Hermione didn't know what possessed her to go into that pub on that particular night.

It was most definitely five times as foul-looking as the Hog's Head, and she certainly didn't approve of that particular establishment. As it was, she was cold, a bit lost, and in no hurry to apparate while it was raining so torrentially. So she entered. The place was dark and musty, but there was no lack of customers, despite the late hour. No one seemed to pay her any heed as she took a few tentative steps toward the bar. A large, brutish woman jostled by her, sloshing a fair amount of ale down Hermione's front.

"Pardon," the woman grunted. Before Hermione could reply, the woman left. Now slightly dampened and smelling of ale, Hermione continued to squeeze through the crowd and onto a barstool.

"Butterbeer," she told the bartender, trying her best to blend in. The man gave her an appraising look, but slid her a bottle.

"I know that voice." Hermione jumped as the man on the stool next to hers clutched at her arm. He had extremely greasy, unkempt blond hair, but there was no mistaking his identity, despite the red that encircled the gray of his eyes. Hermione began to reach for her wand, but Malfoy let go and sort of shrugged in means of a white flag. "S'okay Granger," he slurred.

"I'm afraid it isn't okay, Malfoy," she replied curtly, though she allowed her wand hand to rest at her side. "You're a very wanted man."

"Wanted?" he asked, looking blearily at her. "By whom?"

Hermione stared at him in minor disbelief. "The law," she said, as succinctly as possible.

"Oh, good. For a second there I thought ya meant you." He teetered in his seat before downing his drink, which the bartender refilled.

"Are you entirely well, Malfoy?" she asked, as he took a swig and missed his mouth, causing drink to slide down his chin.

He paused to think while his drink continued to drip from his chin onto his blood-stained and tattered designer shirt. "Do you mean physically, mentally or emotionally?" he asked. He allowed his head to slide down and rest on his crossed arms.

"All three," Hermione replied, having forgotten all about her butterbeer.

Malfoy shifted toward her. "I believe the answers 'ould be no, no and no," he said. His eyelids drifted closed for a moment. "I'm tired, Granger. So tired." He expelled a large, shuddering breath.

Hermione had a feeling that she was going to come to regret what she was about to say, but she couldn't suppress the sympathy that was rising up in her. "Come with me," she said, offering him her

hand. His right eye studied it while his left stayed closed lazily.

"I always liked you, Granger." A moment later his arms were around her in a sloppy, almost child-like embrace.

"Yes, well" Hermione said awkwardly, pushing him away and patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Why don't you, er, pay your tab, then? And then we'll get going, shall we?"

Malfoy nodded and pushed a handful of coins toward the bartender. It was quite obviously too much, but Hermione didn't feel a need to mention it. He then stood on wobbly legs. "Floo?" he asked the bartender, who pointed him toward the back. Hermione paid for her own drink and followed Malfoy to the fireplace. "Where to?" he asked, eyes only half open and leaning heavily on her.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. That was a very good question. Her flat came to mind, but that

might raise awkward questions later. "12 Grimmauld Place," she said, finally. She sincerely hoped that Harry would not only be up, but in a benevolent mood.

Malfoy, without even slight hesitation, took up some floo powder and left, for once not slurring his words. Hermione followed quickly.

"This yer house?" he asked, still acting in a way that could only be termed as slobbering drunk.

"Well, no," she admitted.

"Bit black, ain't it?" he asked, finding a couch and crashing down on it.

"You have no idea" Hermione muttered, knowing full-well that this was, in fact, the House of Black. But her companion was already snoring away. She wondered how he would react in the morning, once he'd figured out that he'd been led like a puppy

into enemy territory. She quickly tip-toed up the stairs to Harry's room and knocked, shivering slightly because of her still-damp shirt.

There was a rustle of bed clothes and Harry Potter answered the door, blinking bleary-eyed at her. "What? Is it time? Is it" he paused, apparently to make sure his scar wasn't prickling. "Great Merlin, Hermione, you reek!" He pinched his nose.

"Yes, well someone spilled ale on me," she said, frowning.

"Oh, is that it?" Harry said, waving away the vapors. "How was your mission?"

Hermione sighed. "Complete failure. Contact didn't show up."

"Blast," Harry said, scowling. "Why'd you wake me, then?" he asked, as an afterthought.

"Well that, er for that, Harry, you're going to have to come downstairs and see." She led him, her heart hammering against her chest for some unknown reason, and stopped in front of the DracoMalfoy-occupied couch.

"What the?" Harry began, feeling little need to finish his sentence. "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? The boy who would be murderer? Hermione, what on Earth is going on in that labyrinth you call a brain?" His tone had changed from sleep-deprived to utterly peeved in two seconds flat.

"Well," she said, speaking quietly as to not wake the brute, "you'd have done the same thing in my position."

"Really?" Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I ran into him at this pub," she started, ignoring Harry's obstinate stance, "and he was completely inebriated." Harry snorted. "Anyway, he was acting so oddly I, er felt sort of sorry for him and I

asked him if he was okay, which he said no to and"

"And what?" Harry barked, giving her his signature death-glare.

"And he said he was tired," she said, gesturing broadly.

"Tired?" Harry repeated.

"Tired," she replied. "I don't think he just meant physically either. I think he wants out."

Harry snorted. "Of course he does. The Great Slytherin Prince doesn't want to do his civic duty. Then what happened, eh?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well, then I asked him to leave with me. You know sort of like giving him a way 'out.' Then he er"

"What?" Harry asked, scowling.

"He said he'd always liked me and he gave me a hug?" It hadn't been meant as a question, but it had confounded her so that she felt a need to reaffirm it.

Harry shook his head, a slight smirk creeping onto his features. "What sort of like and what sort of hug are we talking about here?" he asked, making Hermione squirm under his sardonic-look of accusation.

"The er, chummy kind," she said, not liking Harry's double meaning at all.

Harry's smile finally managed to smooth into a straight, firm line. "So what are we going to do with him, then?" he asked, staring at a long strand of spittle that was hanging from Malfoy's lip.

Hermione smiled and reached into her purse, drawing out a pamphlet. In big, bold lettering were the words, "Ex-death Eater and Witness Protection Program." Then, just below, was a second caption. "Targeted? Keep seeing that big skull in the sky? We can help." Harry stared at the pamphlet for a good thirty seconds before staring at her, and then back at the pamphlet.

"You're really mental, aren't you?" he asked. "You know as well as I do that this piece of scum here belongs in Azkaban. Not," he flipped through the pamphlet and pointed to a picture of a cottage with a white picket fence, "living it up undercover."

"Harry," Hermione said, crossing her arms and giving him a scathing look, "have a heart!" Malfoy rolled over in his sleep and snorted loudly.

"He is asleep, isn't he?" Harry asked uneasily. "He's not just pretending?"

"With the amount of alcohol in his system?" Hermione shook her head. "Trust me, he's asleep all right."

"Well, take his wand off him, will you? Just to be sure."

"Me?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry shook his head. "You brought him here; he's your responsibility."

Hermione groaned. "Well, thank you, Harry. That's just so gentlemanly of you." She very carefully reached toward the blond and felt around his robe pockets for any sign of a wand. As her hand grazed his chest, she could have sworn she'd heard him giggle. Hermione removed her hand quickly as if it had been burned. "Accio wand," she said, feeling foolish for not thinking of it sooner. Suddenly, Malfoy was awake.

"What?" he half-shouted, sitting up and looking about frantically. His eyes rested on the two of them and he slowly calmed. Hermione, and perhaps Harry too, noted the faint glisten of tears in his eyes. "I" he began, still trying to get his bearings.

"Well, that answers that question," Harry muttered. "He was definitely asleep."

"I" Malfoy continued, a crop of sweat on his brow, "really need to vomit," he finished. He stood and ran quickly in the direction he'd assumed to be the lavatory, but was in reality the kitchen.

Harry frowned in disgust. "Sick."

"He'll be dehydrated," Hermione muttered knowingly, conjuring a glass of water and hurrying off in Malfoy's direction. She found him huddled over the sink, shaking. "Here," she said. "Drink this." She handed him the water and he looked at it warily. "It's not poisoned, you know."

Very slowly, Malfoy drank all his water. "Granger," he said. "I we were at the pub" He made a sudden search of his robes.

"I've got it," Hermione said, brandishing his wand, which Malfoy watched with trepidation. Although he was in fight of flight mode, she could tell that he was having difficulty keeping his eyelids from drooping.

"Is Potter going to kill me then? Or am I to go to Azkaban?" he asked.

Hermione gave him a small smilethe type she might give a frightened child. "Don't worry, Draco." His name came unnaturally from her tongue. Instead of soothing him, he tensed further. "I'll make sure Harry doesn't do anything he'd regret."

"And Azkaban?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not if I can help it. Look, I'll set you up in the spare room and we can talk more in the morning. Would you like that?"

Slowly, he nodded. He took two steps forward and stopped as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and fainted in a heap on the floor. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Draco woke feeling warm. He was dimly aware of the light shining in through his eyelids. The mattress he was lying on was soft. Simply put, he was very comfortable. That feeling came crashing down the millisecond he opened his eyes and the bright light rattled through his brain like a thousand cymbals. He had a horrible hangover. What was worse, his memories were rapidly returning to him. This was Potter's house. Harry bloody Potter's house. His bed, his pillow, his was that a mounted elf head? Now why would Potter have that? Why would Granger let him keep that? Why was the bird in the tree outside squawking so terribly loudly? He clutched at his ears and willed himself somewhere quiet, like the womb.

After a minute or so passed of him simply trying to block out all outside disturbances, some horrid person actually had the indecency to knock at the door. "Malfoy?" It was Granger. "Malfoy, are you awake? We need to talk."

"Shut up," he grumbled, sitting up and clutching at his pounding head.

"Malfoy?" she called again.

"Will you be quiet, woman? I'm coming already!" he shouted.

He could hear her sniff. "There's no need to be rude. I'll be waiting downstairs." He heard her steps retreating down some very creaky steps.

Getting dressed took no time at all. The fact of the matter was that he didn't have anything to change into. Potter and Granger hadn't bothered to take his shoes off of him, it would seem. He found a

mirror and ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his robes. When he was finally somewhat satisfied with his appearance, he left the confines of the room and headed downstairs and into the same room he had collapsed onto the couch in the night before. Here he found Potter looking irritable and drinking a coffee. Granger had her arms crossed, tapping her foot rapidly.

"Ah, so there you are!" she said, giving him a very small, nervous smile. Draco ignored her, preferring to stare enviously at Potter's coffee. His head was pounding like the Dickens. Granger's smile dropped and she frowned. "Malfoy, over here," she said, snapping her fingers. Draco rolled his eyes, but turned to look at her.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Like I said, we need to talk," Granger said.

"Goody," he replied. The smell of Potter's coffee was driving him mad. "I don't suppose you know a hangover charm, do you?" he asked, glaring at her.

"Are you asking for my help, Malfoy? I'm shocked." Granger pulled out her wand and waved it at him. Instantly he felt the clamor in his brain die down. He let out a sigh of relief. "Now what do you say, Malfoy?" she asked.

"Thank you," he intoned.

"Good." She sniffed. "Now, we have an appointment with a ministry official in," she checked her watch, "fifteen minutes. Breakfast is in the kitchen. I suggest you hurry."

Draco lost some of his composure then. "Fifteen minutes?" He looked down at his ratty outfit. "Wait, ministry official?" He turned to Potter, hoping for a bit of explanation. The other male seemed determined to stay out of it, though, and simply continued to sip at his coffee.

Granger reached into her purse and shoved a pamphlet into Draco's hands. "Read this while you eat and don't worry about your clothes. I'm sure he won't mind."

Draco was about to further protest, but Potter sent him a withering glance, as if telling him that there was no use in arguing with Granger when she got an idea into her head. "Fine." He skulked off into the kitchen to eat and read, finding himself becoming more and more uneasy with the idea that had lodged itself in Granger's brain, especially because it involved him.

When he'd finished, he returned to the other room and was surprised to find that they were no longer alone. "Ah, you must be Mr. Malfoy, I presume?" asked a tall, bulky man with his hair tied back in a pony-tail. "My name is Mr. Ayers and I represent the Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program. I'm here, on Miss Granger's request, to interview you in order to find out if you might be a suitable candidate." He then gestured to a smaller

man that had been completely hidden from view behind his back. "This is my associate, Mr. Tibbs. Let's sit down, shall we?"

Draco sat, frowning at the lot of them. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression we were going to meet you at the ministry, Mr"

"Ayers, and no, my clients much prefer secrecy. Going to the ministry is a bit of a giveaway." Mr. Ayers leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "Mr. Tibbs, if you will." The small man opened his briefcase and sat poised with a quill and the necessary paperwork. "A few questions, Mr. Malfoy." He cleared his throat. "Your age when you became a death-eater?"

Draco continued to grimace. "Sixteen."

"Ah, very good, very good indeed. You're age as of now?"

"Seventeen," Draco said, watching the quill move in Tibbs' hand, warily.

"Excellent" Ayers continued. "Now, what's the worst thing you've done since you became a deatheater?"

Draco crossed his arms and huffed. "Attempted assassination."

"Attempted? Very good word. Just what we like to hear." Ayers cracked his knuckles again. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, judging from the viewpoint that you became a death-eater as a minor and have not as of yet committed any serious, or, in the very least, successful crimes, I think it's safe to say that you're in."

Draco gave the man a disgusted sort of smile.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, before we actually set you up in the program, it's company policy to require you to complete a few things."

"Such as?" Draco asked, feeling more annoyed than excited.

"Number one, you must participate in one session of the D.A."

"D.A.!" Granger and Potter both shouted simultaneously.

Ayers looked at them strangely. "You're familiar with Death-Eaters Anonymous?"

"Er, no," Potter admitted, sitting back down and looking sheepish.

"Might want to have him attend the A.A. as well" Granger muttered.

"Second, we'll need you to provide us with an R.S.O.D."

"R.S.O.D.?" Draco asked, grinding his teeth.

"Reasonable situation of death or disappearance," Ayers answered, quickly.

Granger frowned. "Wouldn't that be an R.S.O.D.O.D.?"

Ayers shrugged. "Too long." The man took another look at Granger. "And, Miss Granger, we will, of course, need an R.S.O.D. from you as well."

Granger's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"I assume Mr. Malfoy is not accustomed to the muggle world?" He gave Draco a pointed look.

"Of course I'm not bloody accustomed to the muggle world! I'm a Malfoy!" Draco shouted.

"Then, Miss Granger, we hereby assign you to Mr. Malfoy, as his guide to all things muggle," Ayers said, easily.

Potter stifled a laugh.

"What?" Granger asked, her tone flat.

Ayers reached over and took the forms from Tibbs. "Article 2, paragraph 3, clause C: If said DeathEater is unable to function on his own in the muggle world, he must have a guide, preferably a witness." He looked up again. "You, Miss Granger, are a witness. If you do not act as Mr. Malfoy's guide, he will be stricken from the program and sent directly to Azkaban."

Draco clutched the arms of his chair and turned frantically to Granger.

"I" Granger began, "suppose I could"

"Excellent!" Ayers said. "Now, let's move onto something a bit more fun, eh? We already have a lovely little cottage picked out for you in the small town of Gelding. Your names from this point on will be Derek and Samantha Jones. You are newlyweds"

"WHAT?" Granger asked, her eyes large. "You said I was his guide. Not his wife!"

Ayers took this in stride. "Would you rather be two young adults, living together, unwed? In sin?"

Granger's face screwed up horribly. "No"

"Good. Well then, Mr. Tibbs will be in charge of your new appearances. Take it away, Mr. Tibbs!"

Draco felt horribly sick again. He hadn't asked to be put in this program. At least he didn't think he had. His memory of the night before was dreadfully foggy.

Mr. Tibbs stood and brandished his wand. "I think," he began, his voice very creaky as if he seldom used it, "that for you, Mr. Malfoy your blond hair will have to go." With a wave of his wand, everyone in the room gasped.

"What?" Draco asked, frantically, having a faint suspicion that he was now bald. He tore across the room and stared into a mirror. His hair was red. Not a horribly bad red but still red. Titian, really. He felt downright like a Weasley. It was a dirty, horrid feeling.

"And for you, Miss Granger your hair is much too noticeable as well." Draco watched with some small satisfaction as Tibbs aimed at her as well. Her hair gave a violent shudder, but rather than straightening, nothing happened. "Your hair is very strong" Tibbs mumbled. He aimed again, and this

time, her hair went into perfect boticelli curls. "Ah, that's better," Tibbs said, adjusting his glasses and sitting down. "Your hair cannot be restored to its original form unless I personally remove the charm." Granger joined Draco by the mirror, clutching at her ringlets.

Mr. Ayers cleared his throat. "Lastly, you will be age twenty-four."

Draco and Granger both turned, jaws dropping. "Twenty-four?"

Ayers nodded and Tibbs brought a bottle of aging potion from his bag. "It's not permanent," Ayers said. "We keep the antidote in our office." He cracked his knuckles again. "Mr. Malfoy, there is a D.A. meeting this afternoon. I suggest you attend. Don't worry, the word 'anonymous' is taken very literally in these proceedings. Miss Granger, if you will take care of the rest of this" He handed her a list of things to do. "I suggest haste. Good day." With that, the two men disappeared with a pop, leaving the bottle of aging potion behind.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Hermione stared at her hands. "What just happened?"

Harry took a deep breath. "You just signed an indeterminate amount of your life away to pretend to be Malfoy's wife, in order to keep the git out of Azkaban because you're completely and utterly mental."

"I thought as much," Hermione said, beginning to sob.

Malfoy was still staring into the mirror, looking at his new hair color from all angles. "Should we drink the potion, then?" he asked, turning with a sour expression on his face. Without waiting for an answer, he took up the bottle and read the directions. Then, without further ado, he took a swig. It took a moment to take effect, but then his face morphed ever so slightly, maturing seven years so that, with the new hair color, he wasn't nearly as recognizable as before. "Bottoms up,

Granger," he said, tossing the half-empty bottle at her.

Hermione scowled at him. He'd drunk it straight from the bottle! Well, there were worse things in life than Malfoy germs, she supposed. (Assuming the large quantities of alcohol he'd consumed hadn't killed every last germ in his system, that was.) She downed the rest of the potion and watched her reflection as she changed into a twenty-four-year-old.

Draco looked at the D.A. pamphlet Ayers had left him and did as instructed, placing a paper bag with holes punched out for his eyes over his newly-red hair. He felt ridiculous. Upon entering the room, he came to realize that there was very little possibility of being recognized. Aside from the paper bags, the room was dimly lit, and he could barely see anything, never mind identify another death-eater. Besides that, there was a hum being emitted from a slot in the ceiling that disguised all voices and

also made it difficult to concentrate, thus making legilimency near impossible. Draco sat down, feeling somewhat comforted that everyone else was sporting a grocery bag over his head.

A tall man, or at least he thought he was a man, (it was just that dark,) stood and called the meeting to order. "Welcome to Death-Eaters Anonymous," he (or she) said in a squeaky voice. "To all newcomers, welcome! We shall now begin by going around the room."

The next Death-Eater in line stood. "I was a DeathEater for many years. Me brother said I should go into the family business, as it were, but I wanted to kill muggles instead. Then, one day, me thinks killing muggles is boring! They always scream the 'xact same way. Anyway, me bro won out and I decided to quit, like. So here I am." Everyone clapped politely.

The next Death-Eater stood on wobbly feet. "I only became a Death-Eater two days ago and I want out!"

"We'll help you, sister!" someone called.

"I'm a man!" the Death-Eater added, enraged.

"Right, sorry," whoever it was said, holding up his or her hands.

The next Death-Eater stood. "There was a time when I felt a need to follow the ways of the Dark Lord. I was foolish and young. But as the years passed, I began to feel worse and worse concerning the way I had been acting. I had eaten my share of death, if you will, and had horrible indigestion from it. I realized that it was my own conscience that had started eating away at me. But I must confess I still hold the utmost respect for my Lord. Not only respect, but fear." The DeathEater sat abruptly, turning hollow eyes that barely peeped out from the paper bag toward Draco, who felt himself shudder.

More and more men and women told their stories, until it was Draco's turn. He'd been dreading this. "I found myself at a bar last night," he said, finding his voice to be low and dull, "and kept ordering more and more whiskey until I was completely wasted"

"This ain't the A.A.!" someone objected.

"Shh," someone else said. "Let him speak."

"Then along comes a girl I know, a muggleborn. She offered to help me. I was so drunk at the time, I can't remember the finer details. That's about it."

