2006
Draco sighed as he dropped his arm, wand in hand, down to his side. "Last room," he said quietly.
From behind, Hermione wrapped her arms around his middle. "Not quite, we still have one more," she replied, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Draco grinned. One more room, indeed. "We do that one together," he said, turning to kiss her.
"Yes," Hermione agreed.
"Are you okay? Are you still tired?" Draco asked, whirling around to face Hermione.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm always tired," Hermione replied.
Draco frowned. "You should go back to bed."
"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said haughtily, placing her hands on her hips. "If you spend the next five months telling me I should go back to bed, I am going to move back out."
This time, it was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "You've basically lived here for three years now. And given how tired you are, I hardly see you moving out by yourself. I'm certainly not helping."
Hermione huffed. "I'll have Harry help me."
"I'll remove him from the wards."
"You wouldn't."
"I assure you, I would."
"Ginny—"
"Likes me better than you."
"You are impossible."
In response, Draco simply wrapped his arms around Hermione, pulling her into his embrace. "I'm sorry. Please don't move out."
Hermione laughed. "All right, I won't. So, Black Manor is fully fixed up, now?" she asked.
"Except for one room."
"Except for one room," she agreed.
"But yes," Draco continued. "I've finally—I've finished."
Hermione smiled. "I'm proud of you." She kissed him.
"It's just a house, Hermione," Draco replied quietly, feeling himself flush.
She frowned. "That's not true. It's our home. It's your home. You've spent the last several years making it beautiful again. It is not just a house."
Draco supposed that was true. It wasn't just a house. It had been his project since the day he decided to be sober. On some days, Draco suspected, it had kept him sober. And now it was complete. Fifty rooms, all of them renovated and suited to his—their tastes. It had been his project. He didn't know what to do with himself now.
As if Hermione could hear his thoughts, she spoke: "We live, Draco." He nodded jerkily, and she sighed. "Draco," she said quietly. "You've been sober for nearly four years now. You aren't going to fall apart because you've finished renovating a house."
"You said it wasn't just a house," Draco replied, petulantly.
Hermione laughed again. "It's not. I've become quite fond of it, I'll have you know. Now, before you have the complete mental breakdown I can see you pondering, we do have one more room to fix up." She tugged at his hand. Draco dutifully followed her through the house until they were standing at the room that sat directly across from their bedroom. Hermione smiled and pushed the door open. "I was thinking yellow, because it's gender neutral—even though it's a girl."
Draco rolled his eyes. "It has been well over a century since there has been a girl born into the Malfoy family."
Hermione gave him a wry smile. "I suppose it's time then?"
"I'll be thrilled no matter what," he replied neutrally, wrapping his arms around her again.
"It's a girl," Hermione persisted.
"Whatever you say, Hermione."
"Draco."
Draco looked down at Hermione, who was looking up at him seriously. "Oh, fuck," he said quietly. "It's a girl, isn't it?"
She nodded, looking slightly sheepish. "Yeah," she said quietly.
"My mother?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Hermione gave a sharp nod. "Yes."
He pulled her into him, so close that her feet were no longer even on the floor and then began to cry, for reasons he could not explain. "We're having a girl," Draco said through his tears.
"It was in my note," she said, somewhat apologetically. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you—I didn't want to scare you."
"I'm not mad, Hermione," he said, laughing. "That infuriating woman." Wiping the tears from his eyes, Draco placed a hand on Hermione's abdomen. There was just the slightest swell there, hardly noticeable to the untrained eye, but Draco knew Hermione's body better than he even knew his own, and he could tell. "But really, you should go back to bed."
Hermione shook her head. "I can't," she protested. "I have to check in on the Hogsmeade shop today, remember?"
Draco frowned, his hand traveling from her abdomen to possessively grip her hip. "I'll do it," he offered.
Hermione gave an exasperated huff. "Draco," she seethed. "This has been on the calendar for over a month now. I am conducting employee reviews at Hogsmeade, and you're conducting them at Diagon Alley." Hermione pulled his fingers from her hip, twining them with hers. "Did you forget?"
"I've been a bit distracted as of late," Draco replied, staring down at their joined hands.
She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I am pregnant, not an invalid," she said quietly.
