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hp_bunintheoven2017-03-31 07:16 am
hp_bito_mod) wrote in hp_bunintheoven2017-03-31 07:16 am
Entry tags:
Fest Fic: Truth or Evidence?, PG-13
Title: Truth or Evidence?
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mere_whispers
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger
Prompt: #H16
Summary: Hermione has been having a rough couple of days. That's it. End of story. Or, at least it should have been. But, Draco doesn't believe her. He has his own theory, actually, that she recognizes as a bunch of impossible rubbish. But... is it, really?
Word Count: 5,659
Rating: PG–13
Warnings/Contains: Profanity.
Notes: I struggled with this one, I don't even know why! Anyways. We're here, now. So...
This has a base of humour and the icing is pure angst. I couldn't exactly blend in a Homemaker!Draco into the plot, but it's close enough, I'd say. I've used all of the Optional Lines, though, because they were great!
I enjoyed writing this, despite all the struggles, and I'm seriously pleased with the outcome. I hope the readers would enjoy it, as well.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Hermione Granger-Malfoy looked up when the door to the Healer's office was pushed open. A smile broke out on her face when she noticed how Healer Patil, as she entered, was engrossed in the small stack of parchments that she held in one hand, twirling a Muggle pen in the other.
She was yet to look up and notice Hermione. The brunette cleared her throat.
Padma's eyes flew up, landing on Hermione, and the latter flashed her a full toothy grin. “Hey.”
“Hermione!” Padma exclaimed, scrambling to get behind her desk as she deposited the things she carried onto it. “You―you had an appointment?” she asked, looking flustered as she guiltily bit her lip.
Hermione nodded with a smile, shrugging a shoulder when the other witch winced. “It’s alright, Padma; you're here now.”
Padma sighed, settling into her chair. “No, I'm―I’m sorry. I just… I was…” She sighed again and shook her head. “I forgot. How long have you waited?”
Knowing the ex-Ravenclaw, Hermione knew better than to reveal that she'd sat in the Healer's office for more than an hour. She shrugged, again. “Ten minutes, tops.”
Padma breathed out as if in relief. She probably was. “So… Something you wanted to discuss?”
Seriousness dawned upon her senses and Hermione cleared her throat. “Yes, actually,” she began. “It’s going to be seven months, next week. Do you – do you think that, maybe, we could―”
“No, Hermione,” Padma cut in, surprise and a little bit of irritation shining through her tone. “Absolutely not. I've already told you about the mechanics of how this is going to work. I'm keeping a track of his monthly checkups – I'll let you know the moment I see a green signal.”
Hermione let out a deep sigh. “He is not himself, Padma. He is just – he is just so wound up all the time…” She trailed off, shutting her eyes as a bout of dizziness rammed into her.
“Hermione?”
She blinked, frowning when she realized that her head had started to ache. “I'm―I’m fine. I―”
“You're under too much stress,” Padma declared in a no-nonsense tone, and Hermione held back a groan, dreading the lecture she knew was coming her way. “Already, you are way too much invested in your job. I kind of understand that Luna has a heavy workload and her leave is affecting you, but… There must be other employees at your department that you could trust, Hermione.” Hermione felt her cheeks warming up. So, Luna kept in touch with Padma. It was fair, actually; they did belong to the same house, after all, and Hermione had herself maintained contact with each one of her own housemates, too. “And when you're not at work, you're busy fussing over Draco's too empty schedule. You need to take a break and let things go the way they are. I mean, I understand your concerns, don't take me wrong, but… he's not a child, Hermione. He should know what the priority is.”
Hermione let out a petulant whine. “But the trouble is that he doesn't. He thinks everyone is being unfair to him, and… and he just hates staying at home.”
Padma's lips quirked into an amused smile. “You mean he hates being a homemaker?” Hermione shot her a glare without actual heat, and pursed her lips to keep from smiling when Padma laughed aloud. “Well… He had accident. He got hurt. Okay, he got crucially hurt. So? He's an Auror. Getting injured is a part of their lives. And, anyway, life doesn't always run along the path that you have devised for it, does it? It takes it's own turns, every now and then. And adjusting according to them is what living is.”
Hermione blinked. “Have you been reading any philosophical books, lately?” she asked in a flat tone, making Padma laugh, again.
“I'm merely trying to make you see sense.” Padma smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Hermione's clenched fists in a reassuring gesture. “Ask him to treat this as a break. He's going to be well and ready to take his job back, before the year is up. Ask him to stay patient.”
Hermione let out a slow breath. She knew Padma wasn't wrong. “I… I'll try.”
“Good.” Padma nodded. “And, now – you go back home and rest. Maybe cuddle with the husband, too… among other things,” she added with a mischievous wink.
Hermione ducked her head to shield her cheeks―that were probably flaming―and shook her head to brush Padma's words off. And, as she did that, her head felt afloat with dizziness, again.
“Jeez, Hermione, you are not okay!” Padma exclaimed, quickly running around the table to rush to Hermione's aid. “You're exerting yourself way too hard. Come on – get your tired arse off and out of this building. Merlin knows that you need a break as much as Draco does.”
Conceding to her chiding, Hermione took Padma's hand and got to her feet. Surprisingly, her vision cleared, and head came back down to settle over her shoulders. She sighed.
“I'll see you, later,” she mumbled when the ex-Ravenclaw hugged her close.
“Much later. Like, a month later, okay?”
Chuckling, Hermione smiled at the girl, mindful of not moving her head much. “As the Healer wishes.”
Leaving a grinning Padma behind, Hermione collected her bag, and slid through the office's gate.
The meeting had been in vain, after all.
She'd come here with the intention of convincing her husband's Healer to grant him permission to work again, only to be disappointed. Hermione understood Padma's concerns; God knew she did. But Padma didn't understand Hermione's struggles. She could not possibility begin to understand what Hermione went through, every single day, because her husband was beside himself with his frustration over his current predicament. He wanted to―
Her thoughts fled, suddenly, leaving her senses haywire, as Hermione collided headfirst into something solid. Experience told her that it was a man’s chest, but the faint squeak of surprise―sounding quite feminine―that she heard in the background, had her second guessing.
She would've pondered longer, but she got distracted by the fragrance enveloping her.
Oh, scratch that, it was no fragrance. This was a pungent, choking stench that was making her want to puke her guts out. What was even this?
Vanilla?
Gasping when she recognized the fragrance, and doubly shocked at her uncharacteristic reaction to it, she jumped back and tried to collect get bearings. Her eyes were still screwed shut, and a large hand was enclosed around her upper arm. Quickly enough, Hermione joined the dots and realized that the source of the smell was this person standing before her. She looked up through slitted eyes.
“Blaise!” she yelled at the flabbergasted wizard before her. “What―what sort of perfume are you wearing?” she asked, bringing a hand up to shield her nose from the odour.
Blaise looked at her with his mouth wide and eyes wider.
“Hermione?”
Jumping, Hermione looked to his his right, and that is when she spotted a second, very much feminine presence. The blonde was looking at her with a concerned frown.
“Daphne,” Hermione acknowledged, slowly extracting herself from Blaise's grip. “H―how are you guys?”
“What?” Blaise almost bleated, taking a step towards her. “How are you, Hermione? You don't look―”
“Oh, stop, Blaise,” Daphne cut him off, stepping towards Hermione and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What is it?” she calmly asked, and Hermione blinked at her, owlishly.
“I―I am okay,” Hermione told them, fumbling with her words as she tried to flash them a reassuring smile. “A bit overworked, tired, and in a great need of rest, but otherwise fine.”