"That's it?" asked the same person who had hushed the other.

"Well, I'd rather not say more. I don't want to give away my identity," Draco said.

"Hmm," the Death-Eater said, crossing his or her arms and slouching.

After everyone had a chance to speak, the leader had them play bonding games, which was very awkward considering who they all were. They went on for several hours like this, boring Draco to the verge of tears.

Hermione drew a nice, straight checkmark next to the final item on the list. She was done. She'd arranged an R.S.O.D. for each of them, had money withdrawn from their Gringott's vaults, sent a wordy explanation to her parents, and had taken care of many, many other tedious little details. She'd read all the fine print as well, discovering the crucial fact that neither she nor Malfoy would be allowed the use of a wand, unless in dire circumstances. The reason behind it was simple: magic could be traced. Harry was well aware of the fact, having broken the statute for underage wizardry on several occasions.

And now there was really only one thing Hermione needed to do: tell Ron. Heavens only knew how long she'd waited for him to make his move. Last year, she had fully expected him to ask her out, once and for all. But no. Ronald Weasley was an idiot, and that was certain.

If Harry had taken Hermione's altruistic stance toward Malfoy badly, no doubt Ron would take it ten times worse. Ron would, (or at least she secretly hoped he would,) be jealous.

Well, Ron had had his chance, she figured. (He'd fully lost it when he'd started snogging Lavender.) But she still felt nervous as she watched him step out of the fireplace, red hair flaming.

"Oh, hey Hermione," Ron said in greeting. He looked about. "Harry sent me an owltold me to come."

Hermione nodded. "You might want to sit down, Ron."

Ron raised one of his bright eyebrows. "Maybe I'd rather stand," he said, crossing his long, somewhat apish arms across his chest.

"Suit yourself," Hermione said, choosing to sit down. Ron stood resolutely, looking almost flushed. "Look, Ron, you see"

"Is this about McLaggen?" he blurted, his ears turning purple.

Hermione blinked. "W-what?" She shook her head. "No, Ronald, this is not about McLaggen! Now, will you sit down so I can tell you something?" Ron sat, still flushed. Hermione took a big breath. "It's about Malfoy."

Suddenly, Ron was on alert. "Malfoy? What-did-hedo?"

Hermione pulled at her collar. "It's not so much what he did it's more what I'm doing for him."

Ron scrunched his face up. "S'cuse me?"

"I" Hermione faltered. "I got him into an Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program and I have to go with him!" she said in a rush.

If Ron hadn't been sitting already, he'd have collapsed onto the couch. "You what?"

"Look Ron. I know you hate him, trust me, so do I, but He needs help! After my meeting with my contact last night, I ran into him at this pub and he was so drunk and pitiful You know what he did when I offered him help, Ron? He hugged me, that's what! Mea muggleborn!"

Red patches were now cropping onto Ron's cheeks. "Great! Just absolutely positively," a vase on the mantle shattered, "great!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione moaned, cradling her head in her hands.

"What? You going to start dating him too?"

Hermione slapped him. "You're pitiful, you know that?"

Ron glared, face now more red on one half than the other.

"You act like you know me, Ron, but That just can't be. If you did, you'd know why I was doing this! And another thing! You've been here for what? Five minutes, and you haven't noticed my hair?"

"What about your hair?"

Hermione stamped her foot and made a series of growling noises. "Curls, Ron! I've got curls!"

"You've always had curls!" Ron bellowed.

"No! I haven't!" she screamed. Hermione felt like she was about to break down into tears.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about! You look the same as always!" Ron argued.

Hermione made a throaty noise, like a frustrated grunt. "You never notice anything, do you?"

"I do, too!"

"Yeah, like what?"

"I noticed I noticed You snogged Krum!" Ron yelled, changing the subject.

"What?" Hermione cried, pulling at her hair. "I did no such thing, Ronald Weasley!"

"You" Ron stopped. "No?"

"No!" Hermione shrieked.

Just then, Malfoy walked in. "Trouble in paradise?" he drawled, crumpling his brown paper bag in one fist.

"YOU!" Ron screamed, before distorting his own features by squinting horribly. "Your hair!"

"Great" Hermione grumbled. "So you noticed Malfoy's hair, but not mine. Lovely"

"Yes, well," Ron said, shrugging. "You!" he shouted at Malfoy again.

"Yes, Weasel, 'tis I." Malfoy did a sort of mock bow.

"You're the cause of all this!" Ron yelled.

"Your little girlfriend didn't give me much of a choice." Malfoy shrugged.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Hermione said vehemently. "And you did too have a choice. You could have not come with me when I offered you the chance."

"I was drunk!"

"Or," Hermione said, ignoring him, "you could have gone to Azkaban."

"See? Lovely choices, the lot." Malfoy folded his arms, scowling.

"There is no way Hermione's going with you to this this" Ron began.

"Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program," Hermione supplied.

"Bloody long name," Ron complained.

"Well, it's too late Weaselby, she's already committed. Unless you'd like to force her to send a very nice, very innocent chap to Azkaban," Malfoy said.

"Nice? Innocent? You?" Ron barked. "I think not!" Hermione shook her head in agreement.

"Well, you aren't sending me, are you Granger? And we've already filled out all those forms and things. We even drank that aging potion."

Hermione grimaced. "You didn't notice that, either, Ronald!" she said in a huff.

"I" Ron began to protest. "Oh, forget it! I'm leaving! Tell Harry I'll be helping him and not you!" With that, Ron disappeared with a violent pop.

Malfoy sat down. "You have positively the worst taste in men, or should I say boys, I've ever seen."

"Sod off," Hermione grumbled. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////// Harry sat tapping his foot and looking extremely annoyed. Hermione sat across from him, nearly shaking with nerves. Malfoy sat at that far end of the couch, head in one hand and staring out the window. Hermione checked her watch. "It's time." No sooner had she said it than a loud crack reverberated throughout the room and Ayers and Tibbs appeared.

"Ah, just in time," Ayers said, checking his pocket watch and dropping it back in his inside pocket. "Now, then, are we all set to go?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes."

"Excellent!" he replied. "And I must say, Miss Granger, that those were wonderful R.S.O.D.'s I read in the Prophet this morning!" He tossed a paper forward with two headlines. One read, "Malfoy Heir Melts." The other said, "Ex-Gryffindor Meets Doom."

"I melted?" Malfoy asked, frowning.

"Potions accident," Hermione replied, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "Or maybe Dorothy threw water on you," she added under her breath. Harry chuckled.

"Now then, do you have everything?" Ayers asked, looking around at their luggage.

"I think so," Hermione replied. "It is all right if I bring my cat, isn't it?"

Ayers nodded. "Certainly, my dear."

"I don't like cats," Malfoy objected, looking more sour than usual.

"Too bad, Malfoy," Hermione said, smirking.

"Just don't let her anywhere near me," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Crookshanks is a he."

Malfoy smirked. "I know, I was talking about you."

Hermione shot a look of annoyance at him. "Can we go now?" she asked, rising to give Harry a very large hug.

"Yes, of course. The sooner the better," Ayers answered.

"Good-bye, Harry," Hermione said, hardly daring to leave her friend.

"I can't breathe," he squeaked. "Bye 'Mione," he added, as soon as she had loosened her grip.

"Ready?" Ayers asked. "Good. Now then, if you'll take hold of this portkey, it will transport you into a muggle automobile. Your things will be transported to the trunk. Here's a map to your new home and also of your town. Also, here's a packet of important papers. Proof of insurance, drivers' licenses, et cetra." He stuffed these into Malfoy's arms. "Oh, and of course! I nearly forgot to give you're your rings!" He chuckled as he withdrew two boring, gold bands from his pocket and thrust them at each of the two "newly weds."

"Ministry wouldn't spring for something a little fancier?" Malfoy asked, staring down at the ring with distaste evident on his face.

Ayers pretended not to hear him and pointed to a set of keys on the floor. "We'll be in touch through a hallway mirror. Tap the glass three times to activate it."

"Take care, Harry," Hermione added one more time before stepping toward the keys. Harry held Malfoy back and whispered something in his ear, making the new red head roll his eyes and scowl. He and Hermione both stepped to the keys and put a finger to them.

"Three, two, one," Ayers counted.

Hermione felt the tug at her naval and squeezed her eyes closed. Momentarily, she felt herself plop into the driver's seat of the smallest car she'd ever seen. Malfoy sat beside her, staring around in distaste. "Mind reading the map for me?" she

asked, starting the car and putting it in gear. Malfoy scowled, but, for once, complied (perhaps scared for his life, having never been in an automobile before.) He directed her onto a motorway, off of it, onto a side road, and finally onto a small, unpaved street.

"Number 14," he said, looking up from the map to look at the houses.

"There it is," Hermione said, pulling into a driveway. It was as if they'd been dropped into a Thomas Kinkade. The house was small, brick, and had so many flowers in the garden it was actually somewhat funny. On the front lawn, just behind the picket fence, was a realty sign with the word "sold" plastered overtop of it.

"What a dump," Malfoy drawled, getting out of the car and crossing his arms in disdain. Hermione joined him.

"I wouldn't call it a dump, Derek, but it is a bit too cutesy for my liking," she said, fingering the tiny ring she now wore on her left hand.

"That too, Samantha." Malfoy wore the slightest of smirks as he began to unload the trunk, mumbling about how much he'd like to have a house-elf at that moment. Hermione was momentarily stunned that he was actually helping, but the moment they entered the house and were away from prying, muggle eyes, he was back to his arrogant, unhelpful self.

The inside of the house was just as cute as the outside. In the living room there was a fireplace, several Victorian sofas, a television with a doiley on it, bookcases, and a set of flowery drapes hung from the windows. It looked as if Umbridge had been given the task to decorate it, just without the magical properties. It was actually about three times nicer than the flat Hermione had moved into two months earlier, but she wasn't about to say so.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was a little much. There were images of farm animals everywhere. There were chickens on the cupboards, sheep on the tablecloth, goats on the curtains, and paintings of pigs on the walls. The floor was made to look like grass with flowers growing on it, which was especially strange because it was vinyl and twodimensional. Malfoy made a retching sound when they first entered, and Hermione, for once, agreed with him.

"We're going to have to go grocery shopping," she announced after looking inside the pink refrigerator.

"We?" Malfoy asked.

"It's a pronoun referring to you and I," she answered, crossing her arms.

"I'm not going to any muggle stores, thank you," he said, looking warily at a chair with a cow print cushion.

"Would you rather stay here and answer the door if any of the neighbors drop by to welcome us to the neighborhood?" Hermione asked, knowing full well that it wasn't really all that likely to happen.

"I just won't answer the door," he said, shuddering at the thought.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy! You do need to get accustomed to muggle life. If you come with me, you can learn all about how to, you know, buy things! And I know you like to do that, now don't you?" she said, crossing her arms.

He paused. "Speaking of money where's it coming from, anyway?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her in a generally unfriendly way.

"I went to Gringotts' and had some of both our money converted," she answered.

"So we're sharing, then, are we?" he asked, seemingly amused.

"Yes, Malfoy, we are," she answered.

"Well, I suppose if you're going to be spending my money, I had best come with you and make sure you don't buy something foolish with it," he said.

Hermione laughed. "Me? Buy something foolish? Like what?"

Malfoy smirked. "Books," he said simply. Hermione froze. He certainly had her there. "And I do suppose we'll have to practice pretending to be married, as well. How are you at cuddling in public, Granger?" The look of supreme panic that spread across Hermione's face did not go unnoticed. "Didn't think so," he said, his smirk deepening.

Hermione managed to recover from her shock. "Sorry," she said. "I think I just suffered a slight

attack at the very idea of even touching the likes of you, Ferret."

Now it was his turn to scowl. "The feeling is mutual, Muddy."

Hermione took at deep breath and scowled at him. "Let's unpack the rest of the things, shall we, dear?"

"Of course, love," he replied, shooting looks of utter loathing at her. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /// After they had unpacked their things, Draco followed his new "wife" outside and into the machine she kept calling a "car." Frankly, he was more than a little nervous relying on a mere chunk of metal with wheels to get him to and fro. Granger, on the other hand, seemed to find it to be the most natural thing in the world, though she cautioned him that she had really only been driving during the holidays over the last year.

"Does the map point out any clothing stores?" she asked, pausing at some sort of light she dubbed a traffic signal.

"Two blocks ahead," he answered, if for no other reason than he really wanted to be parked and out of the crazy carriage once and for all.

Granger followed his instructions and stopped in front of a department store. "You need muggle clothes," she said, smirking at him. This, he had to admit, was true. He was currently sporting a gray dress robe that Potter had dug out of the attic and given him. It was just old enough to be considered retro from a wizard's standpoint, but it was certainly not muggle garb.

Granger led him inside after instructing him on how to lock the car doors, to which he'd scowled at her. The room was fairly large and had many racks of clothing. Granger made a beeline for the men's department. It was at this point that she hesitated and a frown marred her features. "Don't tell me

you don't know what's fashionable Gr-Samantha," he said, just catching himself as an elderly muggle saleswoman walked by them.

"We can't all be as vain as you, Derek," she said, tentatively fingering a shirt. She pulled it out and inspected it, her curtain of hair momentarily blocking her face from view.

"That's absolutely hideous; I hope you know that," he said, taking the shirt away from her and stuffing it back on the rack.

"Well, if you're so smart, you try," she said, cocking her head to the side.

"Easy," he replied. Draco ran a hand along the rack and encircled it. His hand paused at some blue material and he felt the corners of his mouth lifting. "Here," he said, smiling in satisfaction as he held the shirt aloft.

Granger's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Fine, then. I'll be in the women's department." She turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Draco to chuckle in her wake.

He moved to a display of pants and began sorting through them. He'd just been struck by a rather pleasant idea. He may have been pretending to be a muggle, but no one had said anything about being unfashionable.

Hermione began perusing the women's department. She was honestly amazed that Malfoy had such excellent taste in clothing. She'd spent far too long with Harry and Ron, she supposed. She picked out a lavender dress and a few good blouses and made her way toward the fitting room.

Draco was done. He'd found ten very nice shirts and three pairs of pants. But he wasn't entirely sure what to do next. He noticed a sign on the wall with the words "Men's Fitting Room" and decided he might as well make sure the clothes actually fit, since he was no longer able to adjust them magically.

There was a semi-balding man behind the counter. "You're gonna have to keep some of that out here. Eight item max," he said, shrugging. As Draco began counting out a few items, still feeling somewhat bolstered at the man's audacity, the clerk let out a low whistle. "Man oh man! Would you check out the gams on her!" Intrigued and not entirely sure if gams were legs in muggle terminology as well, Draco followed the man's gaze straight to the women's department where Granger had just bent over to pick something up off the floor.

"You mean the brunette?" he asked, as Granger went behind a clothing rack and out of sight.

"Yeah Shoot, she's gone."

Draco suddenly felt torn between three entirely different reactions. 1) Tease Granger mercilessly. 2) Give the man a black eye for ogling his "wife." Or 3) go and get a better look. "That happens to be my wife," he said, curling his lip in a way that only Malfoys seemed to be able to do.

The balding muggle's face turned instantly apologetic. "Oh! Sorry. Really, if I had known"

And suddenly all of Draco's conviction left him. "Don't worry about it," he said. Draco's eyes drifted back to where Granger was now standing. Now that he took a better look it seemed he'd just gone temporarily crazy. There was nothing attractive about her legs at all at least, that's what he told himself as he entered the fitting room.

Hermione wandered back over to the men's department. She had never imagined that she could be the first one done shopping when placed alongside a guy. "Excuse me," she said, approaching the men's fitting room attendant.

"Oh," the man said, giving her a look of familiarity. Hermione frowned. "Your husband will be right out, ma'am."

Hermione opened her mouth.

"He pointed you out and asked me to let you know where he is if you happened to drop by," he said, giving her a small smile, his eyes glancing down at her legs for a moment.

"Really?" she asked in minor disbelief.

Just as she said it, Malfoy exited the dressing room. "Oh, hey Sam," he said, tipping his head toward her. "Hey," he said to the attendant, "would it be

all right if I were to come back and change my clothes after we've been through the checkout?"

"Go ahead," the man said. "Did you just come from a costume party?" he asked, looking curiously at the robes Malfoy was wearing. Hermione suppressed a snigger.

"We just moved and my luggage got misplaced this was the only thing we could find," Malfoy said, looking only slightly murderous. "Come on," he continued, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder and steering her away. "Costume party, indeed!" he muttered. Hermione went into a fit of hysterical giggles.

"The look on your face!" she said, wiping at her eyes. He sneered at her.

"What did you get?" he asked, changing the subject. As Hermione began to calm down, she pulled out her new dress from the shopping cart. Whether he liked it or not, she really couldn't tell.

"Lavender?" he asked. "And brown," he added, motioning to her hair. "I really would have thought you'd have boycotted both colors by now." He twisted his mouth into a wry smile.

"For heaven's sake, I don't exactly hate her! I just"

"Dislike her in the extreme?" he suggested.

"No" Hermione said slowly. She dropped her voice. "It's you I dislike in the extreme."

Malfoy wrapped an arm around her shoulder, making Hermione flinch. "Faade," he whispered menacingly. It took her a moment to get his subtle hint through her brain.

"And I love you, too," she said, a tad loudly. A muggle woman in line turned and smiled at them. Both Hermione and Malfoy flashed the woman what looked like sincere smiles.

"Young love," the woman commented. "Isn't it grand?"

"Oh, yes," Malfoy said, nodding. His arm was still draped over Hermione's shoulder and she felt him pinch the back of her armhard. They waited in line like this until it was their turn, Hermione beginning to wonder why his arm was still wrapped over her shoulder. He was making her nervous.

"Find everything?" the salesgirl asked, pinching her nose and beginning to scan each of their purchases.

"Just fine," Hermione answered. "I don't suppose you could tell us where the nearest grocery store is?" she asked.

"Just up the street to the left," the girl answered, her eyes flittering to Malfoy for a moment and her cheeks turning very pink. Hermione paid and Malfoy, looking a bit pompous, took some of his

new clothes with him to the fitting room again while Hermione waited. He came back a minute later and she had to suppress a gasp. If Ron had ever attempted to wear red, he'd have looked like a tomato. Malfoy, on the other hand, had such pale skin that it actually looked nice on him, despite the red hair.

"Sh-shall we go then?" Hermione managed to ask.

"Of course, dearest," he said, smirking. She really hoped he hadn't noticed her looking at him. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// "So," Hermione asked after an uneventful bout of grocery shopping, "what do you want for dinner?" Her nerves had become somewhat frayed throughout their day together. Constantly pretending to be a couple with Draco Malfoy was beginning to feel like a death sentence. They would bicker quietly amongst themselves and the moment a muggle came into view, they would automatically paste fake smiles on as if they hadn't a care in the world, which was quite the opposite. Malfoy seemed intent on reopening her wounds

about Ron and Lavender, pouring lemon juice all over it with his taunts. Hermione was actually surprised that he had even noticed Ron and Lavender over the last year. She had thought he had been preoccupied with the task Voldemort had set him. But now they were home and could stop pretending to be Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't care, Granger," he grumbled, sitting down on the sofa and putting his feet on the coffee table.

"Fine, but you can't complain about it," she snapped, going into the kitchen and putting a pot of water on to boil. She pulled a package of pasta out of the cupboard and a jar of tomato sauce before rejoining Malfoy in the living room. She couldn't say how pleased she was that he hadn't discovered the television yet. She had never been especially partial to it. She much preferred a good book, which is why she went straight to the large bookshelf and began leafing through to find something to occupy her time while she waited for the water to boil. She sat down in an armchair and started reading. Malfoy had his eyes closed and

arms crossed, but he steadily blinked his eyes open to look at her.

"I can't believe you," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, looking overtop her book.

"Standard Book of Spells: Grade Seven?" he intoned.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Your point being?"

Malfoy made a noise of disbelief. "Seriously? Studying? During the summer? When you aren't even returning to school?" He moved his chin into his hand, his elbow on his knee. "What sort of freak are you?"

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Some of us enjoy our higher education, Malfoy."

"Aw yes, I can see the headline now. 'Mudblood Marries LibraryRed-haired Git Left Heartbroken.'"

Hermione snorted into her hand. "You might want to be careful how you phrase things, red-haired git," she said, smirking.

Malfoy was, apparently, unfazed. "Ah, but I meant naturally red-haired. And I also said 'git,' Granger, which I most certainly am not."

Hermione couldn't help it, she was laughing uncontrollably now. "You? Not a git?"

