Well, I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter, annoyingly enough. And it's the shortest one so far! It cleared up a bit, though, when I realized I was being too convoluted and wordy about trying to convey the emotions. Hopefully I did a good job, but I guess we can come back to it if not. I just need the plot to start moving ….

Last week I donated blood and now I have a gnarly and painful bruise on my arm. Ouchies.

On an IMPORTANT NOTE: abortion is mentioned in this chapter. I did not use this opportunity to inject my ideals into the story. My views are personal and irrelevant; I only tried to think of how the characters would react to the idea. I have this feeling that abortion would be discouraged in Wizarding society.

In any case, sorry for the paltry chapter. Enjoy Draco's nosiness and inner turmoil. :)

Draco sat in the center of his bed, forearms resting on his bent knees. His mind was reeling with all of the information he'd gleaned listening in through Hermione's door.

Apallingly enough, she told the girls about their little tryst. He didn't like thinking about that night to begin with. He'd lost control, acted entirely on impulse and emotion. Stupid.

It shocked him, though, how little detail there was to her memory of that night. He hadn't known she'd been so damn gone. He'd been drunk enough to mistake her dazed expression as lustful, to dismiss her absent gaze.

He felt like filth. And she wasn't even done.

She explained how she was shunned from the Weasley home. Then how she couldn't find her parents (which struck him as odd). Finally, she left him absolutely gobbsmacked when a girl asked, morbid curiousity winning out over taboo, why Hermione hadn't decided to simply abort the pregnancy.

"To be honest, I'd thought about that." Draco was sure his jaw truly had hit the floor when he heard the words. "But I couldn't do it. It wasn't some noble reason, like faith or morality. I just … after all the lives we've lost, all the deaths so fresh in my mind, I couldn't do it. There was the potential for another life growing inside of me, and I just couldn't let it go."

Foolish girl! That sensitivity to death, that respect and attachment to life, was in itself noble. And now she was hurting herself, separating herself from those she loved and enduring the barbs thrown at her every day, all for the sake of the little spawn inside her. Even when she came to him for help, she had asked nothing for herself. Only that the baby be given a decent life.

"It was his fault. He did this to you." The very thought that had plagued him for weeks was voiced by one of the girls.

"Don't," Hermione cut in quietly. He grimaced as he realized she was defending him. "We've gone over it before, and we've given up trying to assign blame. We both had a role in this; it's not a matter of fault."

"But you didn't want it," another girl argued.

"I could have stopped him; I had my wand on me. But I was beyond wanting or not wanting by that point. Maybe I didn't want sex, but I was looking for an escape and that's what I found."

Well. Now he felt used and, for the first time in his life, guilty for using someone else.

"Besides," He could her the adoration and warmth in her voice. "I love it already. My baby."

The last words were crooned and he could picture her sitting there, hands pressed over her belly, glowing with a gentle smile. Well, maybe it wasn't so bad. He had clearly given her something she wanted. Perhaps no blame was needed at all.

He shook his head of the thought and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Leave it to a Slytherin to try and worm out of any blame, he mused.

He wanted to scream. He couldn't do this! Forget being a young father, having to love a child while barely knowing the damned emotion himself. He simply couldn't live with Granger. He didn't want to know her as a person, see how kind and bloody saint-like she was. All it did was make him feel more like filth. There was a reason he kept the company of those nasty Slytherins instead! They were like him – snooty, selfish, and cruel. In a Slytherin's world that was normal.

But her presence reminded him that in reality he was, much like his father, a truly terrible man.

As the clock struck the eleventh hour, Hermione had to acknowledge the fact that she would have to go to bed very if she hoped to stay awake through her classes the next day. She had started sleeping better, somewhat, during the pregnancy – a miracle considering that the Healer in the prenatal ward had ordered her to cut down her use of Sleeping Draught to only twice a week.

Still, she didn't like to think about it. The less she thought about the dreams, the less, she hoped, they would plague her. After all, didn't the brain use dreams to process one's worries? She was sure she had read something like that.

She was staring into her mug warm milk sourly, cursing the fact that she hadn't thought to pack decaffienated tea, when Draco slunk out of his room. He stopped short at the threshold of the common room, but when she looked up he had to continue on his way. He addressed her brusquely.

"Not drinking tea, I hope."

"Warm milk." she replied glumly. "Tea would be fantastic, though."

He didn't bother to continue the conversation as he poured himself a glass of water. From a sidelong glance he could see she was caught up in thought. She stroked the handle of her mug with one finger.

"Do you worry about the future?" she asked suddenly, her voice calm and quiet.

Yes, he worried about the future very much. He worried about how he would forge a career now that his family's name was disgraced, about finishing his education in a school full of people he abhored him. He worried about having to care for a baby. Having to raise it. He hadn't much of a father, how should he know how to be one?

Of course, Granger wouldn't be hearing any of that.

"No. I have money and money fixes everything," he replied coldly. "Isn't that why you came to me?"

"Of course not." It was obvious that she was trying to convey her indignation, but the weariness in her eyes matched the dullness of her voice. He gazed at her for a moment.

"Granger, why didn't you go find your parents?" He wasn't sure why he asked, and he almost expected her to yell at him to bugger off. He was quite surprised when she gave a small smile.

"You really know how to go right for the gut, don't you Malfoy?" He didn't respond. "I didn't find them because I couldn't."

"Couldn't find them?" He snorted. "A bright witch like you? What, did you forget which rock you hid them under?"

"No, I know roughly where they are. I could find them if I tried." She gave a weak laugh and dropped her face into her hands. "Bright witch indeed. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. You know how I was after the War; I couldn't let them see that. I thought I could wait until I was doing better, but that never really did happen.

"How could I come to them now? What parent wants to be woken up from a fake life to be informed that the last year of their lives was a lie and that their young daughter is both damaged and pregnant? They're better off they way they are now, happy in their new world."

By the end of her explanation her voice was cracking and he could see the slight tremor in her body. Before him was a girl in true pain, who lost more than just her pride. They had one thing in common, that they both lost their childhoods to Voldemort. But she had had so much more at stake.

"Well, one thing's for sure – you really are a wreck." He breezed past her to his room, which he'd only left to try and improve his mood.

So much for that.