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow. That... wasn't fine, Missus Malfoy.”
Well. She didn't know what was wrong with her, actually. She'd been more than okay, this morning, giving her gloomy husband a passionate kiss in an attempt to make up for all the times she'd been too tired for any physical intimacy, these past couple of months. She had been perfectly fine when she had lunch with her loyal, sweet natured assistant, about an hour back. And she had been okay when she'd flooed over to St Mungo's, as well.
What the hell had happened, now?
Blaise cleared his throat and she came back from her thoughts. “You were visiting Padma?” he asked, nodding towards the office she had exited.
Hermione smiled, mischievously. “Why? Can a poor, old witch not visit your about-to-turn-into fiancée without your permission, now?” she teased, sharing a laugh with Daphne while Blaise rolled his eyes.
“See? This is what I'm afraid of,” Blaise mumbled. “The way you guys keep talking about it, I'm seriously scared that you'll blow my secret up before I have even finalised the ring.”
“Merlin, Blaise, I told you to seek help from Theo,” Daphne butted in, sounding exasperated. “Salazar knows that I love the ring he's given me! Maybe Padma is someone with an appreciation for gold bands and princess cut amethysts,” she added, excitedly, raising her eyebrows. Then she dramatically studied, looking down at her feet and shaking her head. “But you won't listen to me.”
Hermione laughed at Daphne's playfulness. It was common knowledge among all of them how much Padma had been repulsed by the uncommon form of Daphne's ring when she and Theo got married. Hermione stopped laughing, however, when she noticed how Blaise’s face had fallen, and he was staring off into distance, thoughtfully.
“Blaise?” Hermione asked him, frowning in concern when he jumped.
Then he sighed. “Nothing, just… the person that I actually do want to take suggestions from, doesn't want to see me.” He looked at her, pointedly, and Hermione winced.
“Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Blaise, it's―”
“No, Hermione, it's fine. I―I’m just surprised, is all.” He smiled, but it looked awfully forced. “Pansy, Theo – and―and even Daphne, here – are okay―”
“Hey,” Daphne interrupted him. “Don't be like that, Blaise. We all know it isn't like Draco to hold a grudge for too long. He's―he hasn't been in the best of mindsets ever since that accident.” She took a breath, then, and looked at Blaise with sorrow filled in her eyes. “You were there with him on that mission. You have to understand, Blaise, why he doesn't want to spend time with you.”
“You remind him of his failure, Blaise,” Hermione bluntly said, and immediately grimaced when Daphne gasped. “I―I didn't―”
“No, it's okay,” Blaise murmured, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, and let out a slow breath. “I have to be patient. I know. And―and trust Padma.”
Daphne cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Trust Padma?” she repeated, smirking at him meaningfully. “Where did that―”
“She's Draco's Healer, Daph,” Blaise grunted, shoving her shoulder, playfully.
“Oh, yes.” Hermione was suddenly bitter, again. “She's Draco's Healer, and she's refusing to―” Hermione cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath, and pressed a hand to her temple, shutting her eyes when something akin nausea rose up her throat.
“Whoa!”
She blinked, clutching at the hands that had firmly gripped her forearms, preventing her fall. Her gratitude was, however, tamped down when she took in a deep breath. Her nose scrunched up. “Blaise. Your perfume!”
“What is―Hermione.” Blaise was almost groaning as he heaved her into a straight, standing position before pushing her body away from his, leaving Daphne to support her.
“What is going on?” Daphne asked her in a calm voice, obviously wary. “Are you under some―”
“Oh, no, Daphne,” Hermione mumbled, pressing her lips together for a moment, and extracted her arm out of Daphne's grasp. “It's not flu,” she added, “nor any – nor any kind of magical malady, either, if that is what you're thinking.” She looked at the ex-Slytherin's Healer's robes pointedly, and grinned when Daphne rolled her eyes.
“Go home and rest, you,” Daphne told her, expressions strict.
Experience had told Hermione that this was Daphne Greengrass-Nott switching into her Healer mode. She sighed, defeated.
Blaise nodded, looking at her with a subtle frown. “Yeah. Go home and… take care of my mate, as well, okay? How's―how’s he holding up, by the way?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.
She gave him a sad smile. “Not good. Nothing much has changed since your last… attempt at seeing him.”
He nodded, sagely, and looked down at his feet. “Tell him I said hi,” he murmured, softly.
She let out a little sigh. “I will,” she told him before giving them both a small, parting smile, each, and advancing towards the fireplaces.
She was, indeed, actually going to head home, now.
Do you want to kill yourself, Hermione?
Sighing aloud, Hermione shook her head at the question her brain asked. No, she did not want to kill herself. And, yes, she was aware that she was going to, anyways, if she didn't exit the Ministry's grounds within a minute.
Hermione hadn't really planned on dropping by, honestly. But an urgent Patronus from her assistant had made her reroute.
“And that will be all, Missus Malfoy.”
Gah, finally!
Inwardly sighing with relief, Hermione merely nodded on the outside. “I'll be leaving, then,” she told her assistant, “and you should transfer him, as as possible.” Grabbing her handbag, she quickly stepped out of the mayhem that had become of the Magical Creatures department’s Head Office.
Her office, yes. Someone had forgotten to place a proper locking jinx on an unwell Niffler’s cot, and the poor thing – in all his frustrated rage due to the stress his illness was giving him – had ended up trashing her entire office.
As she rounded the corridor to the hallway that led to the lifts, Hermione bumped into a flustered looking Ginny Weasley. The redhead immediately flashed her a huge grin.
“Hermione! What are you doing here?” she asked, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders.
Suddenly wobbly, Hermione's knees gave a jerk, and she almost sagged in the younger witch's arms
“Oh, Merlin!” Ginny shrieked, dragging the two of them to the nearest bench in the hallway. “What – what is―”
“Oh, do not ask,” Hermione groaned, her encounter from not more than an hour ago resurfacing in her brain. “Please don't ask.”
Ginny nodded, still looking at her with wide eyes. “Are you – are you okay, though?”
Hermione sniffled, shaking her head, miserably. “Turns out I'm too overworked these days. So much, that my head's getting dizzy, and nausea is attacking me, unannounced,” she spat, chuckling bitterly. “Brilliant, isn't it?” She scowled at the elevator at the end of the corridor.
“Have you… um, taken some potions to fight this?”
She hadn't, actually, because this was the first ever day these problems had fallen upon her. “I will, surely.”
“Good.” She saw Ginny nodding in her peripheral vision. “Also… those, uh… hey, what are those Muggle pills that help with stress, 'Mione?”
Hermione smiled, turning to look at Ginny's wry smile. “Antidepressants?”
“Yes! Them! You can take those, too, if it gets too much, right?”
“Right.” Now that seemed like a plan. “Where were you runningoff to, by the way?” she asked Ginny, recalling her haywire state from before.
Ginny immediately stood straight up, panic spreading all over face. “Bloody hell! I almost forg―uh, thanks, 'Mione, um… I have to go. Aubrey is going into labour. I've to – I've to alert Percy,” she quickly spoke, walking away. “He hasn't responded to any floo-calls, nor have any of the Patronuses returned. I'll… see you later!”
With that, Ginny was off. Hermione shook her head, smiling. Her engagement to Harry had broken just a few months back, and yet the girl hadn't fallen apart.
Blinking, Hermione thought of her own husband, and decided to hurry home.
But! Not before she'd dropped by a Muggle pharmacy and collected a heavy batch of antidepressants. Forging a doctor's prescription was a child's play if you knew magic.
Smirking to herself, she got up and began to walk down the hallway.