He had a faint smile on his face. "Well, I must confess I do make an exception when around present company, you not being worthy of the title of human being and all."

The tears of laughter in Hermione's eyes literally seemed to freeze in motion. "Is that so?" she asked. Her muscles were suddenly very tense. He

nodded, that stupid hint of a smile still in place. "Well, then. I guess you don't need me, then, do you? Tell you what, your majesty, you can make your own dinner. I'm going out!"

Malfoy jumped. "You can't do that!"

"Oh yeah? Watch me." She rose and grabbed her purse, jingling the car keys in his face.

"But" he stuttered. "What if I burn the house down?"

"There's a knob on the stove. When you're done, turn it to off." Hermione was halfway to the door when Malfoy jumped up and caught her arm.

"Don't go!" he screeched.

Hermione yanked her hand out of his grasp. "Give me one good reason why not!"

The doorbell rang. They both turned to face the door as if it had suddenly started singing and doing a jig. Malfoy gestured toward it in a nondescript way, as if feeling especially confounded. "What was that?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Put my book away, will you? I'll answer the door."

Malfoy, with a backwards glance, did as she said.

"Hello?" she asked, opening the door. There was a woman, a man, and two identical little boys, just about ten years old.

"Hi!" the man said, thrusting a hand out. "My name's Bob Brewster. This is my wife, Peggy."

"Hi!" the woman said.

"And these two are Bobby Jr. and Will," the man continued. "We're your neighbors."

Malfoy had come up behind her and thrust his hand out to shake the man's. "Derek Jones," he said, eerily cheerfully. "And this is my wife, Samantha." Hermione smiled.

"We know it's your first day here and all, but we were wondering if you might like to come over for dinner," Peggy said. "We have more than enough pot roast to go around."

"Er," Hermione began, looking to Malfoy.

"Sure," he answered, as if he knew there was very little way he could get fed otherwise. "That would be wonderful."

"I'll just pop into the kitchen and turn the stove off," Hermione said. "Er, won't you come in?" She shot Malfoy a nasty look while the Brewsters' backs

were turned, and she made her way into the kitchen. She turned the stove off, took a deep breath, and went back out to the living room. The twin boys were taking turns teasing Crookshanks with a tissue.

"What's its name?" one of them asked.

Hermione hadn't though about disguising Crookshanks's identity before, and wasn't entirely sure if it was necessary, but she ended up saying the first name to pop into her head. "Oliver." Of course, cats rarely respond to their names, so there was little harm in it.

"Come on boys, leave the kitty cat alone," Peggy said. "We live in the next house down," she added, smiling broadly.

Malfoy held the door open for them and followed at a distance behind.

The Brewsters' house was large and modern, not nearly as cutesy as theirs. They followed the family inside and into the living room. Next to the fireplace was a scraggly-looking poodle. "This is our dog, Mutton," one of the twins informed them. Hermione couldn't help thinking that it looked a bit like an old sheep.

"So," Peggy said as they all sat down, "how long have you two been married?"

Hermione looked to Malfoy, wondering which one of them should answer. She couldn't count the number of times she'd heard of people making up lies and answering at the same time with different answers. "Only a month," he supplied quickly.

"Oh, how nice! They're newlyweds," she said to her husband.

"What do you do for a living, Derek?" Bob asked, helping himself to some pot roast.

"Oh, I" Malfoy began, "I'm still looking."

"Oh, of course!" Bob said, nodding. "You're new in town. I can ask around if you want."

"Oh, no you don't need to do that," Malfoy said, uncomfortably.

"How about you, Samantha?" Peggy asked.

"I was thinking about getting a job at a bookstore, assuming there's one hiring in the area," Hermione answered.

"You were?" Malfoy blurted.

"Just a thought," she answered.

"Actually," Bob said, scratching his head, "I think that the Pussy Willow might be hiring."

"You'd like that," one of the twins said.

"Yeah, they have a huge kids' section," the other added. "We go there every Saturday."

Hermione smiled. "What kind of store is it?"

"Oh, just a little privately run one," Peggy answered. "They're very friendly."

"I'll have to check it out," Hermione answered, eating her broccoli with more relish than before.

As dinner drew to a close, Peggy brought out a large chocolate cake. "One slice boys and then it's straight to bed," she warned.

"Anyone for a little nightcap?" Bob asked, shaking a bottle of wine near them.

"Sure," Malfoy chimed in automatically.

"None for me," Hermione said, knowing full well that she was still too young to drink, even if she looked older.

"Why not?" Bob jested. "A little bit won't hurt you!"

"I" and suddenly she couldn't think of a single excuse more plausible than that she simply didn't drink.

"She might be pregnant," Malfoy answered, with a small glint of malice. Hermione's mouth closed abruptly.

"Oh, how lovely!" Peggy cooed. "I wish I had know earlier."

"Me too," Hermione muttered.

"What was that?" Bob asked, setting a glass of milk in front of her instead.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione answered, uneasily. Malfoy was going to pay for this. She sent him a forced smile, which he returned.

"Shall we get going?" Malfoy asked, about ten minutes later.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for dinner," she told Mr. and Mrs. Brewster.

"Anytime, dear," Peggy answered, swooping down and giving her a hug. She gave Malfoy a hug too; his expression, to Hermione, read that he was now scarred for life. Hermione set out at a very fast walk back to their house.

"Merlin!" Malfoy cried, as soon as he made it in behind her, "you're fast!"

"PREGNANT?" Hermione asked, indignantly. "Don't you think at all?"

Malfoy waved a reprimanding finger in her face. "I said you might be pregnant."

"Just," Hermione fumed, "just, for the love of all things magic, don't tell anyone that I am! You think it's hard to pretend to be married? Try pretending you're going to have a baby! I can tell you now, it's near impossible! Especially if we're stuck here for a full nine months!"

"You could always have a miscarriage," he commented, smirking.

Hermione pulled at her hair. "You infuriate me, you know that?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's what I do best."

Hermione turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. She and Malfoy shared a bedroom with a bunk bed. She locked the door, changed, brushed her teeth, and climbed into the upper bunk. She could hear Malfoy rattling at the doorknob, but she didn't care. She just hoped and prayed that Harry would win this war soon, so she could get back to her own life, far, far away from Draco Malfoy. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////////////// Hermione woke very suddenly. There were strange sounds coming from downstairs. She had a very short-lived bout of vertigo as she swung herself from the bunk onto the floor. Cautiously, she opened the door to listen. She heard Crookshanks spit, run up the stairs in a "muroomph" sound and race into her room. Then she heard glass breaking and very audible swearing coming from the git of the century. "Malfoy?" Hermione called softly into the dark. The noise stopped abruptly and she heard the stairs creak. She tensed as his silhouette framed the stairwell.

"Can I get t' bed now?" he asked, his voice and frame tipsy. She could smell something strong and

foul on him. Without waiting for an affirmative, he pushed past her and literally collapsed on the lower bunk.

Hermione woke to the sound of dull sobs. She lay frozen as if stunned. It couldn't be. Malfoy was crying. Draco Malfoy crying! It felt like a complete impossibility. She wondered briefly if she should try to comfort him. There was about a ninety-percent chance that he would push her away; close up, and never allow himself to be weak in front of her again But there was another tenpercent chance that he'd accept her comfort.

Trying not to make a sound, she slipped down onto the floor beside him. Through the dull moonlight she could see him halt. He sat up slightly. Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to say. She had spent the last twenty-four hours positively loathing this man but now? Her reasoning for getting him into this program was crashing back into place. "Draco?" she whispered.

"I" his voice drowned into silence. He turned his head away from her. "Go back to sleep, Granger," he said half-heartedly.

Hermione shook her head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He turned back to face her, his wet cheeks glistening in the pale moonlight. "What do you think?"

Hermione swallowed. Her thoughts were outrunning themselves. Thoughts of Dumbledore, of Dark Marks, Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, and the ghost of a bespectacled girl who had spoken of a crying boy in a bathroom. "If you need me, I'm here for you," she said. She gave his hand a tight squeeze. It was cold unnaturally so. Hermione felt her throat constrict. Malfoy's haunted silver eyes watched her as she climbed back onto the upper bunk.

"He was going to kill my family," he said, just loud enough for her to hear him. Hermione's heart leapt.

"I'm sorry," she said, equally quietly.

"Don't be. You didn't know. You didn't have anything to do with it." Hermione stared up at the blank stretch of ceiling and ran her fingers over its rough surface.

"I don't know what I would do if someone was threatening my loved ones," she admitted.

Malfoy was quiet for a minute. "He offered me a way out protection."

"Who?" she whispered.

Malfoy ignored her question. "You're cut from the same cloth, Granger." A moment later, all she could hear were gentle snores.

Draco woke with his eyes encrusted and it hurt to blink them open. Besides a pounding headache and an aversion to light, the first thing he noticed was a sound. Water was running. And, faintly, he could hear the dulcet tones of a melody. Granger was singing in the shower He could just make out the chorus. "Love is a battlefield." He squinted. What a strange song. He wasn't sure why it was, but it was calming. Maybe it was just that he was warm in bed, and it was still quite dark, and he could just continue to lie there, listening to the melody combined with the steady dripping. Gradually he heard the water turn off, though Granger's voice lingered for a moment longer. He could hear her moving about and could see where she blocked the stream of light from under the bathroom door. And then the door opened, and she stood silhouetted like an angel in the light. Where had that thought come from? She was wearing a three-quarter length sleeved tee-shirt and a pair of capris pants. Her long mane of chocolate curls hung limp and wet.

"Morning," she said sweetly. "Go ahead and sleep, if you like. I'm going to go and make breakfast."

And that was when Draco frowned. "Why are you being nice to me?" Then, much in the same way one might remember a dreamclouded and familiar, yet non-distincthe knew. He could remember talking to her. He could remember her sympathy. He felt warm and cold all at once.

Granger gave him a lopsided smile. "That's what I do." Draco swore at that moment to never drink again. The repercussions were just too awkward. He watched her retreat down the stairs, and, for the first time, wondered what muggles possibly did to cure a hangover. He had just resolved to go back to sleep when he heard Granger ejaculate something nonsensical and panicked.

Draco withdrew himself from the covers and padded down the stairs, clutching his pounding head as he did so. He skidded into the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt, just behind Granger. He

stared. Everything, absolutely everything, was ripped up and destroyed. There were even pieces of fluff from the chair cushions floating about.

"CROOKSHANKS!" Granger bellowed.

"You mean," Draco began, flabbergasted, "your cat did all this?"

Granger sunk onto a pile of had-been cushion and nodded.

Draco slapped his thigh. "Excellent!" Granger lifted an eyebrow. "If he hadn't done it, I think I would have! Now we can redecorate this nightmarish piece of bunk."

Crookshanks strode contentedly into the room and hopped up onto the mangled tablecloth, where he proceeded to roll onto his back with his belly in the air. "Well, there's a small mercy," Granger replied, swatting the cat off the table. "And by the way, you

have a broken glass to clean up." She huffed a little. "How am I ever going to make breakfast in this mess?"

"You're not going to; we're going out for breakfast," Draco replied, fingering a piece of glass and chucking it into the bin.

Granger's entire face lit up. "Really?"

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I don't want this rubbish in my pancakes."

Granger was in an unnaturally cheerful mood as they drove to a coffee shop to have breakfast. Draco, for the life of him, couldn't remember what he had said the night before, but was sure that it had shifted Granger's attitude in his favor. They parked and went in, breathing in the odoriferous

scent of freshly brewed coffee and fresh-baked scones. They ordered and sat down to wait.

"You know," Granger said, reclining and looking around, "I'm pretty sure I spotted that bookstore, The Pussy Willow, just down the street. What do you say we check it out?"

Draco shrugged non-commitally. "I suppose."

"Then maybe we could buy some things for the kitchen," she added, wrinkling her button nose.

"It is a necessity," he replied boredly. Granger smiled at him.

Just then, a waitress with red and black hair brought them their food. "There you go," she said brightly, and retreated behind the counter.

"Beats Madame Puddifoot's, anyway," Draco said, starting on his coffee. His head was still pounding

like the Dickens. Granger kicked him. Right no Hogsmeade references. He frowned and started on his scone. The waitress cocked her head and smiled.

They sat in silence as they ate. "Ready to go?" Granger asked, as soon as she'd drained her cup. Draco nodded and they went out the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched her jaunty footing. There were a few early morning risers about, and she smiled at them. As they began to pass a dustbin, though, Granger came to a sudden halt. "What?" Draco began, as she surreptitiously reached into the bin and pulled out a newspaper. She smiled at a muggle that had raised an eyebrow at her, and silently pushed the paper into Draco's hands. It was The Daily Prophet. She gave him a meaningful look as she took the paper back, folded it, and placed it in her purse.

They had just started walking again, feeling slightly uneasy, when they heard the rapid sound of someone running toward them form behind. "Wait

up!" Draco clenched his hands into fists as they turned around. It was the waitress from the coffee shop. She was waving a bright yellow scarf at them. "Did you leave this?" she asked. Now that the girl had removed her apron, Draco noticed that she was wearing a black leather jacket, a black and white layered skirt, and a tee-shirt emblazoned with the words "Real Men Wear Eyeliner," and a pair of boots with five inch heels.

Granger gave the girl a look. "No" she said. "It's a bit hot out for scarves."

"Oh, well, I found it in your booth," the girl said. "Say, I've never noticed the two of you before what're your names?"

"My name's Derek," Draco said, "and this is Samantha."

"Derek and Samantha," the girl repeated. A smile lit up her face. "Oh, I get it, you're a witch," she said to Granger, whose mouth dropped open.

"What?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"You know like on that old show, Bewitched," the girl said. She was eyeing them both.

Draco just stared, but Granger spoke up. "Actually, his name was Darren."

The girl frowned. "Oh, right. I just could have sworn you were a witch."

Granger crossed her arms. "And what's your name?"

The girl smiled. "My friends call me Fidget." She paused. "I couldn't help but overhear you mention something about a rivaling coffee shop." ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /////////////////////////////

Hermione paused. "You, er, know about this other coffee shop?"

Fidget smoothed a hand through her hair. "As a matter of fact" She winked. Her eyes fell to her own wrist. "Gah! Look at the time. I'm not really on break, so I have to get back." She looked up. "Maybe you could drop by again? I work everyday 'til noon."

Malfoy was still frowning, but Hermione nodded. They watched the girl walk away and back into the shop. Malfoy turned to face Hermione. "What a nut job."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and tugged on his sleeve, moving them further down the street. "Gum?" she asked a little while later, digging into her purse and pulling out a pack.

"I'd rather not," Malfoy sniffed.

"Whatever," Hermione replied, sticking a piece in her own mouth and chewing. She came to a halt at the bookstore. "Gum calms my nerves," she admitted, staring in through the window.

"What? Nervous about semi-Gothic girl?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Job applications." Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, but followed her in nonetheless.

The Pussy Willow was relatively small, just as the Brewsters had described. It was divided into a few rooms, somewhat like a house or a small museum. The main room had a counter where a nice-looking elderly man sat with a pricing gun. There were shelves and shelves of books in this room. On the right were nonfiction book, and to the left were reference books. Hermione slowly walked up and down the rows, running her hands over the spines of the books. She then stepped into the next room, which seemed to be all classical literature. By and

by, Malfoy wandered off on his own. Hermione picked up an old copy of Pride and Prejudice and flipped through it. The next room she came to was all fiction books. She was infinitely glad to not run into any romance novels. The next room after that was where she found Malfoy, again. It was the children's section. On the wall was a large mural depicting a scene from The Hobbit. Malfoy was examining the image of a dragon with a look of slight interest on his face.

"What is he?" he asked, pointing to Bilbo.

Hermione laughed. "He's a hobbit; a fictional creature created by J.R.R. Tolkien." Hermione turned to examine a few books. "Oh, look! Here's a personal favorite of mine. The Neverending Story. You might like that."

Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Neverending? Doesn't that get a bit tedious?"

Hermione just shook her head. She gasped. On the other side of the room was a large wardrobe. "I wonder" She walked over to it and peeked inside. Sure enough, instead of the back it, there was an opening into another little room with fake pine trees and pillows to sit and read on.

"Awesome!" she said gleefully, grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

Malfoy snorted in contempt. "Easily amused, Samantha?"

"Huh?" Hermione paused, remembering her pretend name. "Oh, I just love it here, that's all."

"I see my concern about spending my money on books was justified," he remarked, smirking.

"Well," Hermione replied smoothly, "if I get a job here then I won't have to buy any, or, in the very least, I'll get a discount."

"Well, then, your high and mighty nerdness, we'll just have to get you that job," Malfoy said, coming up behind her and pushing her forward toward the main room of the store.

"Okay, okay, stop pushing!" she hissed, stepping forward determinedly. She approached the front desk and the elderly man looked up.

"May I help you, miss?" he asked, smiling from beneath his shaggy, gray mustache.

"Er, yes, well" Hermione began, feeling far more nervous than she had any right to be.

"She wants to fill out an application," Malfoy replied, putting an arm across her shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. (And would have been, had they actually been husband and wife.)

The man's eyes lit up. "Well, isn't that something? We've been in some great need of help around here." He laughed. "I know it doesn't look very busy now," he gestured to the two other people in the room, "but it'll be hopping in about an hour." He reached under the desk and retrieved a form. "Here, love, why don't you fill that out and bring it back to me? Hmm?"

"Right away," Hermione replied, smiling back at him. Malfoy steered her to a table that was set up in the corner. "He's seems very nice," she remarked, fishing a pen out of her tightly packed purse.

"If you like that sort of thing," Malfoy replied, boredly.

"Aren't you just a breath of fresh air," she remarked, sticking her tongue out at him and turning back to her form. "Name Samantha Jones"

"Two points to Gryff yeah," he finished, just narrowly escaping as she made to kick him from under the table.

"Age 24 previous employment, er" She hastily scribbled away. "This is a bit more complicated than I had thought."

"For goodness's sake, just put down that you're a bookworm and be done with it," Malfoy said, smoothing a hand through his strawberry hair. "Besides, I think that man is desperate."

"What's our address?" she asked, curling a strand of her hair around her finger. "Hold on, I've got it in here somewhere," she said, rifling through her purse again.

"Can't you just put down that you're a bloody genius?" he asked, boredly.

Hermione looked up. "You think I'm a genius?"

"Why else would I have married you?" he asked, pasting on a very fake and cheesy looking smile. "Now give me a kiss!" he added, holding out his arms in mock expectation.

"Not likely" Hermione continued filling out the form. "All done, let's go." She stood and Malfoy followed her, dragging his feet. In the few minutes that had passed while they were filling out the form, the entire bookstore had suddenly filled to the point that a fire chief would have closed the place down for over-occupancy. Hermione began to wheedle between a couple and a small girl with a lollipop when she felt a hand clasp her shoulder tightly. She looked up and found that Malfoy had an intense expression on his face, as if something very bad had just happened. And that was when he pulled her to him, lifting her around a quarter turn and putting his lips to hers so suddenly that she choked literally. It was nice for about half a second before she had to shove him away, coughing violently as she tried to dislodge the gum from her throat. Some kind stranger came up from behind her and performed the Heimlich maneuver,

sending the stray piece of gum five feet ahead. "WHAT WAS THAT?" she demanded, her face flushed as she stared at Draco Malfoy, incensed.

Malfoy slapped a hand to his face. By now, everyone was looking at them. Malfoy jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Hermione went stark white. None other than Severus Snape was standing at the counter, a five note in one hand and staring at them as if he'd just seen a ghost, or, more appropriately, two. "It was a distraction," Malfoy said, glumly. "Clearly it didn't work."

"You could say that again," Hermione moaned. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////////////// Just as suddenly, Snape turned around to face the shopkeeper again, completely ignoring them. The crowd's attention was drawn away from them again, and it appeared that no one had overheard their tiny conversation about distractions.

"What should we do?" Hermion hissed into Malfoy's ear.

"Let's go," he whispered back.

"What about my application?"

"We'll bring it by tomorrow." Malfoy slipped a hand onto her back and began to steer her toward the exit.

"Thank you," they heard Snape say to the shopkeeper.

"Miss!" the shopkeeper said, loudly. "If you could leave your application here, I'll get back to you." He pointed to a spot on his desk and Hermione hesitated as she turned around, marched directly past Snape, and put down her application, the whole time with her face determinedly downcast. She had a horrible feeling about this. As soon as

the two of them had gotten out, Snape placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped them.

"Mr. Malfoy," he hissed. "You're looking quite well considering you just melted. And Miss Granger, alive, I see." Hermione gave him a weak smile and Malfoy frowned. "But perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private," Snape suggested.