"I worry," he admitted.
"You are being irrational," Hermione replied, laughing. "Now, hurry up and change. We are already running late."
It was a beautiful Saturday morning as Draco apparated to Diagon Alley. His plan had initially been to apparate directly to Elixir, but with the weather being what it was, Draco was content to stroll down Diagon Alley, enjoying the feeling of the breeze on his skin.
Diagon Alley was bustling with people, as it was a beautiful day on the weekend, and also nearing the end of August, and people were preparing to return to Hogwarts. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, Draco casually strolled towards Elixir, completely ignored by the crowd around him. At that thought, Draco grinned.
Public disdain for him had faded over the years, to the point that people mostly ignored him when he was out and about. He hadn't been spat on since his ill-fated date with Hermione, all those years ago. Being Hermione Granger's long-term partner had its benefits, he supposed.
But perhaps, he thought, that wasn't all that it was. Hermione certainly helped, but he'd worked for his life. He had completed his Potions Mastery in record time—less time than Hermione even, and had been obsessively researching Soul-Bonding magic ever since. Together, he and Hermione had become possibly the only experts on Soul-Bonding and had co-authored three books on the subject. They hadn't quite figured out how to break a Soul Bond, but Hermione was convinced that together they eventually could.
Secretly, Draco believed her.
He'd given up his ancestral home as well as the Malfoy vaults, preferring to live off he and Hermione's combined income, which was not insubstantial considering their two successful Potions shops and three best-selling publications. If times ever got hard, he always had the Black vaults to fall back on.
But he never wanted to touch Malfoy money again.
Lost in his thoughts, Draco reached Elixir, which had doubled in size when the candle shop next door had gone out of business. He pushed the door open and took a step inside, the little bell comforting and familiar as it announced his arrival. Elixir wasn't as busy as the other shops, but Draco found a handful of shoppers and staff milling about.
Elixir had ceased to be one-woman operation two years ago when Draco withdrew a significant amount of money from the Black vault and proposed that Hermione open a second shop—with Draco as a co-owner. Hermione still worked part-time, splitting her time between both shops during the week, but she spent much more of her time researching and brewing with Draco in their lab, which also happened to be Hermione's old flat.
"Hey, Draco," greeted one of the employees.
"Hey, Jack," Draco replied, giving him a half-hearted wave. "Busy today?"
Jack shrugged. "Not really. Slower Saturday than normal. Everyone's scrambling for school supplies."
Draco nodded. "I figured. I'm here to do performance reviews. That all right with you?"
"You're the boss, boss," Jack replied, grinning.
"Hardly," Draco said with a laugh, thinking of Hermione.
It didn't take long for Draco to conduct the performance reviews—anyone hired by Hermione Granger went through an intensive, multi-part interview process that required only the very best of qualifications. He was not surprised to find that the shop was being superbly run in Hermione's absence.
"Take the rest of the day off," he told the staff afterwards. "It's a slow day, and it's been forever since I've worked a shift here."
Draco spent a quiet afternoon inspecting the shelves and cataloguing potions, making a list of brews that needed to be added to the shelves. Truthfully, the list wasn't very long, owing to Hermione's tendencies to perfectionism, but it made him feel useful—like he was a true co-owner in Hermione's business.
He had just settled onto the purple couch with a book, a stack of parchment, and a quill when the tinkling of the bell announced the arrival of a customer. Draco's head snapped up, unsurprised to see Potter walking through the door. After several years of begrudging friendship, Draco had, at some point, gotten used to Potter's frequent and unannounced drop ins.
Potter, however, did look surprised. "Malfoy," he greeted. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
Draco arched a brow. "Oh?" he asked. "Who were you expecting?"
Potter shrugged. "The guy that's normally here on Saturdays. Jake, I think?"
"Jack," Draco corrected. "New batch of trainees?"
"You guessed it," Potter replied. "When was the last time we had you guys over? Feels like it's been forever."
Draco began to gather Potter's typical order of pain potions. "That's because it has been forever. I don't think you've had us over since James was born. It's been a relief, quite honestly," Draco said, quickly filling a case up with potions.