“Draco! I’m home!” Hermione called out when she stepped through the fireplace in the living room of their flat.
She had, after all, made it home at half past six. That was half an hour earlier than her usual time. And she'd begun to head home at two of the afternoon. Padma wouldn't let her hear the end of it, if she got a wind of this.
Stepping further into the uncharacteristically silent house, Hermione tried in vain to calm her thumping heart down. Draco had been beyond depressed, since past seven months. And she hadn't a clue what he did to pass time when she wasn't home.
Hermione was, suddenly, very terribly worried and even more guilty.
“Oh, you're early!”
She inhaled loudly, in relief, and turned towards the kitchen―
Only to break into coughs of surprise. Draco was dressed up in a beautiful, navy blue dress shirt and black dress pants. He looked handsome. Very handsome. And Hermione had no idea why she was suddenly salivating at the sight of her husband of three years.
He leant against the doorway, then, a slow, sinfully sexy smirk travelling up left cheek. His styled hair glinted in the strategically dimmed lights, and that is when she noticed that he'd arranged the entire living and dining area to look romantic.
If he had plans for her tonight – looking the way he did, right now – she was so up for them. She might be sporting a boner, even, he looked that inviting.
“Less drooling, Granger,” Draco murmured in a voice that made it obvious that they were on the same page. His eyes were heated when they looked at her, and Hermione dropped her bag to a side, swallowing as she fumbled with her traveling cloak.
“Let me.”
Draco was before her in two, long strides, and Hermione held her breath. He looked deep into her eyes, not breaking the heated contact even as his hands came up to undo the clasp on her cloak. With each brush of his fingers against the underside of her jaw, Hermione shivered and swayed closer to him.
“My, my,” he murmured, leaning towards her when the cloak fell around them. “Aren't we getting all heated up, tonight?” he breathed into her ear, before pressing a soft, warm kiss behind it.
Hermione let out an unapologetic mewl, and wrapped her arms around his tough frame. His slow laughter vibrated through her.
“Ready to come clean, yet?” he asked her again, and Hermione had almost began to nod when she stopped to think.
Her mind had ruined the mood, and so she pulled back without any hesitation. “Excuse me?” She frowned in confusion, looking at him with her heart in her throat as his expressions changed.
All of the love and awe and the dirty promises displayed on his face, minutes ago, had vanished. Now he looked at her with a broken, almost defeated look on his face. “You’re not, are you?” he asked, throatily, and Hermione jumped a foot apart
“What are you talking about, Draco―”
“I planned us a dinner. At home. T―t―to give you room and – and atmosphere to talk,” he went on. “But I don't think that means a thing, now. You're obviously not interested in—”
“For God's sake, Draco, stop!” Hermione exclaimed, shoving a palm before his face to shut him up.
His jaw moved and he looked away. Her heart broke a little.
“What―what is it, Draco?” she whispered, quietly. “Tell me. Tell me – and don't talk in riddles.”
He let out a loud sigh before shaking his head. “Nothing, I… I cooked something for you.” He turned to look at her, then, smiling brightly.
While it did look forced, his smile wasn't completely fake. Draco never cooked. He'd only ever cooked for her, in his life, and it had always meant something. So should it, this time, as well, she concluded.
She tried to play along. “Wow. Are we celebrating?” she asked him, forcing cheerfulness into her voice.
She was about to bend and pick up her cloak, but he beat her to it. Walking down the foyer, he neatly hung it in their cloak closet, before marching straight towards the dining table. He began to straighten the upturned dishes. “Your secret is out,” he said, then, sounding harsh. “Stop pretending.”
Ouch. That was harsh.
Hermione cleared her throat, slowly nearing the table, herself. “What―”
“Merlin, Hermione, stop!” he scoffed, without looking up, and stalked straight into the kitchen.
Hermione, meanwhile, actually wracked her brain for things that she'd been keeping from him. Her too frequent meetings with Padma came to the forefront, but she was sure that it wasn't something to celebrate about. She was his wife. She loved him. Of course she cared, as well.
“Stop with the dramatics, now, and accept your fault,” Draco announced, emerging from the kitchen with a huge pot of some sort of curry levitated before him. Wait… dramatics? Fault? “And change. I've made something special for you.”
Hermione was grasping onto the flimsy edges of her patience, but it was slipping away from her. She couldn't – could not – see where he was going with all of this.
Her blankness must have shown on her face, because the moment Draco looked at her, he threw his hands up and let out an almighty groan. “I'm talking about your pregnancy, Hermione!” he exclaimed, and she did a double take.
“Preg… I'm pregnant?”
“What? You want me to – you want me to tell you?” He sounded incredulous, but he may not have been. Her ears were ringing, her mind was reeling, and she wasn't sure of anything, at all. “Fine.” He took a breath before jovially grinning at her, and flailing his hands, dramatically. She wanted to cringe. Maybe she cringed. “Granger! Guess what?” His voice was dramatically high-pitched. “Great news!” he exclaimed. “You’re pregnant!”
Hearing it for the second time broke Hermione's shock.
The hell? Had he lost his marbles?
She inhaled quickly, and scoffed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I'd know what's going on with my body,” she told him, shocked beyond belief that he would make such a preposterous assumption about her.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked her in a tired, downright sad tone, and Hermione almost gasped. “I know now. This has no point.”
Blinking, Hermione stumbled and sat on one of the dining chairs. “So you know. Huh. Care to tell me how?”
He looked sheepish for a moment, before he rolled his shoulders back and sat down on the chair opposite hers. “Almost three months back, you started getting up way too early.” Hermione remembered that. That was when Luna had taken a leave, and Hermione had extended her workload. She'd began to go to her office, two hours earlier in the morning. “After about a week, I―I realised that you were suffering from morning sickness―”
“That wasn't morning sickness, oh my God―”
“―and I set up Flaky to trail you. Mum's elf. She was happy to help, too. She followed you everywhere, from a distance―”
“―I can't believe this is happening―”
“―you had been travelling through floos, avoiding Apparating. You'd been taking large lunches with Potter, instead of small diets with his ex―”
“―was not―her name's Ginny!”
“―but it broke all records today. You met up with Daphne, went to see Potter's e―Ginny. Went to see Ginny. And then visited a pharmacy.” Draco's head was bowed.
“Firstly, it was very wrong―if not utterly creepy― of you to set a house-elf after me, Draco,” she began. “And, two… all these are just a whole bunch of coincidental, misinterpreted happenings! I didn't go to see Daphne, today. I just bumped into her, and…” She trailed off, frowning with uncertainty. “How does it matter if I saw her, anyway? Or even Ginny, for that matter?”
Draco's face was troubled when he met her gaze. “Do you not remember what Daphne specialises in?” he questioned her very quietly. “And Ginny's your friend. You always go to her when you need a heart-to-heart that you can't have with me. And pregnancy tends to make people emotional, doesn't it?”
She groaned. This was a seriously messed up case of misunderstanding. And Narcissa's elf’s evidences were―however wrong―too much on the mark.
“Draco,” she tried again, reaching for his hands on the table, and flinched when he pulled back. “She might be a gynecology specialist, but I merely bumped into her and Blaise. We were – we didn't even talk for long! And, Ginny… I just – I actually bumped into her, too, when I went to―”
“Merlin, stop, Hermione,” Draco growled, looking at her with betrayal all over his face. Her heart clenched at the sight. “How far do you plan on taking this, huh? I told you. I know. Why are you not confessing, yet?” He was almost pleading with her, and there was nothing she could say to appease him.
Well. She could say a lot, but he wasn't likely to believe any of that.