Hermione and Malfoy both nodded with all due trepidation. Now that they had escaped the crowd, it was blatantly apparent that Snape was wearing something quite different than his usual set of black, stale robes. He was wearing a yellow and black flower print shirt. He walked them down the block and into an alley, casting a muggle repelling charm as he did so.

"So let me see, here," he said, surveying them critically from over his hooked nose. "Red hair, curled hair and an aging potion? Is it just my imagination or are the two of you hoping not to be found?"

"Er" Hermoine began, fidgeting.

"You'd be correct, sir," Malfoy replied calmly.

"Yes," Snape said slowly. "Of course. Now what I don't know is your motive?"

"Well, you see" Hermione began, but Malfoy cut her off.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. Hermione rubbed at the back of her neck. She had this dreadful feeling that se was about to have a huge headache.

"Englighten me," Snape requested, staring suspiciously between them.

"We eloped," Malfoy replied simply. Hermione thought she was about to faint.

Snape looked as surprised as anyone had ever seen him. "Really?" he asked skeptically.

Malfoy nodded succinctly and waved both of their ringed hands in his face.

"Well," that's very interesting, Mr. Malfoy, because I was sure you had attended a D.A. meeting just a couple of days ago. I was completely convinced that you had given up Death Eater life and had gotten involved in the Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program. But I stand corrected."

Hermione began to open her mouth to spill the beans, but Malfoy stopped her. "What in the world does D.A. stand for?" he asked of Snape.

Snape lifted a greasy eyebrow. "Death-Eaters Anonymous."

"So," Malfoy continued, "if it's anonymous, how would you know I was there?" He paused, a smirk crossing his face. "Were you?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "That, Mr. Malfoy, is a question best left for another day." He flourished his wand. "Finite incantatum." And he left them standing there, Hermione's mouth agape and Malfoy's in a thin line.

He turned to her. "You wanted to go shopping?" he asked, as if nothing unusual had just transpired.

"I" Hermione began. "Yes?"

"Good, let's go." Malfoy started walking resolutely down the street.

Hermione watched his moving back for a moment before hurrying to catch up. "Mind explaining?" she asked.

"The cat ruined that horrible rendition of Animal Farm called our kitchen," he said.

"No, no," Hermione began. "I meant wait. You've read Animal Farm?"

"I've read a lot of books," he answered.

"Remind me to make up a metaphor comparing you and pigs later," Hermione muttered. "But seriously, what was that with the professor?" she asked, worried to use his name so openly on a muggle street.

"Simple," Malfoy answered. "I don't trust him."

Hermione laughed dryly. "And yet I trust you. Oh what a tangled web we weave." She paused. "And back in the bookstore? What was that?"

"That was you with a piece of gum down your throat and an idiot performing the Heimlich

Maneuver when you clearly had air moving through your windpipe, as seen by the coughing display you put on."

Hermione bristled. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"And yet I prefer not to talk about it! It was a distraction. I figured so long as my back was turned and your face was hidden, we'd be fine." He sped up.

Hermione made a discontented sound from deep within her throat. "We were doing so well this morning! What happened?"

"Correction! You were doing well this morning. I don't even remember our conversation from last night!"

"Would you like to know, Mal Derek? Would you like to know what you said that keeps making me

take pity on you?" she screamed, causing several bystanders to turn their heads and a flock of pigeons to take off. He turned and she lowered her voice. "You told me about the threat against your family." She paused, voice cracking. "You were crying."

He turned away from her. "I don't cry," he said stubbornly.

Hermione glared at him. "Everyone cries. And I know it wasn't the first time for you either. Myrtle can vouch for that. I can vouch for that. Even Harry can vouch for that."

"Bloody excellent," he said sarcastically. His voice was low and he was shaking slightly.

"That isn't all you said, either," she admitted, her voice softer. "You said someone had offered you protection and that I was cut from the same cloth. Whatever that means."

He sniffed. "You certainly are a good-goody-twoshoes, aren't you?" he commented. "And tell me, Gr-Samantha, what did I say the other time?"

Hermione paused, mouth half open. "Other time?"

"Yes, the other time, Jones. What did I say that made you take pity on me then, in the tavern?" he asked.

Hermione's throat was dry. "You said you said that you were tired."

"Is that all?" he asked, one brow raised regally.

"No. You said you said" She swallowed. "I know you like me!"

Malfoy stumbled. "What?" His face was pinched in muddled confusion.

"You, er, said that you'd always like me and then you, er, gave me a hug." Her face was beet red.

Malfoy snorted, then burst into all out laughter. "You you thought!" He laughed until he was forced to lean over, clutching his sides. "Oh, Granger!" he cried, forgetting all pretense of calling her by her other name. "I can't believe this! This whole time you've been helping me 'cause you thought I was desperately in love with you?" He laughed even harder.

"Well," Hermione tried desperately, "no. Of course not."

"Oh boy," he said, wiping his tears of mirth away. "I can assure you, anything I might have said or done was strictly platonic. Can you imagine me, and you, together?" He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "That's a good one!" His face twisted. "And then in the bookstore when I" He burst into another fit of laughter.

Hermione had her arms crossed resolutely, her nostrils flaring in and out. "Are you quite finished?"

"I'm okay I" he paused to try and regain his breath. "Sorry," he said finally, a small smirk wiggling into view.

"Humph!" was Hermione's response. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /// Draco's laughter died down after a few minutes. They walked in awkward silence, Granger looking in shop windows as if on a mission. After a few minutes, she ducked into a store, leaving him to follow in the wake of the door's jingling entry bells. It seemed to be some sort of flooring store.

"Excuse me," Granger said, already approaching one of the workers, "we're interested in getting our kitchen re-floored, preferably with wood linoleum."

"Linoleum?" Draco muttered in distaste.

The man nodded. "We have quite a selection. If you want to set up an appointment, we can get the measurements done. Once you've decided on a pattern, we'll order a roll and install it."

"Do you have any in stock? We're in a hurry," she said, tapping her foot.

"Only a couple. Right this way." He led them into a backroom. "Looks like we only have the one roll in wood," the man said, looking expectantly between them.

"We'll take it," Draco said, boredly. The roll of flooring was a smooth, cherry-colored wood. The way he figured it, anything was better than the awful grass and flower floor they currently had.

"How soon can we have it installed?" Granger asked.

"Well," the man began, "probably sometime next" Draco cut him off.

"Money's no object," he said.

"Day," the man finished awkwardly. "Tomorrow." They nodded. "I'll let my superiors know and our men will come first thing in the morning. I have to warn you, though, you won't be able to cook until it's finished."

"Not a problem," Draco replied.

Granger copied down their address and telephone number and gave it to the man. "It isn't a very large kitchen. How long should it take?" she asked.

"Well," the man replied, "I haven't seen it, but probably two days, give or take."

"Well, that's one thing down," Granger said as they exited the flooring store. "The wallpaper is bearable though only slightly, but I think we should take down the paintings."

"Agreed," Draco replied, frowning at the memory.

"Maybe we should buy new linens next," she suggested, peeping through a window. Without waiting for a reply, she entered the shop. Draco hurried to catch up with her. After all, he could be stuck with that kitchen for a very, very long time. Well, now, that was a depressing thought: he could be stuck with her for a very, very long time as well.

She had migrated, as if magnetized, to a selection of tablecloths. "What do you think?" she asked, holding a lavender and white checkered one aloft.

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" Draco asked, curling his lip.

Granger blinked. "What?" she asked in sincere confusion.

"Lavender, girl, lavender," he reiterated.

She rolled her eyes. "Not this again! Look, why do you keep bringing that up? Why would you care?"

Draco shrugged. "Just like to see you ticked, love."

"Oi," Granger muttered. "But seriously, now. Which tablecloth, hmm?"

Draco hesitated. "You have to promise that this never gets back to anyone." Granger nodded, apparently entertained. "The pink," he said, pointed to a solid mauve tablecloth.

Just as he figured, she burst out laughing. "What? You? Pink?"

He glared at her. "It goes with the cherry wood floor," he said. "And we need maroon accents, napkins and such."

"Mar" Granger began, clasping her ribcage, "maroon?" Draco crossed his arms, deciding to wait out her fit. "You do realize these are all red tones?"

"What? Just because of my house, you think I want to put green and silver with a wood color that would look like someone had just up and got sick all over the place? Yeah, right."

Granger bent her head to the side and looked at him, a small smile gracing her features. "You do amuse me so." She patted his arm.

"Great," he said sarcastically. They picked up their chosen linens and matching chair cusions and headed to the check out.

"I think that should be enough for now," she said, as they headed back to the car. "We'll probably have to move the furniture from the kitchen while they do the flooring, anyway." She checked her watch. "Want to get some lunch?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally. "I don't care, especially," he said.

"Or," she continued, "we could go back to the house, clean up the kitchen, and eat there."

Draco blinked at her slowly. "I don't clean," he said gruffly.

"Gee, I would have never guessed," Granger replied sarcastically. "Do you cook?" Draco's only reply was to snort. She rolled her eyes. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Oh, I beg to differ, dear. Some things just aren't meant to be," he said, crossing his arms.

Granger unlocked the car and they both climbed in. "Just keep telling yourself that," she said, as she began to drive them back to the house.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Oh, this whole situation," she said broadly. "I'd think you'd say it wasn't meant to be."

"And yet it seems to be happening anyway,' he said with a sneer.

They arrived back at the house and went inside. Crookshanks was playing with a tattered piece of facial tissue. Draco headed straight for the couch, sat down, and put his feet up on the coffee table. Granger rolled her eyes at him and began opening different doors before returning with a broom. Draco surveyed it coolly as she thrust it into his hands. "Looks like a step down from a shooting

star," he said, turning it over and trying to give it back.

Granger grunted. "You, sir, are going to use that broom to sweep the kitchen. I can't very well be expected to do all the work around here."

"Funny," Draco remarked, "I'd have thought you'd be used to it by now."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Don't be so daft, Granger. I've seen you. Like back in the third year when you were doing so many things I thought you were going to drown from getting in over your head."

Granger raised an eyebrow. "And what were you doing paying attention to me in third year?"

Draco touched the side of his nose. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Besides, I had to figure out what possessed the pedastaled golden girl to slap me the way she did."

"And did you?" she asked, suddenly smiling fondly in remembrance.

"I came up with two theories. Either you just had a lot of pent up anger, probably because of that bloody bird of Hagrid's, or"

"Or?" she asked.

"Or else you had a crush on me," he said, pointing to himself.

Granger snorted. "Well, I hope you didn't decide to go with that second one, because you would have been dead wrong."

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Draco Malfoy, what exactly are you insinuating?" she asked, frowning at him, though there was a slight smile attempting to tug at her mouth.

"Well it was bloody third year," he said. "It's not like I'm saying you still have a crush on me."

"Hmm," was her only reply. "Now please, that broken glass in the kitchen over there isn't going to sweep itself up, and since you're the one who caused it to shatter in the first place" she gestured with her hands, "it's only fitting that you'd be the one to do the honors."

He smirked. "All right." He watched as she looked genuinely surprised at his answer. "But you had better cook one exceptionally bloody good meal."

"Fine," she said, and he followed her into the kitchen. "Oh, and by the way, I offered to help you before you hugged me." Draco could feel her smirk radiating off of her, and he flushed.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////// The next morning, Hermione woke to the sound of water running. Malfoy was in the shower. She rubbed at her eyes for a moment, willing herself back to sleep. Instead, she lay there for two or three minutes before swinging herself down from her top bunk and getting dressed. At lunchtime the day before, she had managed to get Malfoy to sweep the floor and she had made them grilled cheese sandwiches. Oddly, he seemed to have never had one before and didn't complain that it wasn't "good" enough. (Or maybe he just really liked the dill pickle she had served on the side.) She was just putting her shoes on when the door to the bathroom swung open.

"Granger!" he said, startling her. And Hermione gasped. His hair had turned back to blond!

"What happened?" she asked in alarm.

"How should I know?" he retorted. "What kind of shampoo is this anyway?" He tossed a wet bottle to her.

Hermione looked it over. "It's just normal, generic brand shampoo," she replied, furrowing her brow. She took a look at the ingredients. "Methylchloroisothiazolinone!"

"What?" he barked, running his fingers through his pale hair.

"It's an ingredient in muggle shampoo," she explained, "but it seems like I heard once that it has spell reversing properties, which is why you're always supposed to keep a small bottle on you in case of emergencies."

Malfoy left the doorway and yanked the bottle from her hand. "What about your hair, then?" he asked, a frown creasing his features.

"It's naturally curly. The spell he used just enhanced that quality. Duh," she added as an afterthought.

"Bloody brilliant," he scoffed. "But now what am I supposed to do? Keep a low profile?"

"No," she retorted coolly. "We'll just have to buy some hair dye while we're out today."

Malfoy grimaced. "Not more red. I don't want to be a carrot top."

"Well," Hermione hesitated, "I suppose it doesn't have to be red. How about brown?"

He snorted. "And look like you?"

"Black?" Hermione tried again.

"And look like Saint Potter?" He shook his head. "I think I'll keep it blond and take my chances. If anyone asks, I bleached it."

Hermione huffed. "It's your funeral." She paused. "Do you hear that?"

"Great, now you're hearing things," Malfoy said, tilting his head and giving her a look of disgust.

"No, no," Hermione said. "I think there's someone at the door." Just then, the doorbell rang clearly throughout the house. "See?"

Malfoy merely shrugged. He followed her downstairs and she answered the door. "We're here about the floor," a man wearing a red cap said in a bored tone.

"Come on in," Hermione beckoned, motioning the man and his companions in.

"This the kitchen?" he asked, pointing.

"Why, yes it is," she answered.

"Not very bright, is he?" Malfoy asked in an undertone. Hermione sent him a glare.

"We'll get started then. You might want to get yourselves some breakfast elsewhere. We'll be at it all day," the man continued, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Malfoy.

"All right," Hermione answered. "Are you ready?" she asked, turning to Malfoy.

"Yeah," he answered, sneering. With one final glance at the men in their kitchen, they left and made their way into town. Almost automatically, Hermione pulled into a spot in front of the coffee shop they had visited the day before.

"Oh, no," Malfoy groaned. "Are we seriously going to see that nutso again?"

"Well, she seemed friendly enough," Hermione said delicately. "Besides, if you haven't noticed, we might be here awhile and could use a friend or two."

"The day I'm friends with her is the day I'm friends with you," he said darkly.

"When pigs fly, then?" she asked, smirking.

"Exactly, Granger, exactly." Unwillingly, he got out of the car and waited for her to go in first. Almost immediately, Fidget's head popped up from behind the counter and she waved cheerfully.

"Oh, I love the hair! I'll be with you in one second, dolls!" she said, balancing a stack of plates in one hand and a pitcher in the other. "What can I get for you?" she asked as soon as they were seated.

"I'll have a coffee and a raspberry scone," Hermione ordered politely.

"Thank you, Samantha." She winked. "And for you, Derek?" Fidget asked, smiling.

"The same," Malfoy replied, his arms crossed and his expression sour.

"Lovely," Fidget said, clapping her hands. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

"I don't trust her," Malfoy commented, his eyes trailing after the young woman clad in a black and white feather patterned dress.

"Do you trust anyone?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Not really," he said, shrugging.

"Not even me?" she asked, resting her chin in her hand and fluttering her lashes at him.

Malfoy surveyed her coolly. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting with me," he remarked. Hermione scowled. "Of course I trust you; I trust you not to murder me in my sleep, and that's saying something."

Hermione snorted. "Good to know."

"I'm back!" Fidget said cheerfully, placing two steaming mugs and a couple of scones between them. "Say," she said, putting a finger to her chin, "you doing anything tonight?"

"Um," Hermione said uncomfortably. "No."

"Excellent! I'm having a get-together. You're more than welcome to come."

"I don't think" Malfoy began.

"We can really talk, you know. And you can meet my friends," Fidget said. "You are new to the area, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted.

"Excellent!" Fidget replied, putting her fingertips together. "Here's my address, and the party starts at seven. Be there or be square, I say." And, without waiting for their objections, she walked away from their table to help someone else.

"Well, this is freaking wonderful," Malfoy commented, making a face.

"Everything all right over there?" Fidget called from across the room.

Malfoy raised his mug. "This coffee, it's freaking wonderful!" he said, grimacing as soon as Fidget had turned away.

"You're a lovely, cool-headed, kind-hearted chap, you know that?" Hermione asked dryly.

"Why thank you, dearest," he said, giving her a contemptuous smile and taking a sip of coffee.

Hermione calmly finished off her scone. "Ready to go?" The day before she had received a phone call from the manager of the Pussy Willow asking if she could start that morning. Unfortunately, that left Malfoy to amuse himself while she worked. He wasn't about to spend the day at home with the flooring crew there (and without the possibility of a midday meal,) nor could he really travel farther than walking distance when it was Hermione who had the ever-important driving ability. So he had resolved to spend his day wandering the town.

Malfoy nodded and they began heading down the street to the bookstore. "Hold it one second," she said, as they neared a rubbish bin. Reaching in, she pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"Another one?" Malfoy asked skeptically, looking about to make sure they were alone.

Hermione nodded. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Malfoy scoffed. "That Snape's gone senile," he said.

"No," Hermione replied. "He's much too careful. He'd never leave something like this just lying about." She tucked a curl behind her ear. "No whoever this is is a bit less concerned about exposure, and passes by this spot daily." She looked up at him. "It has to be Fidget."

"Yes, Samantha, I know. I'm not bloody-well blind, you know," he said rudely.

"Finally, we agree on something, then!" she said, beginning to scan the front page.

"Anything about yours truly?" Malfoy asked as they neared the bookstore.

Hermione nodded. "They're holding a funeral service for you."

Malfoy beamed. "For me? They shouldn't have."

"I wholly concur. They shouldn't have. There isn't a single thing about my death, though." A passerby sent them a look. "Oh well, I wasn't planning on pulling a Tom Sawyer anyway."

"Who?" Malfoy asked, scrunching up his brow.

Hermione shook her head. "You really need to read more, mate."

They entered the shop and the elderly man behind the counter jumped up immediately and grabbed their arms. "There isn't a moment to lose! I've got a group of Red Hat ladies coming in and I'm dangerously short-handed." He pushed an apron into each of their hands.

"But, I" Malfoy began.

"Come on! I'll show you how to run the register," the man said, pulling them back behind the counter. "You just enter in the price and hit 'book sale,' got it? Then you push subtotal, tell the customer the price, then you hit either cash, credit, cheque, or gift card. If they need change, give it to them. Got it, good." The man hurried off to one of the other rooms so quickly that they didn't have a chance to say anything.

"Does he sodding think that I'm working here too?" Malfoy asked, in a dangerously low hiss.

"It would seem so" Hermione said. "Here, I'll give you a brief overview of muggle currency." She showed him all of the different bills and coins. "To make change, you count up, don't subtract. It's a million times easier that way," she explained.

"Up?" he asked, staring at her incredulously.

"Yes, say someone hands you five quid. If their total was four pounds, fifty-five pence, then you hand them two of the 20p and a 5p. That's fiftyfive, seventy-five, ninety-five, a pound. Get it?"

He shook his head. "No, are you barking mad?"

"You just count up from the total to the amount they're paying you," she rectified. "Trust me." She very quickly finished tying her apron. "Like it or not, you are going to stay here with me, Derek. Besides, you didn't really want to spend the whole day just wandering around, did you?" She poked him in the chest. "And we all know how much you like money, don't we?"

"Which is why I'm an heir," he said, scowling. "I am so not going to work here the whole day when I could be I dunno, out eating an ice cream or something."

"Look," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "The money I deducted isn't going to last forever, okay? You can only take out so much and not look suspicious, especially if you're trying to avoid looking like you just faked your own death."

Malfoy puffed up his chest. "Fine," he growled.

"Good," she said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm glad that's settled, because I just saw someone heading this way wearing purple and red."

"Hooray," Malfoy mumbled. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Draco was panting by lunchtime when he and Granger left for half an hour to eat. By the time they closed at five o'clock, he was absolutely beat. "I can't believe anyone would want to do that daily!" he proclaimed, as soon as they had clocked out. Clarence, their boss, still hadn't realized that he had hired an extra hand. He seemed completely under the impression that "Derek" had applied as well, causing Draco to cough the word "senile" under his breath whenever the old man left the room. They spent their two hours before Fidget's party at home. The workers had nearly finished putting down the new floor, and both of them were pleased to not the vast improvement that this minor detail afforded them.

