started wavering and she grabbed the sleeve closest to her, Draco's, in a tight fist.

"Hermione, dear, are you quite alright?" Narcissa's face swam before her. "You're so pale. Do you feel faint?"

Narcissa Malfoy was a surprising woman indeed. After all she had endured, her utter lack of control over her life during the war and her husband's recent imprisonment in Azkaban, she found within herself a strength that no one had expected she possessed. When Hermione confronted them with the pregnancy, it was immediately apparent who ran the house now.

There was no small amount of fury in that slim, slight body. At first she turned white as a sheet, and Hermione was quite convinced that the woman would, in fact, faint. However, her words came out sharp and cogent, and by the end of her ten-minute tirade some color had crept into her cheeks.

Though much of the yelling was undirected, aimed at the world or the gods or whoever had directed this catastrophe, she did take a minute to turn on her son.

"And you!" she shrilled. "How could you?"

"I'm sorry mother. I don't know what I was thinking, how it happened with a Mudblood-"

"Blood be damned!" Both expectant parents stared at her with dropped jaws. "I simply expected better of you, Draco. I'm not so naïve as to think that you haven't been … well … you are a young man. But I expected you to be careful! Do you understand what you've done to this poor girl's life?" Malfoy was taken aback.

"How is this only my fault?"

"Which of you is the one with the necessary parts to impregnate the other, hm?" Draco ducked his gaze to the floor, clearly uncomfortable discussing genitals with his mother. "So who, then, is responsible for those parts and the things they excrete? In my day, boys weren't stupid enough to impregnate a girl unless they were ready to marry her."

With that she dropped back down into her seat and stared at the two youths pointedly.

Since the night she had coerced the two to agree to marriage, Narcissa took to Hermione rather well. She was charmed by her smarts and some of her "lower-class quirks". And she worried as only a mother could over her and the baby's well-being.

Overworried, really, Hermione thought as she forced a smile.

"Just a bit peckish, perhaps. I'll be sure to eat again after I've heaved up my breakfast," she promised. The woman's face fell into a slight grimace, but she recovered quickly.

"Yes, well, do make sure of that. Draco, dear, help her onto the train. And take care of her at school, and behave yourself, please." With a quick peck on the cheek and a small but warm smile, she gave him a gentle push toward the train.

As the door slid shut behind them and the train started rolling away, clacking against the tracks below, fear tugged at Hermione's chest once more. She looked out the door's small window at Narcissa, who was waving a white hankie at the still slow-moving train, looking like any Hogwarts parent rather than the mother of perhaps the most hated boy currently attending the school and in-law to the girl bearing his accidental child.

And quite suddenly, Hermione found herself wishing for one more moment of the Malfoy matron's comforting hands on her arm and assurances that everything would be quite alright.