“You know how much depression I've been dealing with,” he continued. “A – a beautiful news such as this would've made me so happy, Hermione. But, obviously, your self-preservation comes before your concern for me, in this case.”
Okay. That was it. Now he was crossing a line. She'd been mad with worry for him, and he was accusing her of―
“You're being very unreasonable, now, Draco,” she warned him. “Try to not say things that you would regret after you've started to believe me.”
Draco rolled his eyes, clearly brushing her words off. “Let's just eat,” he ground out, getting up to roll up his sleeves. “This is a beef curry, with sweet potatoes, and an avocado salad on the side. I talked to Sarah, and she told me that this is healthy for women in their first trimester.”
Hermione choked on an inhale. “You―you… you talked to my mum about this craziness of yours, Draco?” He stiffened, but she went on. He was crossing way too many lines today. “What the hell possessed you to do that? Now she'll begin to go absolutely starkers over a baby that isn't even there! I swear, Draco―”
She shut with a gasp when he stormed out. Immediately, Hermione ran after him, and found him outside, in the verandah, clutching onto the parapet of the balcony as he breathed deeply.
“Draco?” she tentatively asked.
There was a beat of silence before he turned around and looked at her with hurt, furious eyes. “Crazy. You think I'm crazy, don't you?” Oh, dear Lord. What had she done! “You think I'm going mad, too, don't you? Is that – is that why you didn't tell me about the pregnancy? Were you afraid that I'd―”
She didn't let him continue, slapping a hand over his lips to shut him up. This man was full of vulnerability, and that vulnerability, when exposed, opened up a passage to the deepest, darkest of thoughts hidden inside of his person. Hermione knew, from experience, better than to let him voice all of them.
“Don’t, do not say a word more,” she said in a low, breathy voice. “You're the most intelligent wizard I've come across in my entire life, Draco Malfoy, and that isn't changing anytime soon… if ever. I love you, I love all of you – and there isn't a single thing in this world that would make me love you any less.” She breathed in, her hand still placed across his parted lips, and looked into his wide, surprised grey eyes. “I am the one that is crazy,” she whispered, passionately. “Completely fucking crazy in love with you.”
His lips planted a kiss on the palm that was in contact with them, before his arms wound about her waist and he pulled her closer. Hermione realized that her eyes were brimming with tears when her vision blurred. “And I love you, Hermione Malfoy,” he mumbled against her forehead, pressing a kiss there, before his lips went south and captured hers.
Hermione sighed into his mouth, sliding her hands up from their position on his chest, and wrapped them around his neck to pull him even closer to herself.
“I believe you…” he breathed out, pulling away enough to speak against her lips. His eyes were shining. “I believe that you're not pregnant. And that this is – this is all a giant big confusion… a misunderstanding. But promise me, Hermione, that whenever you do get pregnant…” He paused, and Hermione held her breath. “Promise me that I'll be the first one to know.”
Hermione smiled, leaning up to sink her teeth into his plush, lower lip. He groaned, shutting his eyes, and she flicked her tongue over the reddened area. “I pro…”
Her vision was, suddenly, way too unsteady. Everything was moving, her feet were in mid-air, and everything was unstable, until―
Until it wasn't.
Until it was black, instead.
“...Salazar Slytherin's sake, why didn't she―oh, look, she's waking up. Hermione? Hermione!”
Hermione blinked, recognizing the voice, but failing at putting a name on it.
“Open your eyes, Hermione. Show me those brown irises of yours that I've never seen.”
This was someone not known to her. Hermione blinked, again, and immediately flinched when the first things she saw were three faces looming before hers.
She saw Draco's among them, and relaxed. Then she recognized Daphne's. Then she shut her eyes, because she didn't know this girl with black, pixie cropped hair.
Someone sighed. “She's okay, isn't she?” Draco.
“Uh, what?” Daphne. “Oh. Oh, yeah, absolutely. And she isn't unconscious, Draco. Only her eyes are shut.”
Hermione had no idea how Daphne could tell, but she wasn't even going to think about that. She'd passed out, and now she was being tended to by Healer Greengrass-Nott. That was a lot telling, in itself. But she, adamantly, didn't want to conclude the obvious.
“Hermione?”
Draco's minty breath washed over her face, and she let out a small, involuntary moan in response. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat, and opened her eyes to find him looking at her with his own wide in anticipation. “Draco.”
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he softly asked, brushing back the hair scattered over her forehead.
She smiled. “Good. Better, I mean―”
“Okay, stop,” Daphne spoke up, walking up to stand next to Draco's chair with a disappointed frown on her face. “Don’t ask her how she's doing, Draco. This one has a bad habit of lying to people's face whenever that question comes up.” Hermione winced, and Daphne narrowed her eyes at her. “If you were suspecting, my darling, then why the hell didn't you talk to me when you passed by me, today?”
Hermione's breath hitched. This was really happening. This was real. Anytime, now, anyone of them would speak up―
“Trust me, Daph,” Draco's said, bitterly, “I’ve been asking her the same damn question, all evening.”
“Madam?” the girl with short hair called out, a series of numbers floating before her wand, and Daphne immediately went to her.
Hermione looked at her husband. “What… what was―”
Draco placed his lips over hers. She let him kiss her.
“Ginny had a talk with Patil,” he spoke, pulling away from her lips with a smack. “Or, maybe, Blaise – and he relayed the message, or whatever. But. I talked to Ginny. And, apparently, according to Patil, you're stressing too much. So… according to me, that was why you fainted. In your condition, you shouldn't be exerting yourself, Hermione. Do you not know that?”
Hermione was at the verge of hyperventilating. Merlin, Morgana, Circe, Jesus Christ, Virgin Mary – what the hell was happening in her life?! Draco would never believe that she didn't know about her pregnancy before today.
Her pregnancy.
Wow. Now that it was real, it sounded beautiful.
“Tell him, Lydia,” Daphne was saying, her eyes shut and a palm placed over them when Hermione looked at her.
The assistant – Lydia – walked towards Hermione's bed and stood facing Draco. “You knew, Mister Malfoy? How?”
Draco scoffed, obviously very smug about having being proven correct. “Since last three months, or so, she was―”
“Um, excuse me,” Lydia cut him, squinting at Draco with a wry, knowing smile. “Did you say three months, Mister Malfoy?”
Draco sputtered, shrugging, before he nodded. “Almost, yes.”
Lydia sighed, deeply. “The pregnancy is two weeks, old, Mister Malfoy.”
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, while Draco almost squawked, “what?”
That was when it all settled in. Lydia chuckled, Daphne snorted, and Hermione burst out into peals of laughter.
“What… Hermione, but, I…” Draco looked lost, and that made the entire situation two times funnier.
Controlling her giggles, Hermione shook her head and reached, with a hand, to rumple his already mussed hair. “Let’s pretend that you had a premonition,” she said, finally getting her husband to see the humour in the situation.
Between Draco's chuckles, the door to the room burst open, and an obviously excited Narcissa Malfoy entered. She planted a quick kiss, each, to Hermione's cheek and Draco's forehead, and moved on to give Daphne a hug.
Hermione smiled at her when Narcissa walked back towards her bed. Draco vacated the chair for his mother, and she captured Hermione's hands in hers, her silver eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
“I tele-phoned to your mother about your condition, by the way,” she suddenly told her, smiling proudly, and, in the background, Draco groaned. Narcissa turned to him with a confused frown. “Tell me, honestly, did she know about the pregnancy? She said she already told you about a recipe of some sort of beef curry that would be healthy for Hermione, Draco.”
Draco looked at her, over Narcissa's head. Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, and shrugged a shoulder. Draco smirked back, shaking his head. “It's a long story, mum.”