While Granger ran upstairs to change her clothes, Draco sat down on the couch to see if he couldn't figure out the use of the large black box with a glass screen on it. He found a smaller box-like thing with buttons all over one side and pushed on one that read "power." Instantly, the screen on the larger box lit up and a wailing noise came crashing out of it. Draco quickly pushed another button that was labeled "mute" and the sound disappeared. "Channel up," he read softly, pressing another

button and watching the number in the upper right corner change to a larger one. The picture on the screen was now of a woman tending her garden and speaking to a man. And suddenly Draco understood. This was a device that allowed him to spy on people! It was downright brilliant for a muggle invention. He wondered if everyone had their own channel. That would be impressive. He had just switched to another channel with some sharks swimming around a man in an inner tube when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Down alread" his words died in his throat as he took one look at Granger. He didn't know how long he sat there, motionless, but it wasn't long enough for her to think he'd suddenly gone mad or anything. She was wearing her lavender dress and, sweet Merlin, he liked it. He liked in on her. In addition, she had her hair up. It was only the second time he'd seen her like this: in a dress with her hair up. It was slightly maddening, seeing her long neck and legs displayed all at once.

"Could you give me a hand for a minute? Upstairs," she added, sending a meaningful nod toward the

kitchen, indicating that she didn't want the flooring men to overhear.

"Sure," he said, having to lick the roof of his mouth just to be able to speak properly. He pressed the power button again and the machine turned off. But as he followed her up the stairs, he knew what she was going to say. The fact of the matter was that her zipper on her dress was caught a few inches from the top. "Hold on," he said, halting in his steps. Granger paused too. He gave her zipper a good tug up and she turned to him, looking embarrassed.

"Er, thanks," she said, her cheeks going slightly rouge. "I guess I need longer arms."

"Anytime," he replied smoothly.

"If you want to change, I'll be downstairs," she said. "You can have the bedroom and bathroom to yourself." She sent him a half-smile before descending the stairs again. Was it just his

imagination or had he made her nervous just then? Maybe all girls were made nervous when their male enemies help them to zip up their dresses. He had seen an extra inch or two of skin that she probably hadn't planned on him seeing. Shrugging, he went off to his room to change.

When Draco finally descended the stairs an entire hour later, Granger announced that it was time for them to leave. He noticed the slight pause in her speech as she looked him over for a second. He was wearing a long-sleeved gray button-up shirt that exactly matched his eye color, which was the exact reason he had bought it in the first place. His would have preferred short sleeves considering the hot and balmy weather, but he didn't exactly like to flaunt his dark mark all over the place. Ah, the down-side of being a death eater. With a last goodbye to the flooring crew (who were now running a large and heavy roller over the floor to get rid of any air bubbles) they took off for Fidget's house.

The pulled into a driveway of a small suburban house only two streets down from their own. It was actually close enough that they probably could

have walked there if they had wanted to. They left the car and Granger rang the doorbell. It was fairly quiet, considering this was supposed to be a party. "Oh, hey!" Fidget had answered the door and let them in. She was wearing the same dress she had worn to work. She turned to them, a guilty smile on her face. "I actually asked you to come a tad early. Everyone one else is supposed to get here in about fifteen minutes. Er, please, sit down."

The couple exchanged a look and did as the black and red-haired girl asked them. "What is this about?" Granger asked.

Fidget turned to them. "You haven't answered my question yet, you know. Are you a witch and a wizard or aren't you?" There was a pained look on her face, and for the first time since they had met, she looked almost sad. She had always appeared tremendously cheerful to them.

Very slowly, Granger spoke up, while Draco remained silent. "Yes, we are," she answered. "Are you?"

Fidget breathed a sigh of relief. "No, I'm not. Not really."

"What do you mean by not really?" Draco asked, slightly intrigued.

She shook her head. "I'm a squib," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"Oh," Granger said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Well that would make sense then. But, what do you want from us?"

"I" Fidget wrung her hands. "I need information. A man's been hanging around the shop lately and I think he's my father."

"Your father?" Granger repeated.

Fidget nodded once. "My real name is Fiona Puddifoot. Madame Puddifoot, the woman who runs the shop in Hogsmeade, is my aunty on my mum's side. They won't tell me about my father, but I'm sure it's him."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Know his name?"

Fidget gave a half-nod. "I'm not sure. He might be using an alias. He has black hair and black eyes and"

A thought flashed through Draco's brain. It couldn't possibibly be... "Snape?"he interrupted. Granger turned to him, a look of alarm on her face.

"Yes, I think that might be his name," Fidget replied, looking keenly interested.

At that moment the door swung open and about fifteen rowdy twenty-somethings came in, all

talking and laughing very loudly. A few ran up to Fidget and gave her a big hug.

An hour later and the party had really gotten going. Music was playing loudly and a few couples had started dancing. "Would you like to dance?" Draco half-shouted over the music, causing Granger to jump in surprise.

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Can't a husband dance with his wife?" he asked, still speaking abnormally loudly.

"I suppose!" she half-shouted back at him. Draco took her hand and they went onto the dance-floor, doing their best to imitate the other dancers. Neither of them really had a clue what they were doing, what with Draco being unfamiliar with the muggle world and Granger being, well, herself. He twirled her, making her laugh. Just then, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"May I cut in?" It was a tall, dark man about their own age, or their own supposed age of twenty-four, that is.

"Um," Granger began, looking a bit thrilled that someone had asked her.

"If you don't mind buddy, I'd prefer you don't," Draco answered, frowning in distaste.

"Oh, come on!" the man said, punching Draco lightly on the arm. "She's a big girl. I'll bring her back in one piece!" He turned back to Granger. "How about it?"

"Well," Granger began.

"No, really," Draco continued. "I think you'd better beat it."

The man frowned. "A bit possessive, your boyfriend, isn't he?" he said, turning to Granger with a sparkle in his eyes.

"I should say I am, what with being married and expecting and all," Draco said, a little louder than necessary. Granger's happy, smiling face contorted. He knew how much she hated it when he told people they were having a baby, it being a complete fallacy after all. Worse, Fidget overheard and came rushing over.

"Are you really? I had no idea!" the other girl gushed. "Oh, a little happy, smiling baby! Won't that be lovely?"

"I'm" Granger began, and Draco was sure she was going to end the sentence with the word "not."

"That being said," he interrupted, "we had better be getting home. She's awfully cranky," he reiterated, "with all of those hormones on

overdrive and all." Granger punched him in the arm, and very hard at that.

"Fidget, thanks for inviting us. We'll talk to you later," Granger promised, giving the supposed daughter of Severus Snape a quick hug.

"Come along, Draco," she said, in a hiss.

"Did you say" Fidget began, but they were already out the door. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////// It began about a week later, casually at first. While at work, a customer offered them her most sincere congratulations. The next day, someone in the street gave them a wink and asked whether they were having a boy or a girl. Then, Fidget asked if she could throw them a baby shower. By the weekend, it seemed like everyone in the town, whether they recognized them or not, knew about their supposed pregnancy. By then, Hermione was frantic and Malfoy was beginning to show signs of

anxiety, even stooping low enough to begin biting his fingernails. Something had to be done.

"That is it!" Hermione screamed in frustration as soon as they got home and closed the door.

"What do you suggest we do?" Malfoy asked, not as calmly as he usually would be.

"Well, since it's too late to tell everyone that we were wrong," she said, glaring at him, "and since I despise faking a miscarriage, then there's really only one thing we can do." Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. "We're going to ask the Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program for help," she said, still glaring at him.

"Oh," he answered.

"Come on then." She marched over to the hallway mirror, Malfoy following behind.

"Tap it three times," he said hurriedly.

"I know that!" she snapped. Taking a large breath, she tapped on the glass: once, twice, three times.

"Nothing happened," Malfoy complained, crossing his arms.

Then, suddenly, Hermione's reflection began to speak independently. "Hello and welcome to the Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program's branch of the Ministry of Magic. If you have a query, please tap once. If you are in grave danger, please tap twice. If you would like to convey a message to a friend or family member, please tap three times. If you would like to see our selection of souvenirs, please tap four times. If you are unable to tap or would like to speak with a certified employee, please wait and we will be right with you."

"I guess we wait?" Hermione asked doubtfully as her reflection began to sing a Weird Sisters song.

"What kind of souvenirs do you reckon they have? Tee-shirts?" Malfoy asked, grimacing at the singing reflection.

"A certified employee is now available. Please stand by for apparation."

Before they could even exchange a glance, they felt themselves being violently pulled and they crash-landed in an office. In front of them was Mr. Tibbsthe man who had performed their hair spells. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger," he greeted. "Blond again, I see," he added, looking slightly put out.

"He used some shampoo with methylchloroisothiazolinone in it," Hermione said, by way of explanation. "But that's not why we're here, is it Malfoy?" she said, sending a glare to her counterpart.

Tibbs turned his attention to Malfoy and waited. "Er," Malfoy began uncomfortably, "somehow the entire town we live in seems to think that she's a month and a half pregnant," he said, jerking his thumb toward Hermione, who snorted in contempt.

Tibbs shrugged. "Easily remedied." With that, he plucked a single hair from Malfoy's head and began fiddling around with several potions, adding a bee wing and a bird's feather to the concoction. Then, when he'd finished stirring, he checked his watch and there was a small explosion in his cauldron. Out of it he pulled a single lozenge. "Miss Granger," he said, offering it to her.

Hermione looked skeptically at it, but placed it in her mouth nonetheless and waited for it to dissolve. "Cherry flavor," she remarked dryly, and Tibbs just nodded. He went off to fetch another potion while they waited for the lozenge to dissolve. Malfoy sent her a quizzical look and she shrugged.

"All gone?" Tibbs asked upon returning.

"Yes," Hermione answered, as soon as the last bit had dissolved.

"Good. Now just a half-teaspoon of aging potion"

"What for?" Malfoy interrupted.

Tibbs blinked at him. "Why, to age the fetus, of course. To make it six weeks old."

Hermione's face froze. "Fetus?" she gasped. "Isn't this supposed to make me appear pregnant? WHY WOULD THERE BE A FETUS?" she barked.

Tibbs blinked again. "I thought you knew. That was a pregnancy lozenge. You are now carrying Mr. Malfoy's child." He paused. "Now if you'll please take this," he said, offering the aging potion to her.

Hermione's eyes bulged. "What did you just say?" she demanded. Next to her, Malfoy had gone stark white.

"Assuming you take this potion, you will be giving birth in seven and a half months," Tibbs explained again. He handed her the half-teaspoon, which she downed.

Hermione clenched her fists and turned to the surprisingly pale man beside her. "MALFOY!" she screamed. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" That said, she made a violent lunge toward him, but he seemed to regain his senses and dove away with those stinking Quidditch reflexes of his.

"Help me!" he cried frantically, as Hermione set after him with a large cauldron.

Tibbs set a calming hand on her shoulder. "Please stop," he said. And Hermione, fire blazing within her, punched him in the gut. "Ow," he said, before crumpling to the ground.

"I'm suing for malpractice!" Malfoy screamed, diving away from her again. "And bloody hell Granger," he said, latching onto her wrists, "calm down!" Hermione, much to her own dismay, did, and started bawling right then and there. Malfoy, a look of even more supreme panic on his face than before, patted he on the back weakly. "Enough damage has been done. Let's go home," he said, struggling to breathe.

Tibbs rose from the floor, having regained his own ability to breathe. "You can't sue. You signed the forms," he objected, before collapsing in a dead faint. Malfoy let go of Hermione and kicked him.

"Send us back!" he demanded.

Tibbs sprung back into an upright position again. "Go to the secretary's desk, she'll help you," he said, and collapsed again.

Malfoy mumbled something indecent under his breath and began to lead a still bawling Hermione out the door.

"I don't want to have a baby! Not yet! Not with YOU!" she ranted, her violent-tendencies coming to a standstill as she lost the will to fight.

"Right back at you," he mumbled.

"It's like I'm Mary," she mumbled, "except you are most definitely not God! Oh sweet Merlin, it's like Rosemary's Baby!" She sniffled. "Do you have a handkerchief?" she asked.

"Er," Malfoy replied, and handed one to her. She blew her nose profusely. When they had reached the secretary's desk, he arranged for them to get a port-key back. Meanwhile, Hermione continued to cry her eyes out. She just couldn't believe her misfortune. First to be stuck pretending to be Malfoy's wife in the first place, and now this! This was permanent. This was something that would

continue to affect her even after Harry had won the war. This was life altering and mind-boggling. They'd have to arrange weekend visits and everything. And she wasn't even close to being ready to be a mother, nevertheless a single one (sort of.) She hadn't even turned eighteen yet, even if she did look twenty-four!

Malfoy sat down beside her on a bench. "Look Granger," he said. "This frightens me as much as you almost as much. I mean, I don't actually have to give birth, and that's certainly a plus But"

"Just spit it out," she said, finally seeming to have run out of tears.

"I'm just trying to say that I'm not that bad," he ended weakly.

Hermione turned to him, her face scrunched up from emotion. "How do you mean?"

He hesitated. "I just mean that I'll be there for you, okay?" Then, to her great surprise, he kissed her forehead. "Come on, our port-key's ready." And they went home, Hermione holding her breath and wondering why she had felt a flood of a different sort of emotion when he placed his lips on her temple that way. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////// At home again, Granger excused herself and went into the bedroom. Draco, at a loss, sat down on the couch. It was all he could do to stay sane. "We're having a baby," he whispered softly, and then suddenly ran his hands through his hair. "We're having a baby," he repeated, more firmly. His stomach was churning horribly. It wasn't just that she was a mudblood, or that he had only ever considered the notion of child-rearing for the purpose of an heir, or even that this kid was going to be extremely confused knowing his parents weren't married, though everyone thought they were, and having two sets of names. No, Draco felt conflicted the way anyone might when finding out about an unplanned pregnancy: was it a good thing or a bad thing? He hated even asking himself this. Not long ago, just short of two weeks, he would

have firmly answered yes, very bad. But now it actually frightened him that it didn't frighten him as much as it should. Yet he certainly was frightened. Very. He went to get a drink, and a big one at that.

Up in their room, Hermione sat alone, having calmed her breathing some. She still couldn't believe this was happening. It was just not fair. She was going to have a baby with an ex-death eater who abhorred her.

A baby, she thought. Fidget had reacted well to the thought. "A happy, smiling baby," she had said. Somehow she doubted very much that this would be a happy baby. Well, in any case, she didn't have to worry about the possibility of never having children now. Now she just needed to find a guy who didn't mind helping raise another man's child. That is, assuming she didn't have to spend the rest of her life here while she waited for Harry to duke it out with Voldemort. Merlin she hoped not. In that

worst case scenario she might as well just marry Malfoy and be done with it. Ew.

She had lain down on her bunk and attempted to take a nap when the doorknob turned. "Granger," he slurred. Great heavens! He was drunk, again! Hermione hoisted herself to the floor.

"Draco," she scolded. She wondered briefly why she always seemed to use his first name while he was drunk. Maybe she preferred him this way.

"I don't feel well," he slurred. He paused, cocked his head to the side, and prodded her in the chest. "You know what you've got in there?" he asked. "You've-got-a-heart," he said, poking her after every word. "Not me, though," he said dryly, wavering on his tipsy feet.

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she quickly closed it. "So do you," she objected. She took his hand and placed it over the left side of his chest. "Feel that?"

He shook his head. "That stopped working a long time ago, Granger," he said. He paused and pointed to her stomach. "Just think," he remarked, "my blood and your blood, mingling together to beat in a new heart." Hermione's mouth fell open again. Then he did something that freaked her out to no end. He dropped to his knees, placed his hands on either side of her waist, and pressed his ear up to her belly button. Hermione caught her breath. And then he started singing. "Baby, baby, can't you hear my heart beat? You're the one I looooooove." Then, just as suddenly, he slumped to the floor and started snoring.

"What in the world?" Hermione asked, at a complete loss about what had just transpired. "And how on earth would he know a muggle song?" She stepped around him and climbed up into her bunk. She was going to get some sleep, too. Goodness knew she'd need it.

The next morning was a Sunday and they both had the day off. This was a good thing, too, because neither of them were quite fit to go to work. Hermione had hear Malfoy getting up in the middle of the night to vomit, then he had slipped into his own bunk, moaning and grumbling. When they got up, neither were in an especially pleasant mood. Hermione had been about to pour herself a glass of orange juice when the smell got to her. Almost instantly bile-flavored saliva rushed to her mouth and she went running for the loo. She had just enough time to lift the toilet seat before she got sick. It was only when she leaned back against the wall, panting and clammy, that she realized she wasn't alone. Malfoy had followed her in to hold her hair back for her. She hoped beyond hope that he hadn't seen anything. At long last, she stood and brushed her teeth. "I don't feel very well," she admitted.

Malfoy nodded, but didn't say anything. He followed her out into the kitchen and watched her sit down. "Need anything?" he asked.

Hermione frowned at him. "A cup of tea would be nice." He nodded again and filled her a mug of water, putting it in the microwave. "Malfoy?" she asked, while his back was turned.

"Yeah?"

Hermione hesitated. "Why are you being nice to me?"

He turned. "I'm not. But you are my child's vessel, so" Vessel, now there was a flattering word if she'd ever heard one.

"Oh," she said, feeling slightly hurt. "I think there are a few things we need to change around here, by the way."

"Such as?" he asked, dropping a tea bag in her mug and handing it to her.

"Well, for one I think you need to learn to drive the car," she said. Malfoy nodded, apparently in agreement with her. "Secondly, I er, I think we need to trade bunks."

Malfoy looked startled. "Why?"

"Well, because I'm going to be getting bigger, and"

Malfoy held a hand up. "Fine."

Hermione took a deep breath. "And I think you ought to quit drinking," she said, hoping her voice didn't waver.

He crossed his arms. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know what you had been drinking, but I had only left you alone for twenty minutes when you came upstairs, more drunken than Dumbo," she said exasperatedly.

Malfoy started to frown, but then stopped and did the exact opposite and smiled. "And what terribly embarrassing thing did I say or do this time?" he asked, grinning at her.

Hermione scowled at him. "You really want to know? Fine. First you kept poking my collarbone, droning on about how I have a heart and you don't. Then you dropped to your knees, grabbed my waist, put your ear up to my stomach and sang a line from a muggle song."

"I what?" he asked, looking as if he couldn't quite believe her.

"You were saying that my blood and your blood where now beating in a new heart," she continued. "And you sang, 'baby, baby, can't you hear my heart beat? You're the one I love.'"

"Really?" he asked simply.

"Yes," Hermione answered, now in a horrible mood.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm fairly sure I was singing to the baby, not you."

Hermione cringed. "Yes, Malfoy, I know that!" she cried disdainfully. "What? Do you really think I'm that stupid and pathetic that I would actually think you were professing your love for me?"

He shrugged. "Who knows what women think."

Hermione snarled in irritation. "I hate you," she hissed.

Malfoy laughed. "Calm down, Granger. You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," she spat. "You're mean; you don't care about anyone but yourself, and the only time you

seem remotely human is when you're slobbering drunk!"

Malfoy paled. "We've been living together for two weeks and that's still your only opinion of me?" She nodded in the affirmative, still glaring at him. "Now look here Hermione," he hissed, "I've been nicer to you these last days than a lowly little mudblood like yourself even deserves."

Hermione literally snarled. "That's still your only opinion of me? You're only proving my point, Draco."

Malfoy's fists clenched. "Don't call me that."

Hermione's nostrils flared. "And why ever not? You just used my name. We're living together. We're having a baby together. Why not?"

"BECAUSE I HATE MY NAME, ALL RIGHT?" he screeched, and clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise.

"And I like it!" Hermione yelled right back at him. They both stared at one another as they caught their breath, working out just what it was the other had just said. "What were we fighting about, again?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"Whether or not we like each other," he spat.

"Whether or not we Wait, what?" she repeated.

Malfoy sneered. "You made fun of me, I made fun of you, and we both tried to figure out why the other's opinion didn't change," he said. "So obviously we're trying to figure out if the other likes us."

Hermione's forehead scrunched up. "That's preposterous!"

"The only preposterous thing around here is that our argument started over my insinuating that you thought I was in love with you!"

"Which I blatantly denied!" she yelled. "And aren't you the one who should get embarrassed over that sort of thing, not me?"

"Darn it all, Granger, I love you!" he yelled.

"What?" Hermione cried, color rushing to her face.

"Not!" he yelled, laughing in her face. His blond hair fell in his eyes as he laughed at her ruthlessly. Hermione's face was coloring steadily as her fists shook.