Potter began to protest. "I don't need that many—"
Draco ignored Potter as he rang up the potions. "You always come back for more, and you know you get a discount this way," he replied absently.
"You sound like Hermione," Potter said with a roll of his eyes.
Draco couldn't help his grin. "Dare I say, after all this time she may have rubbed off on me."
Potter grimaced, then studied Draco for a moment. "Gross. You look oddly—happy. It is deeply unsettling."
Draco shrugged as he took Potter's money and pushed the case of potions across the desk. "Actually," Draco said after a moment. He sighed, then reached into his pocket, pulling out his mother's wedding ring and gently placed alongside the potions. "I'm going to propose."
Potter's eyes grew wide. "Fuck," he breathed out. "I knew you had a ring, but that's it?"
"It was my mother's," Draco replied defensively.
Potter shook his head, eyes still fixed on the ring. "Think she'll say yes this time?"
"She's never said no, Potter," Draco said harshly.
"She's never said yes, either—"
"She's going to say yes this time," Draco replied confidently.
Potter stared at Draco, his eyes first narrowing, and then growing large again. An Auror who had just stumbled upon a clue. "Merlin," he said quietly. "She's pregnant, isn't she?"
Fuck. They had just found out themselves—they certainly hadn't told anybody else.
"We went to lunch just last week, and she could barely keep her Pad See Eaw down. That's one of her favorite foods. I thought it was strange, at the time," Potter rambled, his eyes meeting Draco's once more. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Draco swallowed. He could hardly deny it. "We just found out," he admitted. "She thought she had food poisoning. But you cannot tell her I told you. We haven't told anyone yet and she wants to surprise you," Draco continued hurriedly.
Potter smirked, pressing a finger to his lips. "Your secret is safe with me. I will act appropriately surprised when she does deign to tell me."
"Doubtful," Draco said with a scowl. "You're a terrible actor."
"How do you feel about it?" Potter asked. "I nearly puked the day Ginny told me she was pregnant with James."
"Equal parts thrilled and terrified, I think," Draco replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I finished the house this morning."
"Only took you a hundred years."
"I don't have anything to keep me busy now," he admitted, fiddling with his fingers.
Potter fixed him with a serious stare. "You've been sober for years now, Draco. And you have plenty of things to keep you busy," Potter replied. "I mean, fuck—all you do these days is research. And you have a pregnant girlfriend to take care of—and let me remind you, pregnancy ends with a baby, and babies are a lot of work—"
"I am aware of all that, Potter. I just worry, okay?" Draco interrupted.
"Do you want to drink?" Potter asked with a tilt of his head.
"No," Draco said quietly. "I don't. I don't want to drink. I want Hermione, and our life, and our business, and our baby."
Potter gave him a casual, easy shrug. "Easy. Then just don't drink, and you get all those things."
When Potter said it, it seemed so simple.
The rest of the day passed slowly, and Draco decided to close the shop early, eager to get back to Hermione. He was surprised, however, when he apparated into the living room and found it empty. He checked the kitchen, the library, and the gardens before finally checking the bedroom, where he found Hermione in bed in one his of t-shirts, curled up around her stomach. "Hey," he said quietly, worry furrowing his brow.
"Hi," she replied, turning in the bed to face him. Her voice was hoarse. "Where have you been?"
Draco took several steps towards the bed, discarding his shoes, pants, and shirt before laying down beside her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Slow day at the shop. I gave everyone the day off. Figured I could make myself useful. Morning sickness again?"
Hermione laughed darkly. "I don't know why they call it that. I was just fine this morning. I barely made it through the performances reviews." Draco sighed, conjuring a washcloth and wetting it with his wand. He gently draped it over Hermione's forehead, and she groaned. "That feels good, thank you."
Draco kissed her shoulder, then began to rub soothing circles into her bare skin of her upper arm. It didn't take long for Hermione to doze off. Draco removed his fingers, content to let her sleep. He watched for a long time, thinking about Potter's advice.
He had a drinking problem—this he knew. He had discussed it ad nauseum with both Hermione and Charlie. He had spent numerous hours in therapy recognizing his triggers and thought processes that caused him to drink. He had successfully avoided alcohol for nearly four years now, and that, he knew, was a reason to be proud. But, there were still some days that the urge to drink was so strong he could nearly taste the firewhiskey on his tongue.