THE END
Author/Artist:
mere_whispersPairing(s): Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger
Prompt: #H16
Summary: Hermione has been having a rough couple of days. That's it. End of story. Or, at least it should have been. But, Draco doesn't believe her. He has his own theory, actually, that she recognizes as a bunch of impossible rubbish. But... is it, really?
Word Count: 5,659
Rating: PG–13
Warnings/Contains: Profanity.
Notes: I struggled with this one, I don't even know why! Anyways. We're here, now. So...
This has a base of humour and the icing is pure angst. I couldn't exactly blend in a Homemaker!Draco into the plot, but it's close enough, I'd say. I've used all of the Optional Lines, though, because they were great!
I enjoyed writing this, despite all the struggles, and I'm seriously pleased with the outcome. I hope the readers would enjoy it, as well.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Hermione Granger-Malfoy looked up when the door to the Healer's office was pushed open. A smile broke out on her face when she noticed how Healer Patil, as she entered, was engrossed in the small stack of parchments that she held in one hand, twirling a Muggle pen in the other.
She was yet to look up and notice Hermione. The brunette cleared her throat.
Padma's eyes flew up, landing on Hermione, and the latter flashed her a full toothy grin. “Hey.”
“Hermione!” Padma exclaimed, scrambling to get behind her desk as she deposited the things she carried onto it. “You―you had an appointment?” she asked, looking flustered as she guiltily bit her lip.
Hermione nodded with a smile, shrugging a shoulder when the other witch winced. “It’s alright, Padma; you're here now.”
Padma sighed, settling into her chair. “No, I'm―I’m sorry. I just… I was…” She sighed again and shook her head. “I forgot. How long have you waited?”
Knowing the ex-Ravenclaw, Hermione knew better than to reveal that she'd sat in the Healer's office for more than an hour. She shrugged, again. “Ten minutes, tops.”
Padma breathed out as if in relief. She probably was. “So… Something you wanted to discuss?”
Seriousness dawned upon her senses and Hermione cleared her throat. “Yes, actually,” she began. “It’s going to be seven months, next week. Do you – do you think that, maybe, we could―”
“No, Hermione,” Padma cut in, surprise and a little bit of irritation shining through her tone. “Absolutely not. I've already told you about the mechanics of how this is going to work. I'm keeping a track of his monthly checkups – I'll let you know the moment I see a green signal.”
Hermione let out a deep sigh. “He is not himself, Padma. He is just – he is just so wound up all the time…” She trailed off, shutting her eyes as a bout of dizziness rammed into her.
“Hermione?”
She blinked, frowning when she realized that her head had started to ache. “I'm―I’m fine. I―”
“You're under too much stress,” Padma declared in a no-nonsense tone, and Hermione held back a groan, dreading the lecture she knew was coming her way. “Already, you are way too much invested in your job. I kind of understand that Luna has a heavy workload and her leave is affecting you, but… There must be other employees at your department that you could trust, Hermione.” Hermione felt her cheeks warming up. So, Luna kept in touch with Padma. It was fair, actually; they did belong to the same house, after all, and Hermione had herself maintained contact with each one of her own housemates, too. “And when you're not at work, you're busy fussing over Draco's too empty schedule. You need to take a break and let things go the way they are. I mean, I understand your concerns, don't take me wrong, but… he's not a child, Hermione. He should know what the priority is.”
Hermione let out a petulant whine. “But the trouble is that he doesn't. He thinks everyone is being unfair to him, and… and he just hates staying at home.”
Padma's lips quirked into an amused smile. “You mean he hates being a homemaker?” Hermione shot her a glare without actual heat, and pursed her lips to keep from smiling when Padma laughed aloud. “Well… He had accident. He got hurt. Okay, he got crucially hurt. So? He's an Auror. Getting injured is a part of their lives. And, anyway, life doesn't always run along the path that you have devised for it, does it? It takes it's own turns, every now and then. And adjusting according to them is what living is.”
Hermione blinked. “Have you been reading any philosophical books, lately?” she asked in a flat tone, making Padma laugh, again.
“I'm merely trying to make you see sense.” Padma smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Hermione's clenched fists in a reassuring gesture. “Ask him to treat this as a break. He's going to be well and ready to take his job back, before the year is up. Ask him to stay patient.”
Hermione let out a slow breath. She knew Padma wasn't wrong. “I… I'll try.”
“Good.” Padma nodded. “And, now – you go back home and rest. Maybe cuddle with the husband, too… among other things,” she added with a mischievous wink.
Hermione ducked her head to shield her cheeks―that were probably flaming―and shook her head to brush Padma's words off. And, as she did that, her head felt afloat with dizziness, again.
“Jeez, Hermione, you are not okay!” Padma exclaimed, quickly running around the table to rush to Hermione's aid. “You're exerting yourself way too hard. Come on – get your tired arse off and out of this building. Merlin knows that you need a break as much as Draco does.”
Conceding to her chiding, Hermione took Padma's hand and got to her feet. Surprisingly, her vision cleared, and head came back down to settle over her shoulders. She sighed.
“I'll see you, later,” she mumbled when the ex-Ravenclaw hugged her close.
“Much later. Like, a month later, okay?”
Chuckling, Hermione smiled at the girl, mindful of not moving her head much. “As the Healer wishes.”
Leaving a grinning Padma behind, Hermione collected her bag, and slid through the office's gate.
The meeting had been in vain, after all.
She'd come here with the intention of convincing her husband's Healer to grant him permission to work again, only to be disappointed. Hermione understood Padma's concerns; God knew she did. But Padma didn't understand Hermione's struggles. She could not possibility begin to understand what Hermione went through, every single day, because her husband was beside himself with his frustration over his current predicament. He wanted to―
Her thoughts fled, suddenly, leaving her senses haywire, as Hermione collided headfirst into something solid. Experience told her that it was a man’s chest, but the faint squeak of surprise―sounding quite feminine―that she heard in the background, had her second guessing.
She would've pondered longer, but she got distracted by the fragrance enveloping her.
Oh, scratch that, it was no fragrance. This was a pungent, choking stench that was making her want to puke her guts out. What was even this?
Vanilla?
Gasping when she recognized the fragrance, and doubly shocked at her uncharacteristic reaction to it, she jumped back and tried to collect get bearings. Her eyes were still screwed shut, and a large hand was enclosed around her upper arm. Quickly enough, Hermione joined the dots and realized that the source of the smell was this person standing before her. She looked up through slitted eyes.
“Blaise!” she yelled at the flabbergasted wizard before her. “What―what sort of perfume are you wearing?” she asked, bringing a hand up to shield her nose from the odour.
Blaise looked at her with his mouth wide and eyes wider.
“Hermione?”
Jumping, Hermione looked to his his right, and that is when she spotted a second, very much feminine presence. The blonde was looking at her with a concerned frown.
“Daphne,” Hermione acknowledged, slowly extracting herself from Blaise's grip. “H―how are you guys?”
“What?” Blaise almost bleated, taking a step towards her. “How are you, Hermione? You don't look―”
“Oh, stop, Blaise,” Daphne cut him off, stepping towards Hermione and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What is it?” she calmly asked, and Hermione blinked at her, owlishly.
“I―I am okay,” Hermione told them, fumbling with her words as she tried to flash them a reassuring smile. “A bit overworked, tired, and in a great need of rest, but otherwise fine.”
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow. That... wasn't fine, Missus Malfoy.”