Then, on a whim, Hermione did the only thing she could think of to shut him up once and for all. She

grabbed his head, jerking him down to her level, and kissed him square on the lips. "Not!" she yelled, as soon as she had torn away. And she marched out of the kitchen, not turning to see the flabbergasted look on his face. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////// Draco was stunned. Absolutely stunned. He had definitely not been expecting Granger to do that. That had to be the strangest argument on record.

She had kissed him. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with this new piece of information. And what exactly was he to do with that "not" that had accompanied it? True, it probably wasn't the best (or safest) idea to tell a girl you love her and take it back the next second, laughing in her face about it. Could she have thought he was bluffing? Was she, in her own way, trying to change his mind? Sort of like proving him to be a hypocrite? Or was she just trying to hurt him? In any case, thinking about it was giving him a small migraine.

It had been some kiss, though. He'd never admit it to anyone. (Not that there were many people he could admit it to.) His heart was still hammering away in his chest. Who knew Granger even had it in her? He knew she had gone to the Yule Ball with Krum in fourth year, (which he had to admit, was pretty darn cool,) and with that idiot (what was his name? McLaddin?) to Slugworth's party the year before. And of course there was Weasel, unofficially. Yet somehow he couldn't quite imagine her kissing any of them. (None of them were exactly what he would call good-looking.)

In any case there was bound to be mass discomfort between them. It was inevitable, really, even without the kiss. They were still getting used to the idea of having this baby together.

The baby. He knew for certain that it would be a boy: blond hair, and probably brown eyes. (He had to give her some credit. The bushy hair genes admittedly frightened him. He didn't want his child to have a small ornamental tree for a head.) So, perhaps with the right hair spells maybe the kid would turn out okay-looking. And of course, no one

would match him in Potions ever. (Really, he'd probably grow up to take over the job someday.) He just hoped Granger's teeth (the original ones she'd had before he'd cursed her in fourth year) weren't hereditary.

Great Merlin! He'd cursed the mother of his firstborn! Okay, so he'd been aiming at Potter, but still! Not good. Ugh, he was in a terrible mess.

Draco sighed, turned to the fridge, and made them both breakfast. After all, it was never a good idea to have a pregnant woman this upset with you. He was starting to appreciate her insistence the week before that he know how to use the kitchen appliances. She had also corrected him on the matter of the television. It wasn't for spying drat. (He thought that would have been a lot more interesting.)

About half an hour later when he knocked on the bedroom door, a tray in one hand, a very, very embarrassed Granger answered. "I'm, er, sorry,"

she said sheepishly. "That was way out of line." She was looking at her feet.

"Yes, well," Draco responded, not having expected her to react so meekly. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he should react.

"Did you make me breakfast?" she asked, looking questioningly at the tray in his hand.

"No, I just always eat upstairs is all," he said sarcastically. "Yes, Granger, I did."

"Making sure the baby gets fed?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Draco frowned. "Is that a trick question?"

She laughed. "It looks good, thank you." She tugged the tray from his hand. "Tell you the truth, I've never felt so hungry and nauseous at the same time before."

"Er, Granger," he added, just as she was about to close the door.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Want to teach me how to drive that car-thingy later?" She paused and nodded. There was a stray tendril of her hair falling over her eyes, and Draco suddenly felt an irresistible urge to move it behind her ear. But before he could make up his mind to do so, she had already closed the door.

Two hours later after Draco had managed to convince her to give up the bedroom long enough for him to take a shower (there was a half-bath downstairs, but he wasn't about to bathe in the sink for heaven's sake) they had gone out to the car and he was behind the wheel. "Okay, so this car is an automatic," she said, as if that meant anything to him at all. "So the first thing you want

to do is put the key in the ignition and turn it clockwise." Draco, who was only moderately sure what an ignition even was, did as she instructed. "Now you put your foot on the brake, that's the one on the left, and release the parking brake. Now put it in reverse, got it?" Slowly, they actually backed out of the driveway. "Careful, careful!" she warned.

"Stop your worry-warting!" he barked, just as he ran into a hedge.

"Okay, now ease it forward," she commanded, holding onto the seat for dear life. "Hand over hand, now; it's a sharp turn!"

"What on earth does hand over hand mean?" he yelled, as he tried fruitlessly to make it onto the road.

"Foot on the bloody brake!" she screeched. "Left pedal, left!"

Draco came to a very sudden, very squeaky halt. "What's that smell?" he asked, his heart hammering.

"It's your brakes or the tires," she said, clutching her own heart. "Okay, now carefully put your foot on the gas, just a smidge. Down the street and brake!"

"What? Why?" he asked, though he slammed onto the pedal anyway.

"You almost hit Crookshanks!" she cried, mortified.

Draco shook his head. "No I didn't! He's way over there!"

"Nevermind, just keep going," she said, slowly easing her grip off of the seat.

By lunchtime, Draco had actually started to get the hang of it. It wasn't really comparable to a broom, but it did the job.

"So," she said, as they went back inside the house again and sat down on the sofa.

"So," he repeated. She had grown quiet during their drive (once he'd started improving, that is) and he suspected that there was something on her mind. (Not surprising, really.)

"I've been thinking aboutnames," she admitted. "Er, baby names." She turned to him, and he waited for her to continue. "What I mean is should its surname be Malfoy, Granger, MalfoyGranger, Granger-Malfoy, or Jones?" She laughed nervously.

"Seriously?" Draco asked, resting his head in his hand. "I'm rather partial to Malfoy, myself."

Granger hesitated and nodded in agreement. "I've never really liked hyphenated names much, they're a bit too long. But I'm also a bit of a traditionalist, so"

"You prefer Malfoy as well?" he asked, smirking.

"Maybe," she said mysteriously. "But I think we'll have to use Jones while out in public, for the meantime," she elaborated.

Draco actually smiled. "So little baby Something Malfoy," he said, patting her stomach goodnaturedly. "Has a ring to it."

"Which brings me to point number two," she said, thinking carefully. "First names. Should the baby have the same first name in public as in private?"

Draco shrugged. "Just depends on how complicated you want to make our lives."

She hesitated. "If it's a girl, I'm thinking her public name should be Tabitha," she said slowly. "It would go along with our little Bewitched theme we seem to have developed. But I wouldn't want to actually name her that."

Draco rested his head against the back of the sofa. "And why's that?" he asked, knowing full-well that this was going to be a boy, so it really didn't make the least bit of difference whatsoever.

She looked off into the corner of the room. "Because I already like the name Madelyn Malfoy," she answered, not meeting his gaze.

Draco smirked ever-so-slightly. "Tell you what Granger, I'll make you a deal. If it's a girl, you can choose the name or names. If it's a boy, I will."

She turned to him and smiled genuinely. "Really?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he assured her, internally chuckling at her naivety. She smiled, and, to his great surprise, scooted slightly closer to him on the sofa. He switched on the television and they sat watching it for some time, until Granger got up to get sick in the bathroom again, that is.

It was a few weeks later when they made their trip to the doctor's office, Hermione insisting that muggle doctors did know a thing or two about these things. Malfoy seemed to think that they needed a mid-wife, which was apparently the custom in the Wizarding World.

"Everything looks in order," Dr. Reed informed them, after running several tests. "Samantha, I want you to start following this diet," she said, handing her a sheet of paper. "Now, we'll just run a sonogram, and I can tell you if you're having a boy or a girl, if you'd like," she said.

Malfoy sniggered, but tried to hide it behind his hand. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

The doctor rubbed a salve on Hermione's ever-soslightly bulging stomach and held a small device against it. "Now if you'll look at the screen," she said, directing their attention. She frowned. "That's odd"

"What?" Hermione asked, slightly alarmed. Malfoy's eyebrows knitted together.

"Oh, it's nothing bad dear it's just Odd," the Dr. Reed continued, rubbing her chin.

"What?" Malfoy demanded, staring blankly at the fuzzy picture.

"It's just that that's the most beautiful fetus I've ever seen," she explained. "Which is odd because usually you can barely even tell it is a fetus at this stage." She pointed to a small little

whitish area on the screen, barely the size of a walnut. "She's striking, really," the doctor murmured.

"She?" Hermione repeated.

The doctor nodded. "It's a very beautiful little baby girl."

Quite suddenly, Malfoy's head whipped to attention. "But that's impossible!" he objected.

Dr. Reed turned to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're wrong. It can't be a girl." He looked dead serious.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but it is possible. Unless you somehow don't have any X chromosomes, which is impossible, then you are most definitely capable of having a daughter."

"But," he sputtered. Hermione eyed him, frowning. He took a deep breath and his expression softened. "You win, Sam. You get to name her."

Hermione marched with a small, gleeful smile out to the car, where she handed the keys over to Malfoy. He still looked anything but calm. "So," she said, as she sat down in the passenger's seat, "mind explaining?"

Malfoy grumbled something under his breath. "This isn't good," he said at last.

"Why, pray tell?" Hermione, though more than a little excited that their daughter would have the name she picked out, was also astutely interested in what could possibly be so wrong about having a girl.

"Because," he said, a small amount of panic leaking through his angry faade, "I'm one-thirtysecond veela."

Hermione frowned. "Okay, so what?"

"So," he continued, "our daughter will be one-sixtyfourth veela."

Hermione pulled her hair behind her ears. "So?" she stressed.

"There hasn't been a female born into my family since my great, great, great grandmother married my great, great, great grandfather, Dorian Malfoy."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "So you're worried because there hasn't been a girl in your family in five generations?"

"Yes!" Malfoy braked a little too suddenly at a traffic signal.

"Okay" Hermione said, more confused than she'd care to admit.

"One thing you've got to know, Granger, is that male veelas, if less than pureblood, have no additional veela attributes other than an assurance for blond hair, which is partly why old Dorian married Marguerite in the first place."

"Just for blond hair?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"That and because she was bloody hot!" Malfoy said, before frowning. "I've got to stop thinking about her that way."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "And you're still allowed to call yourself a pureblood when you're part veela?"

Malfoy turned to her. "It's actually considered highly fashionable, thank you very much."

Hermione shook her head. "Anyway, go on."

"So, as I was saying," he continued, snapping back to attention, "the males just get blond hair, otherwise they make completely normal wizards"

"Or muggles," Hermione added, cutting him off.

"I'd say not!" he blurted. "Veelas are magical, you know. And the effect of muggle blood in combination can have, for the lack of a better word, weird consequences."

"And the females," Hermione urged, "what of them?"

"You remember old Fleur Delacour?"

"Weasley, and yes, I certainly know Phlegm," Hermione said scornfully.

Malfoy shook his head in confusion, but continued. "Well, you saw how all the men flocked to her, and only one-quarter blood."

"You know she's quarter blood how?" Hermione inquired, starting to feel slightly put-out for some unknown reason.

Malfoy sent her a taunting grin. "I'm just a big fan," he said enthusiastically.

"And what does all this have to do with a baby that's only bloody one-sixty-fourth veela?" Hermione cried.

"I was getting to that," he objected, finally pulling into their driveway. He parked and switched the engine off. "The bloody point I'm trying to make is that for every generation a female isn't born, her charm and beauty increase two-fold. Meaning that if my great, great, great grandparents had had a daughter, we would have a normal, blonde little girl, but since they didn't, we're going to see the

stockpile of several unused generations of genes in one child. Meaning"

"She might as well be half-veela" Hermione finished, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"If not more." Malfoy turned to her and looked her straight in the eyes. "That's where the muggle blood comes in," he said mysteriously.

Hermione slowly lowered her hand from her mouth to gape at him. "How?" she asked nervously.

"Weird effects," he said ominously. "I'm thinking that because you're muggleborn, that's why we're having a girl, and that's why the doctor remarked that it was 'the most beautiful fetus' she'd ever seen."

"You don't think it's a girl because of the lozenge, then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. All I do know is that we'll have every child beauty contest in the bag." ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////// If there was one thing Hermione didn't like being, it was confused. She had worked hard her entire life to prevent it from happening. It was one reason why she read so much: so she could understand and digest any tricky piece of information and be able to regurgitate it at a moment's notice. Unfortunately for her, she was far away from any sort of wizarding library. Even after Malfoy had explained it to her, she still found herself not fully comprehending. Through her muggle background she had learned loads about biology and genetics. She knew how to draw a Punnet square, how chromosomes worked, why rough endoplasmic reticulum was rough, and every possible thing about telophase. But this whole veela rubbish well, it complicated matters. Heck, it defied all laws of nature.

Take the blond hair for example. According to Mr. One-thirty-second Veela, anyone with even partial veela heritage was going to end up with blond hair.

Normally, brown hair would be dominant and blond would be recessive. But even if veela-blond was the dominant one, it still wouldn't account for the BB, the two Bb, and the bb present in the F2 generation. What Malfoy was suggesting defied all known laws of science. For the lack of a better word, it was a "latching" gene. And that was just the beginning.

She didn't even want to get started on the X and Y chromosomes. Maybe Y was a "latcher" as well. That would account for the long line of males, theoretically. And maybe her muggle blood eliminated the latching?

Last there was the really big area of confusion: the compound female attributes. This she had to solely hold magic responsible. There was no muggle explanation for it. For every generation, instead of the genes weakening or being dominated by others, they actually grew stronger, more acute, and this was all because there weren't any females born since the original pureblooded veela married in!

Hermione rolled over onto her back. She and Malfoy had switched bunks only a few days prior. "I'm so confused," she moaned to herself. "And so hungry," she added as an afterthought, prying herself out of bed and down the stairs. Malfoy, devil that he was, was already in the kitchen. He nodded to her and went back to sipping his tea. Hermione grabbed a banana, poured herself a cup of Earl Grey, and sat down opposite him.

"Nice weather we're having," he remarked sarcastically, referring to the heavy rain that had begun falling twenty minutes after their return from the doctor's office.

"Summer's almost over now," she replied, sipping dismally at her tea.

"Bloody September," he said, drinking his own tea.

"Oh, I don't mind that," Hermione said back. "It's my birthday in two weeks."

Malfoy lowered his mug. "Is that so? Eighteen then?"

"If you don't count all that aging potion I've been chugging down," she said dryly.

Malfoy smirked wryly. "Either way, you're dead old."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're only saying that because you can't stand to think that I'm older than you."

He laughed. "Oh, I don't care about that, Granger. Just means that I get to live longer than you!"

Hermione blew on her tea calmly. "Actually, women tend to live about three years longer, so I'm two up on you there, Malfoy."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, if you want to get all technical"

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "I win, don't I Madelyn?" she said, patting her stomach.

"You know you look like a loon when you do that?" Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Just making sure she's on my side," she answered teasingly.

"Au contraire, she's going to be Daddy's little girl," he countered smugly.

"How's that?" Hermione asked, stretching.

"I'm more likable," he said simply.

Hermione burst out laughing. "More likable? You?"

"Just think about it. You're likely to force her to do advanced learning, while I'm likely to buy her anything and everything." He smiled menacingly.

"Great, a regular Veruca Salt, then," Hermione grumbled. "But I suppose that's better than you acting like your father and forcing her to serve the most evil wizard of our time."

Malfoy stopped grinning. "Well, aren't you just little Miss Optimistic?" He paused. "And by the way, Granger, my father didn't force me into anything. It was my choice."

"A choice based on years and years of propaganda and brainwashing!" she spat.

Malfoy groaned. "I don't think arguing is good for your health."

Hermione paused, having been prepared to come up with a retort. "If only we weren't so good at it," she said lamely.

Malfoy continued, "You know what I've been thinking about?"

"Pray tell," Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air.

Malfoy hesitated. "How about we go onto a first name basis?"

Hermione just stared. "I thought you didn't like your name," she said carefully, her mind flitting uneasily to how that conversation had ended.

"If you were named after some bloke who wrote laws in blood, would you?" he asked.

"I suppose not. But really er, Draco why the sudden change of heart?" she asked. She didn't

like where this was headed. It reminded her too much of that conversation, which was why she wasn't surprised to feel a crop of sweat break out on her forehead.

"I'm desperately in love with you," he said in mock sincerity. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Kidding," he added, raising his hands.

"Go on," Hermione urged, giving him the evil eye for a moment.

"We're going to have a baby together," he said simply. "I think that calls for a first name basis," he added, shrugging.

Hermione blinked slowly. "Wasn't that part of my argument the other day?"

"And sometimes you say things that actually make sense. Congrats," he replied, smirking.

"Well, then, go ahead," she said, leaning back in her seat.

He looked around. "Go ahead and what, pray tell?"

"Hermione," she said. "Say it."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Fine. Hermione," he said, blas. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," she replied, half-smirking. "And now I propose a deal of sorts. I'll never call you a ferret again, if you never call me a mudblood." She reached out a hand to shake.

"Not fair," he said, frowning.

"And why not?" she asked, her arm still poised in midair.

"You haven't called me a ferret in quite awhile," he pointed out.

"And I could always start up again, if you don't shake on it," she threatened. "And, I could start calling you cute little pet names while out in public, baby-waby-honey-pie."

Malfoy snorted. "Fine, deal!" he said, quickly taking her hand. He began to shake, but then they didn't let go at first. Hermione became acutely aware of the fact, her arm stretched across the table, her hand held firmly in his warm, pale one. He was staring into her eyes and she felt a shiver pass through her spine. It was an eternity before they both pulled away, breaking their previous eye contact immediately. Hermione colored.

"Um, I'm just going to" and without finishing her sentence, Hermione raced from the room. What just happened? Had she just had a a moment with Malfoy? With Draco, as she was now supposed to call him? There was a whirl of butterflies in her stomach, but it wasn't nausea this time. Her mind

flashed back to that day at the ministry, when he'd kissed her forehead. She crept into the bathroom and just stood there, panting over the sink. It couldn't possibly be that she was falling for him? The very thought sickened her down to her toes, and yet

And yet it also relieved her a little. Maybe, just maybe She didn't want to think about it; it was too much of a long shot. She paused, straining her ears, hoping and fearing that she would hear footsteps coming toward her.

But it wasn't meant to be, so she stayed there, frozen, for a good half hour before building up the courage to come out. By then, Malfoy was no where to be found, and she caught her breath.

Just what had she gotten herself into that night in the bar? ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /////////////////////

The minute she slipped from the room, Draco's Adam's apple bobbed in is throat. Had he just and she just held hands in a blatantly obvious way? His stomach was squirming, but with a very different feeling than the nausea that should accompany voluntary handholding with a mudblood. He could only hope that she was somehow exuding their daughter's veela traits, which was highly unlikely, and rubbish to boot. No, the truth was he was starting to fancy her. The very idea made him want to grow out his fingernails and scratch his very skin off. Maybe scratch out his heart, eyeballs too. That sounded just painful and groady enough to appease his dear old dad. Not that his father was ever going to hear of this. It would be a hot day in Antarctica before the old man found out about any of this, including his own granddaughter. And eek, the idea of his father and Madelyn bonding in a prison cell somewhere now that was scary.

But back to Granger. He was slowly starting to admit to himself that she wasn't exactly as hard on the eyes as he had originally insisted. She had nice features, clear, soft skin, brilliant chocolate and cinnamon eyes and the cutest little button nose

ever. Okay, perhaps that was taking things too far. But it was true, though, even if he didn't normally like to refer to things as "cute." He really wasn't a sissy, really. And her hair had considerably improved since the spell had been enacted. She was, well, she was pretty. And he did have to agree with the man who worked the dressing room at that department store. She had nice legs. REALLY nice legs.

And now she was somewhere in the house hiding from him, supposedly. He wouldn't mind taking a leaf from her book, actually. Go outside. Maybe some fresh air would do him good. Actually anything that could help him avoid confrontations sounded great to him at that moment. And so, Draco went out of the house, closing the door silently behind him.

"Hey neighbor!" Merlin, no! It was Bob Brewster, and he was smiling wider than anyone had a right to.

"Oh, hello Bob," he said casually, glancing back toward the door and trying to mentally open it and float back inside without Brewster noticing.

"Nice day! Rain stopped just minutes ago, so I thought I'd go for a little jog." Sure enough, the man was in a track suit (purple with green stripes), and quite an ugly one at that.

"What about mud puddles?" Draco asked skeptically.

"Avoiding them is what makes it so fun! I love mud, anyway. Say, how's Samantha? Is she getting moody on you yet?"

"A bit," Draco replied truthfully.

"That why she's in there and you're out here?" Bob asked, giving him a playful shove.

"No!" Draco spat, suddenly offended. "I mean her birthday's coming up, and"

"Shopping?" Bob asked. "Righto, always good to remember all the dates. Say, want me to come with? I'm pretty good at finding things for the ladies." He chuckled. "The wife says I was one in a past life."