Ultimately, he did not want to drink. He did not want to endure the hangovers or the hot feeling of shame that shot through him when he woke up somewhere that was not his bed. It had been four years of consistently waking up in Hermione's bed, or his bed, oir what was now their bed—again. Draco did not count the times they fell asleep on the couch, watching Muggle movies. Those times, too, were good.
Draco stared down at Hermione, who was now fast asleep and clutching her abdomen protectively. He'd meant what he'd said to Potter: he wanted Hermione, their life together, their business, and their baby.
Their daughter.
All thoughts of firewhiskey immediately vanished. The love of his life was pregnant with their daughter. He was going to propose, and Hermione was finally—finally going to say yes. And they'd live, he'd have his life, and Hermione and their daughter.
And what was a bottle of firewhiskey compared to all that?
When they woke the next morning, there was a regal eagle owl waiting at the window of the kitchen looking impossibly annoyed. Draco knew immediately that such an owl could only belong to Pansy Parkinson. Draco fed the owl a treat before even attempting to take the letter from the owl. Very carefully, while the owl was distracted with its treat, Draco untied the letter. He recognized Pansy's elegant handwriting immediately and could only roll his eyes. Pansy, in subtle Pansy fashion, had addressed the letter to Mr. & Mrs. Malfoy.
Hermione appeared over his shoulder. "Subtle," she said quietly. "What is that?"
Draco shrugged, opening the letter. He was shocked by what he found inside. "They're getting married."
Hermione grabbed the letter from his hands. "Pansy and Astoria are getting married?"
"Don't sound so surprised. They've been together for nearly four years now."
"I know, but it's Astoria."
Draco laughed. "You haven't seen her since the day she and Pansy moved back to France. She's—tame now. Well, tamer."
Hermione shrugged. "I suppose. You want to go, don't you?"
"You don't?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow.
She shrugged again. "I am not Astoria's biggest fan."
"I thought—what? I thought she apologized to you, and you forgave her—? How have we never talked about this?"
"She did apologize," Hermione replied. "I did not, in fact, accept it. She just assumed I did."
"Hermione, I—"
"I didn't need to forgive her to have closure on the situation," Hermione continued. "I just—I realized I needed to trust you." She smiled at him. "The day she apologized to me—I didn't need it. What she did—was awful, but I understood. And—I realized it didn't matter. Because I trusted you. I still trust you."
Pansy and Astoria's wedding invitation was completely forgotten. Draco pulled Hermione up and into his arms, Hermione wrapping her legs around his waist. He kissed her. "I love you," he said quietly. "I love you, and I love this baby. And I know we didn't plan for her, but I can't find it in myself to give two shits."
"Me neither," she replied, tightening her legs around his waist. "Even though I'm terrified."
He laughed against her lips. "Me, too. But if Potter and the Weaslette can do it, so can we. To be honest, I think we are much more capable than those two."
"Shut up!" Hermione admonished, giggling. "You love them."
"I'll never admit it," Draco replied defensively, kissing her again. "Marry me," he said suddenly, against her lips.
Hermione pulled away, looking somewhat surprised. "Draco—"
"We've been together longer than Pansy and Astoria for Merlin's sake, Hermione. They're getting married. We live together, we own a business together, we write together. Hermione, we're having a baby together. Will you just marry me already? I know I said I'd wait as long as it took, but I'm so, so, tired of waiting, because I am never, ever letting you go."
Hermione swallowed, staring at him seriously for a moment before her lips suddenly curved upwards. "You're supposed to have a ring when you propose, Draco," she said quietly.
"I have a ring," he said quickly. "I've had a ring for years."
"What—?"
Gently, Draco set Hermione down. "Wait here," he said, hurrying back to their bedroom and digging through the pockets of his trousers from the previous day, quickly finding the ring. He returned to the kitchen, where he found Hermione sitting on the island countertop, looking nervous. He reached for her left hand, twining their fingers together. "I love you, Hermione Granger. I love you more than I've ever loved anything." He pulled the ring out, and Hermione's eyes grew wide as she stared at it. "Will you please finally fucking marry me?"