Well. She didn't know what was wrong with her, actually. She'd been more than okay, this morning, giving her gloomy husband a passionate kiss in an attempt to make up for all the times she'd been too tired for any physical intimacy, these past couple of months. She had been perfectly fine when she had lunch with her loyal, sweet natured assistant, about an hour back. And she had been okay when she'd flooed over to St Mungo's, as well.
What the hell had happened, now?
Blaise cleared his throat and she came back from her thoughts. “You were visiting Padma?” he asked, nodding towards the office she had exited.
Hermione smiled, mischievously. “Why? Can a poor, old witch not visit your about-to-turn-into fiancée without your permission, now?” she teased, sharing a laugh with Daphne while Blaise rolled his eyes.
“See? This is what I'm afraid of,” Blaise mumbled. “The way you guys keep talking about it, I'm seriously scared that you'll blow my secret up before I have even finalised the ring.”
“Merlin, Blaise, I told you to seek help from Theo,” Daphne butted in, sounding exasperated. “Salazar knows that I love the ring he's given me! Maybe Padma is someone with an appreciation for gold bands and princess cut amethysts,” she added, excitedly, raising her eyebrows. Then she dramatically studied, looking down at her feet and shaking her head. “But you won't listen to me.”
Hermione laughed at Daphne's playfulness. It was common knowledge among all of them how much Padma had been repulsed by the uncommon form of Daphne's ring when she and Theo got married. Hermione stopped laughing, however, when she noticed how Blaise’s face had fallen, and he was staring off into distance, thoughtfully.
“Blaise?” Hermione asked him, frowning in concern when he jumped.
Then he sighed. “Nothing, just… the person that I actually do want to take suggestions from, doesn't want to see me.” He looked at her, pointedly, and Hermione winced.
“Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Blaise, it's―”
“No, Hermione, it's fine. I―I’m just surprised, is all.” He smiled, but it looked awfully forced. “Pansy, Theo – and―and even Daphne, here – are okay―”
“Hey,” Daphne interrupted him. “Don't be like that, Blaise. We all know it isn't like Draco to hold a grudge for too long. He's―he hasn't been in the best of mindsets ever since that accident.” She took a breath, then, and looked at Blaise with sorrow filled in her eyes. “You were there with him on that mission. You have to understand, Blaise, why he doesn't want to spend time with you.”
“You remind him of his failure, Blaise,” Hermione bluntly said, and immediately grimaced when Daphne gasped. “I―I didn't―”
“No, it's okay,” Blaise murmured, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, and let out a slow breath. “I have to be patient. I know. And―and trust Padma.”
Daphne cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Trust Padma?” she repeated, smirking at him meaningfully. “Where did that―”
“She's Draco's Healer, Daph,” Blaise grunted, shoving her shoulder, playfully.
“Oh, yes.” Hermione was suddenly bitter, again. “She's Draco's Healer, and she's refusing to―” Hermione cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath, and pressed a hand to her temple, shutting her eyes when something akin nausea rose up her throat.
“Whoa!”
She blinked, clutching at the hands that had firmly gripped her forearms, preventing her fall. Her gratitude was, however, tamped down when she took in a deep breath. Her nose scrunched up. “Blaise. Your perfume!”
“What is―Hermione.” Blaise was almost groaning as he heaved her into a straight, standing position before pushing her body away from his, leaving Daphne to support her.
“What is going on?” Daphne asked her in a calm voice, obviously wary. “Are you under some―”
“Oh, no, Daphne,” Hermione mumbled, pressing her lips together for a moment, and extracted her arm out of Daphne's grasp. “It's not flu,” she added, “nor any – nor any kind of magical malady, either, if that is what you're thinking.” She looked at the ex-Slytherin's Healer's robes pointedly, and grinned when Daphne rolled her eyes.
“Go home and rest, you,” Daphne told her, expressions strict.
Experience had told Hermione that this was Daphne Greengrass-Nott switching into her Healer mode. She sighed, defeated.
Blaise nodded, looking at her with a subtle frown. “Yeah. Go home and… take care of my mate, as well, okay? How's―how’s he holding up, by the way?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.
She gave him a sad smile. “Not good. Nothing much has changed since your last… attempt at seeing him.”
He nodded, sagely, and looked down at his feet. “Tell him I said hi,” he murmured, softly.
She let out a little sigh. “I will,” she told him before giving them both a small, parting smile, each, and advancing towards the fireplaces.
She was, indeed, actually going to head home, now.
Do you want to kill yourself, Hermione?
Sighing aloud, Hermione shook her head at the question her brain asked. No, she did not want to kill herself. And, yes, she was aware that she was going to, anyways, if she didn't exit the Ministry's grounds within a minute.
Hermione hadn't really planned on dropping by, honestly. But an urgent Patronus from her assistant had made her reroute.
“And that will be all, Missus Malfoy.”
Gah, finally!
Inwardly sighing with relief, Hermione merely nodded on the outside. “I'll be leaving, then,” she told her assistant, “and you should transfer him, as as possible.” Grabbing her handbag, she quickly stepped out of the mayhem that had become of the Magical Creatures department’s Head Office.
Her office, yes. Someone had forgotten to place a proper locking jinx on an unwell Niffler’s cot, and the poor thing – in all his frustrated rage due to the stress his illness was giving him – had ended up trashing her entire office.
As she rounded the corridor to the hallway that led to the lifts, Hermione bumped into a flustered looking Ginny Weasley. The redhead immediately flashed her a huge grin.
“Hermione! What are you doing here?” she asked, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders.
Suddenly wobbly, Hermione's knees gave a jerk, and she almost sagged in the younger witch's arms
“Oh, Merlin!” Ginny shrieked, dragging the two of them to the nearest bench in the hallway. “What – what is―”
“Oh, do not ask,” Hermione groaned, her encounter from not more than an hour ago resurfacing in her brain. “Please don't ask.”
Ginny nodded, still looking at her with wide eyes. “Are you – are you okay, though?”
Hermione sniffled, shaking her head, miserably. “Turns out I'm too overworked these days. So much, that my head's getting dizzy, and nausea is attacking me, unannounced,” she spat, chuckling bitterly. “Brilliant, isn't it?” She scowled at the elevator at the end of the corridor.
“Have you… um, taken some potions to fight this?”
She hadn't, actually, because this was the first ever day these problems had fallen upon her. “I will, surely.”
“Good.” She saw Ginny nodding in her peripheral vision. “Also… those, uh… hey, what are those Muggle pills that help with stress, 'Mione?”
Hermione smiled, turning to look at Ginny's wry smile. “Antidepressants?”
“Yes! Them! You can take those, too, if it gets too much, right?”
“Right.” Now that seemed like a plan. “Where were you runningoff to, by the way?” she asked Ginny, recalling her haywire state from before.
Ginny immediately stood straight up, panic spreading all over face. “Bloody hell! I almost forg―uh, thanks, 'Mione, um… I have to go. Aubrey is going into labour. I've to – I've to alert Percy,” she quickly spoke, walking away. “He hasn't responded to any floo-calls, nor have any of the Patronuses returned. I'll… see you later!”
With that, Ginny was off. Hermione shook her head, smiling. Her engagement to Harry had broken just a few months back, and yet the girl hadn't fallen apart.
Blinking, Hermione thought of her own husband, and decided to hurry home.
But! Not before she'd dropped by a Muggle pharmacy and collected a heavy batch of antidepressants. Forging a doctor's prescription was a child's play if you knew magic.
Smirking to herself, she got up and began to walk down the hallway.
“Draco! I’m home!” Hermione called out when she stepped through the fireplace in the living room of their flat.
She had, after all, made it home at half past six. That was half an hour earlier than her usual time. And she'd begun to head home at two of the afternoon. Padma wouldn't let her hear the end of it, if she got a wind of this.