Draco raised a disturbed eyebrow. "Er, that's very nice of you to offer"

"Just let me get changed. We'll take my car!" Bob declared, clapping Draco on the shoulder and leading him into his own house.

Draco groaned silently as Brewster left him alone in the living room. His twin boys had apparently already left for school, some muggle alternative to Hogwarts. Betty no, Peggy was nowhere in sight. Their mangy poodle, however, was lying as if dead in front of the grate. He was rather tempted to poke the beast with the poker from the fireplace,

and was about to when Bob came back down the stairs. "Ready there, Derek?" he asked, now wearing brown pants and a checkered shirt. Draco nodded, secretly gagging, and followed his neighbor out to his car.

"So," Bob said, as he began driving toward town, "any idea where you want to go?"

Draco shrugged. "No, not really."

Bob nodded to himself. "Hmm You know, I know this great little jewelry shop in town. Peggy loves it when I get her something from there. How 'bout it?"

"Well," Draco began, not really wanting to get her a present in the first place, but knowing that jewelry would make sense if he was supposedly married to her. "I guess that would work"

"Okay then Jones, here we go!" He turned into a parking lot and pulled into a space before a tiny little store. "In we go!" Bob singsonged, getting out and leading Draco inside.

Draco looked around the inside warily. There were three glass display cases and an earring rack. "May I help you?" It was a small, dumpy woman wearing a lopsided grin.

"Yes, he's looking for a birthday present for his wife," Bob said, jerking his thumb toward Draco.

The woman scratched her chin. "Step right up here, deary," she said, pointing to one of the cases. "Does she like big things or small?"

"Um," Draco said, utterly unsure, "small. Yes, definitely small." Yeah, that would save him from buying something overly expensive!

"Gold or silver?" the woman pressed, smiling.

A flash of Gryffindor versus Slytherin coloring went through his head. "Silver," he said with a small smirk. "And maybe with something green?"

The woman's smile widened. "I have just the thing!" She took out a set of keys and unlocked one of the cases, removing a pair of sparkling silver and emerald earrings, just about the size of his pinky fingernail. Draco held them up to his eyes, smiling softly until he turned the backing over and got a glance at the price. How many galleons was that equivalent to? Seventy-five? Immediately he slammed the little things back down on the counter.

"Er, don't think so," he said unsteadily, heat rushing to his face.

"Well, that's the only ones we have in silver and green," the woman said, her grin slipping. "Go ahead and take a look around, though. Let me know if you want to take a look at anything."

Draco nodded and Bob elbowed him, directing his attention to another display. "Maybe you should think about getting her a new ring. No offense, but that one she's got is kind of dull," he said, giving Draco an apologetic glance. "How about this one? It's a real beaut if I've ever seen one."

Bob was pointing to a diamond-studded engagement ring inside one of the cases. It was nice. It was silver with small flower and leaf work engraved around the jewels, and tiny little sapphires embedded between them. Draco let out a low whistle. That was that was perfect. Except for the small fact that that would be going up and beyond a simple forced birthday present. It was even in her birthstone It took him a minute to pull his eyes away from it. "Very nice," he praised glumly.

"Hey," Bob said, waving the woman over, "can we get a price check on this ring?"

The woman nodded and pulled it out for them. Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. It was worth the equivalent of about five hundred galleons. Back in the old days when he actually had access to the Malfoy fortune, that would have been mere knuts to him, but now that he actually had to work in a muggle store it was nothing more than a dream, and a whole lot of forced smiles and thank-you's to ignorant muggle customers. "Not today," he said softly, a small amount of guilt creeping up his spine for some unknown reason.

The woman shrugged. "I should have known. I've been trying to sell that one for fifteen years. No one wants to pay up." Draco shrugged. He had a psychotic desire to buy that ring just to prove to the woman that he actually was stinking rich, but he forced himself to push the thought aside. "Whatever deary, if she's not worth it, she's not worth it" And that really got under his skin. It wasn't that Granger wasn't worth it, you old hag! It was He had to snap out of it. The old woman was trying to trick him into buying it. And it wasn't like he loved Hermione or anything Wait. Hermione? Since when did he ever call her Hermione? "We've got a nice selection of cheap costume jewelry over

here. Maybe something plastic will suit your fancy?" the woman said, beginning to walk over toward the earring rack. And Draco snapped.

"I'll take it!" he yelled. Merlin help him. He'd just agreed to buy Hermione Granger a diamond and sapphire engagement ring, and his neighbor expected him to give it to her for her birthday... in two weeks. Darn.

They left the shop, Draco feeling a weight in his heart for having spent so much of their money, and a small, velvet box tucked safely into his pocket. He wanted to puke. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////// By the time they were in the car and pulling into the street, Draco's mind was on overdrive. He wasn't giving it to her. He couldn't. There was no way. In other words, he had just spent a bundle of money on a gift he wasn't ever going to give, all for the sake of pride. (A Malfoy without his pride is nonexistent, according to his mum.) "You know,"

he rationalized out-loud for the sake of the everoblivious Bob, "I'm thinking I'll hold off a bit."

"Oh?" the muggle asked curiously.

"Yeah," Draco responded. "I think it would be more appropriate for Christmas, or Valentines' Day."

"Or you anniversary," Bob suggested helpfully. "Or the day the baby's born!"

"Exactly," Draco replied, dreaming of the virtues of procrastination.

"Say," Bob added delicately, "you can pay that ring off? I mean, I certainly couldn't have afforded it at your age."

"Yeah," Draco answered tiredly, reminiscing about his rather expansive account at Gringotts that largely resembled the vault that the crazy, Scottish duck on the television would go swimming in.

"Really?" Brewster asked disbelievingly. "Not a secret millionaire, are you?"

"It's complicated," Draco answered fathomlessly.

Bob seemed to catch on and didn't press it further, for which Draco was thankful. "That case, you still need something to give her for her birthday?"

Draco shook his head. "I'll figure something out," he said broadly, determined not to let Bob know any specifics, should he choose not to give her so much as a roll of paper towels.

"Breakfast in bed," Bob suggested. "Always a classic."

"I'll consider it, but for now I should be getting back." That said, Brewster started heading toward their street.

"I'm sure she'll love it," he added, just as they pulled into his driveway. Draco hopped out.

"Oh, I 'm sure she would," he mumbled under his breath. Draco hopped the low fence between properties and slowed to an uneasy gait. He really didn't want to face her after what happened. Who knew agreeing to stop calling her the m-word would have such mystifying consequences.

He slowly turned the knob and went in, closing the door silently behind him. Granger was sitting silently n the couch reading her spell book. She didn't look up, her cheeks tingeing pink regardless.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, just barely remembering to use her first name.

She glanced at him briefly, unstartled. "Yes?" she asked quietly.

"Out of curiosity," he asked suavely, "how much money did you take out of my account at Gringotts?"

She paused. "Um, about 2000 galleons, why?"

Draco hid his intense sigh of relief. "Just wondering," he said, shrugging. Then he paused. "I thought you said you got out some if both out money."

"I did," she explained. "But I only left about ten sickles in my account," she added slyly.

"How in Merlin's name did you manage to have 2000 galleons in your account?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged from her position on the couch. "My grandparents left me a good sum of money. My parents are dentists. I charge for tutoring." She

shrugged again before taking a renewed interest in her book.

"Dentists?" he repeated.

"The muggle equivalent to a dental healer," she explained. "Doctors often make a good amount of money, and if there are two of them in a family, it adds up."

"So if we've had a whopping 4000 galleons, what are we wasting time working for?" Draco asked, waving his hands around.

"Because it's better to be safe than sorry," she explained. "And good grief, Draco, what on Earth is in your pocket?" she asked, gesturing to the large lump where the ring was hidden.

Draco uncharacteristically colored. "Nothing" he stammered.

She blinked confusedly. "Okay"

"I'll be upstairs," he concluded, walking swiftly away.

Hermione frowned. There was something seriously wrong with Draco Malfoy. He was slightly bi-polar, secretive, and weird to boot. But really, that wasn't anything new, now was it? She groaned, and stared at the next sentence in her copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven.

"When necessary, spells can be cast without wand movement, but only by reversing the order of the syllables in the spell, then repeating each separate syllable in alphabetic order. For example, for wingardium leviosa, first recite sa-o-i-lev um-i-gardwing, then gard-i-i-lev-o-sa-um-wing. Obviously, it takes some time to figure out the correct order of syllables, and so is only recommended when in a state in which the arm is physically unable to

wave," she read aloud to herself. "If only I had my wand," she muttered crossly, closing her book and expelling a sigh.

She groaned. Who knew when she'd get to do magic again. She felt horrible putting all her hope on Harry like this, waiting for him to defeat Voldemort. Goodness knew he had enough pressure on him already. And yet, part of her dreaded going back to her old life now, because there were some things that had changed and simply weren't going to go back to normal again. Namely that she was going to have a baby. That was enough to change her life, flip flop it, and make it resemble her previous plans about as much as gard-i-i-lev-o-sa-um-wing resembled wingardium leviosa.

She sighed again. What was it about wingardium leviosa that always made her think of Ron, back on that day in first year when she had corrected him, he had ridiculed her for it, and she had cried in the bathroom until the troll came to try to bash her skull in?

She had really liked Ron. The pig. And now that she finally was developing another crush, an adult one it was on stinking Draco Malfoy, for pity's sake. He was supposed to make Ron look like a saint. It wasn't working.

She would always love Ron. He was her first crush, even before Gilderoy Lockehart. Every girl had one. Someone she'd think about secretly wonder if he liked her back. Doodle hearts on their notebooks for. Yearn for. Shed tears for, years later, when one of her best friends starts dating him. It was a vicious cycle of love and hate. But she didn't hate him, not really.

She had started out hating Malfoy, though. She still did in some ways, but she was also developing quite the opposite feeling for him. And she wanted to slap herself for it. Tell herself that she was being silly. Fancy him? No sir, not going to happen. But it had.

And so she wasn't that surprised when, as she continued reading, tears began to sting her eyes. "Stupid mood swings," she muttered to herself, wiping furiously at her face.

"Hey Grangeermione," Malfoy said, as he began coming back down the stairs into the living room. She turned her head resolutely away. "I" he stopped. "You okay?"

"Yes," she said in a flat, barking tone.

"No, you're not," he corrected, taking a few tentative steps forward.

"I hate you," she said softly, and a look of pain crossed his face.

"And what have I done this time?" he asked, voice considerably softer than usual.

"Just leave me alone," she muttered, staring down at the coffee table, hating letting him see her red eyes.

"But" he began.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she shouted, staring straight at him. He visibly shrank away from her.

"Fine," he granted her, turning around and beginning up the stairs again.

She let out a wet sob. He had done as she asked, so why did that make her so terribly sad? "Wait," she said softly, and it was a miracle he heard her, pausing on one of the stairs, his back to her. She held out her arms helplessly. "I need a hug," she admitted, going very red.

He turned, looking uneasily at her outstretched arms, and she wondered if he was pondering about how disgusting and unworthy she was, especially

with all the snot dripping from her nose that way. He came back down the stairs and stooped down beside her. "Buck up," he said simply, and placed a solitary fleeting kiss on her forehead. She sniffled and he rolled his eyes. "Fine, my lady," he said, and gave her a very short hug, patting her back uneasily. "But no more yelling at me for no good reason, got it?" And he retreated back up the stairs.

Good grief but she was a terrible wreck. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /////// "It's my birthday," Hermione revealed quietly to Fidget as she sipped her herbal tea. She had long since stopped drinking coffee, worried about the effects of caffeine on her pregnancy. It had taken her awhile to wean herself off of black and green teas as well, and was now sticking strictly to either decaffeinated or herbal tea.

Fidget clapped her hands together excitedly. "Is it really?" As Hermione nodded, Fidget slipped behind the counter to retrieve something. "In that

case," she said, "here." The twenty-something handed her what was unmistakably the yellow scarf she had used as an excuse to chase them down the day they'd first met.

Hermione smiled politely. "You sure?"

"Of course dear. Besides, it clashes with my hair." She pointed to her head, which currently sported maroon spikes, reminding Hermione greatly of Tonks.

"Thanks," she replied, wrapping the scarf around her neck.

"You and Derek have anything special planned for today?" the other woman asked, keeping her eye out for other customers.

Hermione shook her head. "Work, maybe something better for dinner than the leftovers we

had last night. Can you believe I have a craving for sardines on almond butter?"

"My favorite," Fidget replied teasingly. "Maybe Derek will be gentlemanly enough to get you some."

Hermione shook her head. "I might have a craving for it, but I've a feeling I'd get sick after one whiff of it."

"A great possibility," Fidget replied philosophically. "And here's lover boy now," she announced, motioning toward Malfoy, who had just exited the lavatory. "You take good care of this one today, got it?"

Malfoy looked left and right confusedly. "If you say so."

Fidget laughed, before gasping and ducking behind the counter. "Is he gone?" she asked softly.

Hermione turned slightly and just caught sight of Snape's billowing, grease-stricken hair as he passed by the window. "Yes," she answered, feeling her pulse rise a few beats.

Fidget stood again. "He's up to about once a week now. He's only come in a couple times." She bit down on her lip.

"How do you even know for sure that he's" Malfoy began.

"Oh, I don't," she replied, shifting her attention away from the window. "It's just this feeling, familiarity. That and he has my original nose," she admitted, grimacing.

"You mean" Hermione began.

"My mum let me get it magically altered after one of my cousins purposely slammed it in a doorway

what I was five." She shrugged. "After the trip to Mungo's I made a rash attempt to destroy my baby pictures." She pulled her purse out from under the counter. "Which was when I found this." She shoved a blurry photo of what was unmistakably a candid Snape, back half-turned, looking at an exhibit of frogspawn through a shop window on Diagon Alley. Despite the fact it was a magical picture, he didn't seem too keen on moving around to face them. "I've been half-convinced he's my dear old dad ever since, you know," she said, a slight amount of pain evident in her voice. Hermione squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Sam, it's time to go," Malfoy said, looking uneasily between the two females.

Hermione nodded and hopped to her feet. After waving goodbye to Fidget, who was now smiling genuinely, they began their trek down the street. "Is it too late to call in sick?" Hermione asked glumly.

"What? Both of us?" he asked amusedly.

"Well, no, maybe not both of us." Malfoy gave her an accusatory look. "What? It's my birthday, and I am just a bit nauseous from all this morning sickness."

"Yes, it is too late," he confirmed, clicking his tongue at her. "How dare you try to skive off your responsibilities," he mock-lectured.

"When did you get so high and mighty?" she retorted as he held the door open for her. But then she paused, very aware that Clarence was standing behind the counter next to an elderly woman, both of them wearing pointed birthday hats and smiling cheerfully, a good-sized birthday cake between them. "Did you?" she began, staring aghast at her pretend husband.

He shook his head. "Clarence's idea. He ran it by me yesterday after I'd mentioned today's significance."

Hermione grinned and turned her attention back to their elders. "Clarence!" she said giddily, and skipped around the counter to hug him.

"Happy birthday, Samantha," he said, clapping a cone-hat onto her head as well. "This is my wife, Hermione, by the way," he added, gesturing to the woman next to him.

Hermione's mouth began to drop, having never actually run into another woman with her name, but closed it before she could give herself away. "What a beautiful name," she praised, and Malfoy sniggered behind his hand.

"Call me Minnie, dearest," the other Hermione said, smiling sweetly. "Hermione sounds so oldfashioned," she added, making Hermione frown a bit. Malfoy sniggered again.

"Anyway," Clarence continued, "we've decided to give the two of you a day off. It shouldn't be

terribly busy today, so we'll handle things here." Minnie gave them both a wink.

"Just have a bit of cake," the woman continued for her husband, "and pick out a book, and you can go and do whatever you'd like."

"See that American film about children in a ballroom dancing competition," Clarence suggested candidly.

"A book?" Hermione asked, interest peaked.

Clarence nodded. "One book, free of charge, to all employees on their birthday."

Malfoy, who had gone ahead and helped himself to a large piece of strawberry almond cake, sent her a toothy grin. "Just what you wanted, eh?" he asked, waving his fork in the air.

"Perfect," Hermione praised, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, giddy with the prospect of cake, a new book, and no work all on one day. She straightened her new, used scarf, took her own piece of cake, and began searching the shelves for something of interest. Malfoy followed her at random into the next room. Hermione browsed the shelves, even though she'd already memorized most of their contents.

"How about a cookbook?" he suggested, plopping a piece of cake into his mouth and licking his fork clean.

She shook her head. "And benefit you?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Pregnancy book?" he suggested again, picking up a tome labeled Mama and Me. She shook her head again.

"No, I want something that will actually be fun to read: a novel," she explained.

He laughed. "Here I was thinking that since you like reading textbooks, for crying out loud, you'd want something informative."

"You know me so well," she praised him. "But no, not for my birthday." Instead she settled on Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Grey, and Other Selected Works, and headed back to the main room to thank Clarence and Minnie for their generosity, before giving them a final, cheerful wave goodbye, and departing with Malfoy.

"So," he said, as he discarded his paper plate and plastic fork, "I thought we might pick out baby things today."

Hermione paused in her cobblestone kicking to turn to him. "You mean it?"

"Unless you want that miniature human inside you to share a bunk with one of us, I'm thinking we'll need a crib, at the very least."

"And a changing table too would be nice," she added with a wink.

"Nappies," Malfoy said with a curl to his lip. "Sounds like a bed of roses if you ask me."

"Malfoy," Hermione said tentatively, after a minute of thoughtfulness, and also checking to make sure that there weren't any muggles around.

"First name please," he reminded, placing a finger to his nose.

"Draco," she continued," did you ever really plan on having children?"

"What sort of question is that, anyway?" he scoffed. "But yes, with a family like mine, I sort of have to, now don't I?"

"But did you consider the actual parental part? Did you want to have a little one of your own?"

He shrugged. "No more than the average bloke my age, especially in Slytherin. I mean, really, any guy who wants to have a baby at seventeen is barking."

Hermione sighed. "It's just plain different for girls then. You know when I was six or seven, I found an old shoulder pad and put it under my shirt and told my mum I was pregnant? Rather bothered her, I think. And I always had my dolls when I was little. Promised them that if they were good, I'd take them to the library."

"What a paramount reward system you have," he mock-praised.

After awhile they found their car and drove to a neighboring town where there was a store that sold such things as cribs, changing tables, and strollers. They wandered around for awhile, trying to decide

which items could actually fit in both their house and their car, before they were able to figure out that the store delivered.

"How about this?" Hermione asked, pointing out a crib with imprints of ducks and chicks along the headboard and footboard.

Malfoy half-shrugged. "There's nothing a little more manly?" he asked, disgruntled.

"Manly?" Hermione scoffed. "This is for a very young girl, need I remind you?"

He sighed discontentedly. "How about the mahogany one with the pink and white checkered lined?"

"And that's more manly?" she asked, smirking.

"At least it doesn't match our old kitchen," he pointed out.

"The mahogany it is," Hermione said, writing down the item number. "And matching changing table?"

"And matching changing table," he confirmed.

"Excellent." Hermione beamed and wandered over to a small selection of baby outfits, holding up a very tiny black velvet dress with lace around the cuffs. "Oh" she cooed, turning for his approval.

Malfoy nodded briefly and she chucked it in their cart. "Fidget's still planning that shower, right?" he asked.

"As far as I know," Hermione answered, picking out a pair of footy pajamas.

"Maybe we should register for gifts," he suggested.

Hermione nodded. "You know, I have no idea who would actually come to this party. If you narrow down the guest list to just women I know from around here, that's not a very large party, at all."

"Not that you have many girlfriends normally," he pointed out. She glared at him a bit. "But you know, Fidget was trying to wheedle some information out of me the other day. Who are your parents Other things I don't know regardless"

"And what did you answer?" she asked curiously.

"That they were living in Patagonia, and that you can only contact them via homing pigeons that were released in the Americas."

Hermione couldn't help it and laughed. "That's horrible!"

"And yet positively ingenious, if I may say so myself," he said, puffing out his chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Come on, let's get going."

He caught her hand. "We've got to register, remember?"

"Yes," she said, frowning, but not attempting to pull her hand from his. She had this horrible desire for him not to let go either, but he did. She fiddled for a while with the computer that let them register while he wrinkled his brow and kept poking aimlessly at the screen.

"Tell me how this thing works again?" he asked, as she sighed again for the thousandth time.

"It's too difficult to both explain and comprehend," she insisted, as she selected several items and put in their information.

"That's what you said about the television, the microwave, the telephone," he objected.