"Draco—" she said quietly. "That ring—"
"It was my mother's," Draco interrupted. "She left it in drawer for me to find. She—she wanted you to have it." Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes, but eventually nodded. Draco released her fingers, only to hold fast to her ring finger. Slowly, he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly—of course it did.
"Yes," Hermione said. "Yes. I'll finally fucking marry you, Draco." She laughed.
He kissed her. "I love you," he repeated for what had to be the thousandth time that morning.
"I love you. And because I love you, we will go to Pansy and Astoria's wedding."
Pansy and Astoria's wedding was not exactly what Draco expected—perhaps owing to the joining of two completely contradictory personalities. Outrageously expensive, for certain, but entirely too casual to have ever been imagined by Pansy Parkinson. The location—a beautiful, but overgrown, vineyard in Bordeaux—and the unpretentious dress code bore marks of Astoria's much more lax influence.
It was a beautiful fall day, with just the slightest chill in the air. Hermione was next to him and holding his hand, looking beautiful in a dark green flowy dress that hid the soft swell of her abdomen that was getting harder and harder to hide. So far, only Potter and Ginny had been informed of her pregnancy, with Potter acting appropriately surprised, and Ginny bursting out into tears.
"Are you hungry?" Draco asked as tray filled with hors d'oeuvres floated by.
Hermione shook her head. "No, not right now. A bit nauseous actually."
Draco furrowed his brow, staring down at Hermione. "Are you all right? Should we go home?"
"No, I'm fine. I think it will pass. Perhaps some water, though?" Hermione replied, looking a bit pale.
"I'll be right back," Draco said, hurrying over to the drinks table, which was where Pansy inevitably found him, tapping his shoulder with an immaculately manicured fingernail.
"Hello, Draco," she greeted coolly. "So glad that you and the Missus could make it."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Pansy. For the thousandth time, Hermione and I are not married. Your wedding, however, was lovely."
Pansy waved her hand dramatically. "Please, it was downright pedestrian. But it was what Astoria wanted. And I saw that ring on her finger, Draco—do not presume me to be a fool."
"I would never, Pansy," Draco replied. "Well, yes—we are engaged now."
Pansy smiled—a real smile. "Finally," she said. "She's looking a bit peaky, isn't she?" Pansy asked, her smile transforming into a smirk. "Her face is a bit fuller, too."
Draco looked away from Pansy, filling a large goblet with cold water.
"Her dress is an empire waist, too. Interesting choice."
"What are you on about, Pans?"
"She's knocked up, isn't she?" Pansy asked excitedly.
"Subtle as always," Draco said under his breath, turning around to find Hermione again.
Pansy did not relent, following him. "Yet you didn't deny it," she continued. "Oh, hello, Granger," Pansy said with a smirk, when Hermione was within earshot.
"Hello, Pansy," Hermione said rightfully suspicious. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, I was just asking Draco if you were knocked up. He has yet to deny it," Pansy replied, looking positively gleeful.
Hermione let out a heavy exhale before carefully sipping the water that Draco had handed her. "Yes," she said quietly. "I am pregnant."
Pansy laughed. "Astoria!" she called. "I believe I have just won that little bet of ours!"
"Now, why would they bet on that?" Hermione asked as Pansy disappeared into the crowd.
"I have not got the slightest idea," Draco replied, feeling somewhat bewildered. "But I think it's safe to say that the entire Wizard world will have learned that we are both engaged and expecting by tomorrow morning."
Hermione took another sip of water before setting it down on another passing tray. "Whatever," she said. "Let's dance."
"Cassiopeia," Hermione said, interrupting Draco's research.
He was several hours deep into analyzing various methods of Soul-Bonding while Hermione had been studying his mother's journals for the umpteenth time. "What?" he asked, looking up at her.
"Cassiopeia," Hermione repeated, unhelpfully.
"I need more words, Hermione," he said, setting his quill down.
"If you had been a girl, your name would have been Cassiopeia," Hermione replied slowly. "I—what do you think about Cassiopeia?" she asked, protectively placing both hands on her belly.