Stepping further into the uncharacteristically silent house, Hermione tried in vain to calm her thumping heart down. Draco had been beyond depressed, since past seven months. And she hadn't a clue what he did to pass time when she wasn't home.
Hermione was, suddenly, very terribly worried and even more guilty.
“Oh, you're early!”
She inhaled loudly, in relief, and turned towards the kitchen―
Only to break into coughs of surprise. Draco was dressed up in a beautiful, navy blue dress shirt and black dress pants. He looked handsome. Very handsome. And Hermione had no idea why she was suddenly salivating at the sight of her husband of three years.
He leant against the doorway, then, a slow, sinfully sexy smirk travelling up left cheek. His styled hair glinted in the strategically dimmed lights, and that is when she noticed that he'd arranged the entire living and dining area to look romantic.
If he had plans for her tonight – looking the way he did, right now – she was so up for them. She might be sporting a boner, even, he looked that inviting.
“Less drooling, Granger,” Draco murmured in a voice that made it obvious that they were on the same page. His eyes were heated when they looked at her, and Hermione dropped her bag to a side, swallowing as she fumbled with her traveling cloak.
“Let me.”
Draco was before her in two, long strides, and Hermione held her breath. He looked deep into her eyes, not breaking the heated contact even as his hands came up to undo the clasp on her cloak. With each brush of his fingers against the underside of her jaw, Hermione shivered and swayed closer to him.
“My, my,” he murmured, leaning towards her when the cloak fell around them. “Aren't we getting all heated up, tonight?” he breathed into her ear, before pressing a soft, warm kiss behind it.
Hermione let out an unapologetic mewl, and wrapped her arms around his tough frame. His slow laughter vibrated through her.
“Ready to come clean, yet?” he asked her again, and Hermione had almost began to nod when she stopped to think.
Her mind had ruined the mood, and so she pulled back without any hesitation. “Excuse me?” She frowned in confusion, looking at him with her heart in her throat as his expressions changed.
All of the love and awe and the dirty promises displayed on his face, minutes ago, had vanished. Now he looked at her with a broken, almost defeated look on his face. “You’re not, are you?” he asked, throatily, and Hermione jumped a foot apart
“What are you talking about, Draco―”
“I planned us a dinner. At home. T―t―to give you room and – and atmosphere to talk,” he went on. “But I don't think that means a thing, now. You're obviously not interested in—”
“For God's sake, Draco, stop!” Hermione exclaimed, shoving a palm before his face to shut him up.
His jaw moved and he looked away. Her heart broke a little.
“What―what is it, Draco?” she whispered, quietly. “Tell me. Tell me – and don't talk in riddles.”
He let out a loud sigh before shaking his head. “Nothing, I… I cooked something for you.” He turned to look at her, then, smiling brightly.
While it did look forced, his smile wasn't completely fake. Draco never cooked. He'd only ever cooked for her, in his life, and it had always meant something. So should it, this time, as well, she concluded.
She tried to play along. “Wow. Are we celebrating?” she asked him, forcing cheerfulness into her voice.
She was about to bend and pick up her cloak, but he beat her to it. Walking down the foyer, he neatly hung it in their cloak closet, before marching straight towards the dining table. He began to straighten the upturned dishes. “Your secret is out,” he said, then, sounding harsh. “Stop pretending.”
Ouch. That was harsh.
Hermione cleared her throat, slowly nearing the table, herself. “What―”
“Merlin, Hermione, stop!” he scoffed, without looking up, and stalked straight into the kitchen.
Hermione, meanwhile, actually wracked her brain for things that she'd been keeping from him. Her too frequent meetings with Padma came to the forefront, but she was sure that it wasn't something to celebrate about. She was his wife. She loved him. Of course she cared, as well.
“Stop with the dramatics, now, and accept your fault,” Draco announced, emerging from the kitchen with a huge pot of some sort of curry levitated before him. Wait… dramatics? Fault? “And change. I've made something special for you.”
Hermione was grasping onto the flimsy edges of her patience, but it was slipping away from her. She couldn't – could not – see where he was going with all of this.
Her blankness must have shown on her face, because the moment Draco looked at her, he threw his hands up and let out an almighty groan. “I'm talking about your pregnancy, Hermione!” he exclaimed, and she did a double take.
“Preg… I'm pregnant?”
“What? You want me to – you want me to tell you?” He sounded incredulous, but he may not have been. Her ears were ringing, her mind was reeling, and she wasn't sure of anything, at all. “Fine.” He took a breath before jovially grinning at her, and flailing his hands, dramatically. She wanted to cringe. Maybe she cringed. “Granger! Guess what?” His voice was dramatically high-pitched. “Great news!” he exclaimed. “You’re pregnant!”
Hearing it for the second time broke Hermione's shock.
The hell? Had he lost his marbles?
She inhaled quickly, and scoffed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I'd know what's going on with my body,” she told him, shocked beyond belief that he would make such a preposterous assumption about her.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked her in a tired, downright sad tone, and Hermione almost gasped. “I know now. This has no point.”
Blinking, Hermione stumbled and sat on one of the dining chairs. “So you know. Huh. Care to tell me how?”
He looked sheepish for a moment, before he rolled his shoulders back and sat down on the chair opposite hers. “Almost three months back, you started getting up way too early.” Hermione remembered that. That was when Luna had taken a leave, and Hermione had extended her workload. She'd began to go to her office, two hours earlier in the morning. “After about a week, I―I realised that you were suffering from morning sickness―”
“That wasn't morning sickness, oh my God―”
“―and I set up Flaky to trail you. Mum's elf. She was happy to help, too. She followed you everywhere, from a distance―”
“―I can't believe this is happening―”
“―you had been travelling through floos, avoiding Apparating. You'd been taking large lunches with Potter, instead of small diets with his ex―”
“―was not―her name's Ginny!”
“―but it broke all records today. You met up with Daphne, went to see Potter's e―Ginny. Went to see Ginny. And then visited a pharmacy.” Draco's head was bowed.
“Firstly, it was very wrong―if not utterly creepy― of you to set a house-elf after me, Draco,” she began. “And, two… all these are just a whole bunch of coincidental, misinterpreted happenings! I didn't go to see Daphne, today. I just bumped into her, and…” She trailed off, frowning with uncertainty. “How does it matter if I saw her, anyway? Or even Ginny, for that matter?”
Draco's face was troubled when he met her gaze. “Do you not remember what Daphne specialises in?” he questioned her very quietly. “And Ginny's your friend. You always go to her when you need a heart-to-heart that you can't have with me. And pregnancy tends to make people emotional, doesn't it?”
She groaned. This was a seriously messed up case of misunderstanding. And Narcissa's elf’s evidences were―however wrong―too much on the mark.
“Draco,” she tried again, reaching for his hands on the table, and flinched when he pulled back. “She might be a gynecology specialist, but I merely bumped into her and Blaise. We were – we didn't even talk for long! And, Ginny… I just – I actually bumped into her, too, when I went to―”
“Merlin, stop, Hermione,” Draco growled, looking at her with betrayal all over his face. Her heart clenched at the sight. “How far do you plan on taking this, huh? I told you. I know. Why are you not confessing, yet?” He was almost pleading with her, and there was nothing she could say to appease him.
Well. She could say a lot, but he wasn't likely to believe any of that.
“You know how much depression I've been dealing with,” he continued. “A – a beautiful news such as this would've made me so happy, Hermione. But, obviously, your self-preservation comes before your concern for me, in this case.”