Draco's felt like his brain was moving too slowly, and he struggled to understand her words. Cassiopeia. For their daughter. A name. "Cassiopeia," he said slowly.
"Cassie, for short."
Cassie. Their daughter, Cassie. Cassiopeia Malfoy. Draco found he still couldn't speak.
"And—" Hermione continued after a beat. "I think I'd like her middle name to be Narcissa—for your mother, obviously."
Draco's tongue finally worked. "You," he began, "you want to name her after my mother?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said firmly. "I think she warrants that much, don't you?"
Draco nodded, then stood and walked to the nearest window. The gardens were as beautiful and lush as always, unperturbed by the harsh winter weather thanks to Jinxy's expertise. "Will we tell her about her?" Draco asked, before realizing his wording was entirely unclear. He shook his head. "Will we tell Cassie about my mother?"
With a bit of difficulty, Hermione stood and joined him at the window, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and resting her head on his shoulder. "Yes," she replied. "Yes. We will make sure she knows every last thing about your mother."
"And," Draco swallowed. "What about—me?"
Hermione looked up at Draco. "What do you mean about you?" she asked, confusion furrowing her brows.
He gestured down to his forearm, where his faded Dark Mark still lived.
Hermione stepped in front of him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him as close as possible—made somewhat difficult by her belly. "We'll tell her about The Peacock," she said quietly. "And then, after that, we'll tell her how hard her father worked to redeem himself, and how he became a genius Potioneer and the world's foremost expert on Soul-Bonding."
Draco grimaced. "No, Hermione, that's you."
She shook her head, catching his face in his hands. "No, Draco," she protested seriously. "I don't know if you noticed, but you've written a good ninety percent of all of our books. My name is only on them because you insisted on it."
Draco laughed. "Come on, Hermione—"
"I'm serious, Draco. You're the one on the verge of figuring out how to break a Soul Bond—not me."
It was exactly one month before Cassiopeia was born that Draco did, indeed, figure out how to break a Soul Bond.
The very first thing he did was visit his mother.
"I know it's been awhile, Mum, since I've visited," he said quietly as he sat down in front of his mother's tomb. "I've been busy. I think you'll be happy to know that Hermione has finally agreed to marry me." Draco smiled. "She complains about how big her ring is all the time, but when she thinks I'm not looking, I catch her staring at it. I think she secretly likes it." He laughed, his eyes growing watery. "Hermione's pregnant, Mum. She's due—well, any day now, really. We're naming her Cassiopeia, but her middle name will be Narcissa—after you, though I suppose that's obvious." Draco shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. "I wish you could meet her, Mum. I am excited, and terrified, and I just keep thinking that I wish you could meet her."
"I've told you about my Potions Mastery, but I never told you why I got it," Draco continued. "Hermione wanted to start researching Soul Bonds, and I just—I had to help. I had to do it for you. And, well—I figured it out today," he said quietly, then let out a laugh. "You'll never believe it—or perhaps you would." Draco shook his head. "Dragon's blood and peacock feathers, Mum. That's all I've been missing. I got the feathers from Priscilla herself."
Draco stood, brushing absently at some nonexistent dust on his trousers before he ran his fingers over the etching of his mother's name. "I just wanted you to know. I hope you're proud of me."
As Draco left the Black family Mausoleum, he knew his mother was proud. Because she'd always been proud of him.
He returned to the Manor, where he found his very pregnant fiancée flipping through his latest bit of research. Her head snapped up the moment he walked into the room, her eyes glittering fiercely. "You figured it out?" she asked excitedly.
Draco nodded sharply. "Yes."
"Oh, Draco," Hermione breathed out, reaching for him.
Draco took several steps towards her and took her hand before kneeling in front of her, placing a kiss on the bare skin of her knee. "I'm going to send it St. Mungo's, then I'm going to have it formally published."
"Any publisher in their right minds would be thrilled to get their hands on this. This is extraordinary research, Draco," she said, smiling down at him with a mixture of pride and love. "She would have been so proud of you. I'm proud of you."
Draco nodded. "I know," he said quietly.
His mother would have been proud of him. Hermione was proud of him. He would make sure Cassie was proud of him. But most importantly, and for what was perhaps the very first time, Draco found that he was proud of himself.