Okay. That was it. Now he was crossing a line. She'd been mad with worry for him, and he was accusing her of―
“You're being very unreasonable, now, Draco,” she warned him. “Try to not say things that you would regret after you've started to believe me.”
Draco rolled his eyes, clearly brushing her words off. “Let's just eat,” he ground out, getting up to roll up his sleeves. “This is a beef curry, with sweet potatoes, and an avocado salad on the side. I talked to Sarah, and she told me that this is healthy for women in their first trimester.”
Hermione choked on an inhale. “You―you… you talked to my mum about this craziness of yours, Draco?” He stiffened, but she went on. He was crossing way too many lines today. “What the hell possessed you to do that? Now she'll begin to go absolutely starkers over a baby that isn't even there! I swear, Draco―”
She shut with a gasp when he stormed out. Immediately, Hermione ran after him, and found him outside, in the verandah, clutching onto the parapet of the balcony as he breathed deeply.
“Draco?” she tentatively asked.
There was a beat of silence before he turned around and looked at her with hurt, furious eyes. “Crazy. You think I'm crazy, don't you?” Oh, dear Lord. What had she done! “You think I'm going mad, too, don't you? Is that – is that why you didn't tell me about the pregnancy? Were you afraid that I'd―”
She didn't let him continue, slapping a hand over his lips to shut him up. This man was full of vulnerability, and that vulnerability, when exposed, opened up a passage to the deepest, darkest of thoughts hidden inside of his person. Hermione knew, from experience, better than to let him voice all of them.
“Don’t, do not say a word more,” she said in a low, breathy voice. “You're the most intelligent wizard I've come across in my entire life, Draco Malfoy, and that isn't changing anytime soon… if ever. I love you, I love all of you – and there isn't a single thing in this world that would make me love you any less.” She breathed in, her hand still placed across his parted lips, and looked into his wide, surprised grey eyes. “I am the one that is crazy,” she whispered, passionately. “Completely fucking crazy in love with you.”
His lips planted a kiss on the palm that was in contact with them, before his arms wound about her waist and he pulled her closer. Hermione realized that her eyes were brimming with tears when her vision blurred. “And I love you, Hermione Malfoy,” he mumbled against her forehead, pressing a kiss there, before his lips went south and captured hers.
Hermione sighed into his mouth, sliding her hands up from their position on his chest, and wrapped them around his neck to pull him even closer to herself.
“I believe you…” he breathed out, pulling away enough to speak against her lips. His eyes were shining. “I believe that you're not pregnant. And that this is – this is all a giant big confusion… a misunderstanding. But promise me, Hermione, that whenever you do get pregnant…” He paused, and Hermione held her breath. “Promise me that I'll be the first one to know.”
Hermione smiled, leaning up to sink her teeth into his plush, lower lip. He groaned, shutting his eyes, and she flicked her tongue over the reddened area. “I pro…”
Her vision was, suddenly, way too unsteady. Everything was moving, her feet were in mid-air, and everything was unstable, until―
Until it wasn't.
Until it was black, instead.
“...Salazar Slytherin's sake, why didn't she―oh, look, she's waking up. Hermione? Hermione!”
Hermione blinked, recognizing the voice, but failing at putting a name on it.
“Open your eyes, Hermione. Show me those brown irises of yours that I've never seen.”
This was someone not known to her. Hermione blinked, again, and immediately flinched when the first things she saw were three faces looming before hers.
She saw Draco's among them, and relaxed. Then she recognized Daphne's. Then she shut her eyes, because she didn't know this girl with black, pixie cropped hair.
Someone sighed. “She's okay, isn't she?” Draco.
“Uh, what?” Daphne. “Oh. Oh, yeah, absolutely. And she isn't unconscious, Draco. Only her eyes are shut.”
Hermione had no idea how Daphne could tell, but she wasn't even going to think about that. She'd passed out, and now she was being tended to by Healer Greengrass-Nott. That was a lot telling, in itself. But she, adamantly, didn't want to conclude the obvious.
“Hermione?”
Draco's minty breath washed over her face, and she let out a small, involuntary moan in response. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat, and opened her eyes to find him looking at her with his own wide in anticipation. “Draco.”
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he softly asked, brushing back the hair scattered over her forehead.
She smiled. “Good. Better, I mean―”
“Okay, stop,” Daphne spoke up, walking up to stand next to Draco's chair with a disappointed frown on her face. “Don’t ask her how she's doing, Draco. This one has a bad habit of lying to people's face whenever that question comes up.” Hermione winced, and Daphne narrowed her eyes at her. “If you were suspecting, my darling, then why the hell didn't you talk to me when you passed by me, today?”
Hermione's breath hitched. This was really happening. This was real. Anytime, now, anyone of them would speak up―
“Trust me, Daph,” Draco's said, bitterly, “I’ve been asking her the same damn question, all evening.”
“Madam?” the girl with short hair called out, a series of numbers floating before her wand, and Daphne immediately went to her.
Hermione looked at her husband. “What… what was―”
Draco placed his lips over hers. She let him kiss her.
“Ginny had a talk with Patil,” he spoke, pulling away from her lips with a smack. “Or, maybe, Blaise – and he relayed the message, or whatever. But. I talked to Ginny. And, apparently, according to Patil, you're stressing too much. So… according to me, that was why you fainted. In your condition, you shouldn't be exerting yourself, Hermione. Do you not know that?”
Hermione was at the verge of hyperventilating. Merlin, Morgana, Circe, Jesus Christ, Virgin Mary – what the hell was happening in her life?! Draco would never believe that she didn't know about her pregnancy before today.
Her pregnancy.
Wow. Now that it was real, it sounded beautiful.
“Tell him, Lydia,” Daphne was saying, her eyes shut and a palm placed over them when Hermione looked at her.
The assistant – Lydia – walked towards Hermione's bed and stood facing Draco. “You knew, Mister Malfoy? How?”
Draco scoffed, obviously very smug about having being proven correct. “Since last three months, or so, she was―”
“Um, excuse me,” Lydia cut him, squinting at Draco with a wry, knowing smile. “Did you say three months, Mister Malfoy?”
Draco sputtered, shrugging, before he nodded. “Almost, yes.”
Lydia sighed, deeply. “The pregnancy is two weeks, old, Mister Malfoy.”
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, while Draco almost squawked, “what?”
That was when it all settled in. Lydia chuckled, Daphne snorted, and Hermione burst out into peals of laughter.
“What… Hermione, but, I…” Draco looked lost, and that made the entire situation two times funnier.
Controlling her giggles, Hermione shook her head and reached, with a hand, to rumple his already mussed hair. “Let’s pretend that you had a premonition,” she said, finally getting her husband to see the humour in the situation.
Between Draco's chuckles, the door to the room burst open, and an obviously excited Narcissa Malfoy entered. She planted a quick kiss, each, to Hermione's cheek and Draco's forehead, and moved on to give Daphne a hug.
Hermione smiled at her when Narcissa walked back towards her bed. Draco vacated the chair for his mother, and she captured Hermione's hands in hers, her silver eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
“I tele-phoned to your mother about your condition, by the way,” she suddenly told her, smiling proudly, and, in the background, Draco groaned. Narcissa turned to him with a confused frown. “Tell me, honestly, did she know about the pregnancy? She said she already told you about a recipe of some sort of beef curry that would be healthy for Hermione, Draco.”
Draco looked at her, over Narcissa's head. Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, and shrugged a shoulder. Draco smirked back, shaking his head. “It's a long story, mum.”
THE END
:-)
I have to admit that I'd find it even funnier if he was right all along and Hermione just had no idea, lmao ^_^
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