"But it's true," she said firmly. "If you wanted to know how electronics work, you should have taken muggle studies," she added in a whisper.

"But I didn't want to know then," he whined.

"Then read a book!" She punched the final button. "Alright, let's pay and go back home, shall we?" she asked.

"Let's," he agreed, steering the cart in the other direction. Hermione lagged behind as they went through the checkout, looking curiously at a display of bibs. Malfoy waved for her to hurry up as he finished paying, and they left the store. By then it was mid-afternoon already and Hermione was absolutely famished.

"Let's go home and get something to eat," she suggested, as he turned the car around and pulled onto the motorway.

"No," he said firmly, causing Hermione to frown.

"No? Why ever not?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

He groaned, as if inwardly debating something with himself. "Look, I'm only going to do this once, okay? I'm taking you out for dinner."

Hermione turned surprised eyes on him. "But we've gone out for dinner lots of times," she objected. Unless he meant but surely he wasn't taking her out on a date, of all things.

"To McDonalds, but never anywhere remotely nice," he corrected.

Hermione's throat went dry. "You mean are we going, er, out?" she asked uncertainly.

"Sort of necessary if you aren't eating at home," he said, frowning.

"I mean, out out?" she asked, her cheeks turning pinker by the second. "Like" How she hoped he'd catch her meaning without actually having to say the words.

Suddenly his face screwed up. "Ew, no! This isn't a date, you crazy bint," he stated. "Just a birthday celebration between"

"Friends?" Hermione suggested meekly, sinking further down into her seat.

"Well, no, we aren't friends, but" Now he colored. "Look, do we really have to have a definition to go grab a bite to eat together?"

"I suppose not," she answered, staring nervously at her feet.

"Good," he said firmly, "then that's what we're doing. We're going to go grab a bite to eat together."

"But isn't it a bit early for dinner?" she asked, checking her watch and reaffirming that it was only a quarter past three.

"Well, we have to go home and change first," he explained. "And then there's driving time to account for."

"Right," she said, wondering lamely why he wanted to change clothes if this was such an innocent dinner between non-friends. She stayed silent as they drew closer to their house, and by then realized a rather intense need to pee. As he claimed the downstairs bathroom, Hermione, rather peeved, went upstairs.

He had left his sock drawer open again, she noticed, on her way out of the loo, feeling

considerably better. Boys can't live with them, she decided, as she made to close the drawer. That was when she saw it. There was a small, velvet box wedged in between two rolled up pairs of dress socks. She caught her breath as she opened it, revealing the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen.

Oh God.

Just then she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs and she snapped the box closed and hastily shoved the drawer shut, hands trembling.

Draco Malfoy was going to propose to her Her heart fluttered. And she was just about certain she'd say yes. /////////////////////////////////////////// Hermione dressed in such a hurried, harassed way that it was a small miracle that she didn't rip her nylons as she pulled them on over her toes. When she finally allowed Draco in, (she figured she should finally start referring to him mentally as such,) she didn't quite meet his eyes and skimmed

past him out the bedroom door. She had seen his somewhat puzzled expression through her peripheral vision, but decided to let it be for the time being. She went and sat in the living room on the couch, rubbing at her face and trying to think in a way that she would deem Hermione-like, but she just seemed to keep ending up Parvati-like. She couldn't believe that he would leave something like that so out in the openreally, in an open drawer? Was he demented? What sort of person leaves an engagement ring somewhere where the potential fiance could manage to find it? Unless it wasn't actually meant for her, but that was certainly doubtful. Who else could he ask? Fidget? Yeah, right, that was a laugh. She believed he was the sort of person who would choose a "mudblood" over a squib any day.

And sweet Merlin, did he still think of her in those terms? He had been living among muggles this whole time. Maybe he had finally gotten past his prejudice. She was the only witch he'd seen in a few months. Ideally, she'd like to think that in a perfect world, Draco Malfoy would overcome all prejudice and settle down with a muggle in a third world country somewhere, but that would leave

Hermione herself a little high and dry. She was just selfish enough to gladly admit that that wouldn't actually happen, nor did she want it to happen, though it would do a world of good to his superego.

In any case, they would be here together in the muggle world, pretending to be a happily married couple with a child for an indefinite amount of time, and so long as she and possibly, probably, hopefully he were starting to feel something toward one another, it was the only logical route.

When the sound of his footfalls coming down the stairs alerted her to his presence, she half-turned to get a proper look at him. It might have just been the crazy, twirling hormones that had recently ransacked her system, but he looked very good to her. Very good indeed. So good, in fact, that her heart actually felt like it had torn loose from her ribcage to fly like a little golden snitch about the room.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, raising one of his gorgeous blond brows at her.

"Hmm? Fine, why?" she asked, unaware.

"You're staring at me," he accused, grabbing the car keys and jingling them unconsciously.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, rising from the couch. Her bladder already felt full again. She was fairly sure that that shouldn't start happening for a few more months, when the baby starts to press up against the offending organ, but her nerves might have also been to blame.

"I... suppose not," he said, giving her a final look before lowering his eyebrow again. He was wearing his dark gray dress shirt, Hermione noted gleefully. She loved that shirt. Would it be terribly open for her to offer him her arm? She decided against it. "Well, come on, birthday witch. Reservations are calling," he said, holding the door open for her.

"Thank you," she said, scuttling past him, her eyes resolutely on the ground again. It wasn't exactly

that she wanted to marry him, per se, but it certainly didn't sound objectable at the moment.

Bob Brewster was doing some late afternoon watering as they went out. He flashed her a grin, and, if she wasn't mistaken, he sent Draco a double thumbs up. Draco groaned a little and averted his gaze from their nuisance of a neighbor.

"Off we go," Hermione said in a falsely cheerful voice, as they began to accelerate down the road.

"Yeah, sure," was his reply, as he drove the car further down the street. "How bizarre is it that I'm driving a muggle car, anyway?" he added a moment later.

"Um," Hermione began, wondering if he was trying to throw her off the scent by talking randomly about anything besides them, "a bit bizarre, yes."

"I mean, seriously," he continued, "if my father saw us right now, he'd have a heart attack. Actually, first he'd cast an Avada, then he'd have a heart attack."

Hermione just nodded. Really, what else could she do in reply to that?

"And that's assuming he didn't recognize you straight off," he added. "Son, a proper pureblood like yourself should not be consorting with Mudbloods while operating a muggle contraption. Thirty lashes!" He chuckled.

"So," Hermione interrupted, "where are we going?"

He looked startled for a moment. "Some restaurant I found in the phone book. They had a big ad, so I figured that if they can afford that, they should be fairly decent."

"Not necessarily," Hermione said carefully, now wondering just where exactly they were going, and if it was anything similar to that restaurant in her head with all the white table clothes where her prospective fiance would get down on one knee and... She shook her head. She was getting carried away. In any case, the place took reservations, and despite Draco's limited knowledge of the muggle world, she was fairly sure he knew enough to be able to pick out a high class restaurant when need be. So it wouldn't be a fast food joint, hopefully. Maybe somewhere with steak. Mm... steak. And mashed potatoes...

"Granger, you're drooling," he noted, temporarily lapsing into his old habits of using her surname.

"Sorry," she muttered embarrassedly, wiping at her mouth. "No lunch," she added in explanation. She wanted to die just then, crumple up into some little ball somewhere because she had drooled in front of the man who was going to propose to her. She might have just blown her chance. Be cool, Hermione, be cool.

"We'll have to order hors d'oeuvres then," he said coolly. That perked her right up again. He hadn't made fun of her! Calloo, kaleigh! She never thought she'd live to see the day. "Ah, here we are," he said, parallel parking next to a dark building with bright sconces that lit up its name.

"Chez Delish," Hermione said slowly. Now why did that name seem familiar? He came around and gave her a helping hand out of the car. She was having increased difficulty with her slight weight gain and the tiny car as of late, and adding to the fact that she was currently wearing a dress and high heels (which were a pain because her ankles were beginning to swell) made things all that much more difficult. And so, with her heart beginning to hammer against her chest all the more, they entered the restaurant.

"Jones, party of two," Draco informed the hostess, who motioned with one of her red, glossy fingernails for them to follow her. They sat down,

one across from the other, at the tiny table for two situated off toward the side, and somewhat secluded because of a large, fake, flowering plant. "I've never understood fake plants," he commented randomly. "I mean, do they give off oxygen? No. So what's the point?"

"Well," Hermione said slowly, taking a quick sip from her glass of ice water, "they're guaranteed not to die on you, you don't have to take care of them, and they always look perfect."

"That's about as bloody exciting as having a stuffed animal instead of a dog," he commented.

"Well, I'm not saying I prefer fake plants. I like real ones a lot more, but for strictly decorational purposes..." She couldn't believe they were having a conversation about fake versus real plants when he had a ring to give her!

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, leaning back further in his chair. "You look good tonight," he commented,

a little too nonchalantly. "Do something different to your hair?"

Hermione flashed him a nervous smile. "You noticed," she remarked. "Actually I usually use shampoo, but I read somewhere that if you use lemon juice and conditioner, it's actually better for curly hair" she began, but was cut off by the appearance of their waiter.

"Here are your menus, and can I start you off with anything to drink, or any appetizers?" he asked smoothly, removing a pen and a notepad from his apron pocket.

Draco ran his finger down the list of drinks and ordered himself something alcoholic, while Hermione meekly ordered a glass of milk, holding up her hands innocently and explaining that it was better for her condition than soda, or, heaven forbid, beer. "And the sampler platter," Draco finished off, and the waiter scuttled away with their order. Draco turned back to her. "So, what looks good to you?" he asked, opening up his menu.

Hermione, who had just noticed how crisp and white the tablecloth was, didn't answer at first. She silently turned to her own menu. "I think I'll have a steak with a side of mashed potatoes," she answered at last, remembering her earlier reason for drooling.

"That looked good to me as well," he said, sounding somewhat miffed. "But I think I'll be bold and get these 'baby back ribs,'" he said, as if the name was foreign to him.

"Those are messy," she warned, suddenly getting a vision of him down on one knee holding her hand and getting her completely sticky with barbecue sauce. Wouldn't Madelyn love that story?

"Are they?" he asked, glancing down at his crisp, clean shirt. "Maybe I'll get the steak too, then," he said succinctly.

Hermione subconsciously exhaled in relief. A minute or two later, their waiter returned with their sampler platter, and Draco picked up a jalopeno popper, sniffed at it, and ate it greedily. Great, maybe she didn't want to kiss him at the end of the night after all.

As they waited for their food, Hermione began drumming on the table with her fingernails. She had started growing them out and they were now a respectable length.

"Are you okay?" he repeated, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She nodded emphatically, but continued drumming on the table. She had suddenly gotten a horrible idea into her head. He couldn't propose to her here. This was a muggle restaurant. They were supposed to be married already. But what if he hadn't realized that?

Their food arrived after a twenty minute wait and she watched as he began tearing into his steak without regard for the table manners he usually displayed. She followed suit, of course. If he could

be so carefree when he was the one who should be nervous, then there wasn't a reason for her to get so jumpy. "Enjoying your birthday so far?" he asked, looking up after he'd drained his drink.

"So far?" she asked hopefully.

He squinted. "Uh, yeah, as in, up until this point in time?"

She leaned back into her seat. "Yes," she answered simply. "But is there more?"

He looked around helplessly. "We could order dessert," he said, looking dazzled.

She sighed. He was just playing innocent, wasn't he? After they had finished their meals and Draco ordered them each a slice of cheesecake, they sat in silence. Any minute now, Hermione thought to herself, trying her best to look casual. But dessert came and went and he still hadn't done anything

remotely suspicious, like say he'd left something in the car, or that he needed to use the bathroom, or that he'd dropped his napkin and needed to pick it up and oh, look what was under the table, would you like it?

And then they were leaving. They were leaving the restaurant. She just couldn't get over the fact. But maybe he preferred to do this in privacy? Away from prying muggle ears that already believed them to be wed?

They got in the car and he started it up like it was the most normal thing in the world, which it sort of was. And then he drove, and they got out in their driveway, and unlocked the door, and they were standing in their living room, completely as if nothing had happened. This had to be it. Maybe he had forgotten to take it out of his sock drawer. His pants pockets did look awfully flat. Or maybe he'd left it here on purpose. She watched mutely as he went to the couch, sat down, and flicked on the telly the same way he might after a hard day at the bookstore. But he did motion her over to sit down next to him. At least he did that. Maybe he'd called

some television station and arranged for them to flash "Will you marry me?" onto the screen. No, that just didn't seem like his style.

Crookshanks hopped leisurely onto the couch between them and started to purr. An hour passed. Two hours. "Well, happy birthday, Grangy," he said, and patted her head once. "I think I'll head."

Maybe... now? She followed him up the stairs, but he didn't flinch in the slightest. He just went up to his dresser, pulled out a pair of black silk pajamas, and went straight into the bathroom. And when he came out, he climbed up into his top bunk, rolled over, and must have gone out like a light because she heard snores only a minute later, as she continued to just stare at him. She retrieved her own pajamas and went silently into the bathroom, at which point she allowed herself one sob, and one sob alone. Maybe he was saving it for later, who knew? Certainly not her, anyway. She climbed carefully into the lower bunk, staring up at the underside of his mattress. Men may not understand the minds of women, but no one ever said that women understand the minds of men.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Draco watched silently as Hermione slept. She had acted so peculiarly at dinner the night before. Despite his insistence that it wasn't a date, he had a funny feeling that it actually had been. He had paid after all; she had worn a dress; he had worn his shirt that he knew made her gulp nervously. He had even had that itchy feeling in his fingertips that had tried to force him to reach over and hold her hand. He had relented slightly to his urges and had been a gentleman, for the most part, and he'd also allowed himself to let her know that she was looking good. She had never seemed to look quite that good back at school. Except for that one night in fourth year at the Yule Ball, but Pansy had been busy trying to distract him every time he tried to get a better look at the transformation of the bookworm beaver girl into a fairy princess.

Had he really just thought that? Tell him he hadn't just thought that.

And now he was just looming over her like a psycho, wondering if there was a way to date her without her actually knowing that that was what they were doing. It had taken him several long nights of pretend-sleeping to finally admit to himself that he was attracted to her, physically and mentally. She was pretty, and there was certainly no denying that she was smart. She was also a bit of a nutso, but he actually found himself realizing that he found that endearing rather than repulsive. And she was awfully nice to him. Merlin did he usually hate "nice." Nice was supposed to be a weakness reserved for those who just didn't know that it was more profitable to be cunning and a briber.

It had also taken him awhile to rid himself of the God-awful feeling that she was being nice to him the same way she was nice to house-elves. Not because it was personal, but because she believed in the life and liberty of all living beings. (He halfwondered why she wasn't a vegetarian, or a fruitarian for that matter.) He would kill himself if he was just another of her little projects.

Here he was, Draco Malfoy, the son of the Dark Lord's right-hand man, pondering the workings of his heart in the area of a muggleborn girl. He'd gone soft. Way, way soft, though she would certainly disagree and praise him instead. But if anyone from Slytherin could see him now, he'd be made fun of ruthlessly. Heck, even Goyle would make fun of him, the oaf.

But that was the good thing about being in a witness protection program: no one was any the wiser. Everyone, hopefully, believed him to be dead, with the exception of a scant few, Snape included. (And Fidget certainly made a pleasant bargaining chip should he ever need one.) So, really, for the most part he was free to do as he pleased, even if that involved acting completely out of character for him and feeling... ugh, mushy feelings for a mudblood who was carrying his child. Because who would know? Not Goyle, in any case.

He watched her sleep for a minute or so more before sneaking quietly into the bathroom for a shower.

She was oddly sullen, he noted later as they ate breakfast together. It was easy to tell. Her only words all morning had been "yes," "no," and "thanks," all of which had been so soft he had barely been able to hear them. Currently, she was only stirring her oatmeal, rather than eating it, and it had gone cold about twenty minutes earlier. And she wasn't making eye contact. That was what worried him.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, looking quizzically her way. She shrugged, and licked a single oat from her spoon, chewed it, and didn't swallow. She was worse than a Quidditch player before his first game. "Maybe I should call the store and tell them you're sick?" he asked.

"There's a shipment coming in, they need me," she replied, quietly again. She stopped stirring and let her wrist come to a rest on the edge of the table.

"Everything's all right with the baby?" he asked. He wasn't sure, but it looked like he saw her twitch.

"She's fine," she answered, a little more forcefully.

"You aren't cross with me, are you?" he asked.

"No," she ground out, which gave him the distinct impression that she actually meant yes. What could he have done to merit such a harsh case of silent treatment?

"Okay," he answered uneasily, and made to take her bowl, but she held onto it quickly, so he let go.

Work was only slightly better. Her usual genial manner with the customers seemed to be out the window, and she had a very forced smile plastered on her face. She even turned down a trip to the coffee shop to see Fidget during their break, instead opting to sit in the back room, alone and with her arms crossed. He had tried to join her, he really had, but he was forced to chicken out by the look of pure contempt on her normally sunny face. Even Clarence seemed to detect that something

was awry with his employee of the month, and gave her an extra large piece of yesterday's birthday cake, which she proceeded to consume in a way that slightly resembled murder.

The following morning she seemed slightly more put together, though still not what he would deem as normal. She was more talkative, though it was mostly in the form of chewing him out. She was pleasant enough to the customers, and gave Clarence a hug "just for being so nice" but still gave Draco the impression that she was working through a personal vendetta against him.

But the day after that, some rude customer must have said the wrong thing, because before Draco could do anything to prevent it, Hermione was in hot, angry tears and went to hide in the office for two hours before she finally came out, chin in the air, daring him to comment. Needless to say, Draco was starting to feel uneasy, and he wished terribly that he knew just what it was he had supposedly done.

She didn't get upset again for the remainder of September, though she was still quiet, and rarely looked him directly in the eye.

On Halloween she seemed the closest to "normal" as she'd ever been around him. She talked, laughed, and drank four cups of Fidget's homemade pumpkin juice that she had served at the coffee shop just for the occasion. She even dressed up, a tradition he hadn't even realized existed, wearing a full blown "witch" costume, complete with green face paint and a wart on her nose. Fidget had invited them to a Halloween party she was hosting, and Hermione actually yanked him to his feet, forcing him to dance with her. It was the closest she'd gotten to him since before the ennui had set in, and he wondered if the pumpkin juice had actually been spiked, especially when she actually smoothed her hand through his hair. And then some song called "Monster Mash" started and she went into some hysterical, semi-violent dance moves that forced him to back away, lest she accidentally sock him with one of her flailing hands.

By then she was four months pregnant and her morning sickness had ended, much to both of their relief.

It was almost exactly a month later on December 2nd that Draco came to the abrupt realization that he was in love. /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// December 2nd was a cold day, and Draco woke feeling an inexplicable need to stay right where he was and never get up again. Through the single curtain in their bedroom he could see the darkness that nearly engulfed a large and overbearing oak tree in their back yard. It was raining. From the soft sound of breathing coming from just a meter below him, he knew that Hermione was still fast asleep. Thank the Almighty it was a Sunday and they didn't have work. But instead of staying in his nice, cozy, and, most important of all, warm covers, he got up, slid to the floor, and tiptoed past the pregnant and sleeping young woman in the lower bunk. "Draco?" she mumbled.

He froze. She rarely used his first name lately. "Yes?" His heart was hammering. Every time she had spoken to him over the last two months it seemed like his heart would speed up on its own accord.

"I think Crookshanks got shut in the loo," was her half-asleep reply. "Be a dear and let him out."

Dear. Be a dear, she'd said. The word popped out at him like those jack-in-the-box toys muggle children occasionally play with. "All right," he whispered. The door to their master bathroom was wide open, so he crept downstairs and, sure enough, one very large orange paw sporting spiky claws was swatting at nothing from underneath the doorway of their half-bath. He opened the door and the feline sauntered past, nudging his head against Draco's leg for a moment in silent thank you. Well, at least someone around here appreciated him.

His own visit to the loo and a cup of coffee later, and Hermione came down to the kitchen to join him. She looked happier this morning for some

reason. It almost frightened him when she was happy. "Want some breakfast?" she asked, peering inside of their refrigerator and pulling out a pitcher of orange juice. She paused, halfway to setting the pitcher on the table, a queer expression on her face. "Oh..."

"What's wrong?" he asked, startled and taking the juice from her. She put a hand to her stomach.

"She's kicking!" There was a small smile on her face.

"Get out, is she really?" he asked, setting the pitcher on the table and staring down at where her hand was currently placed on her abdomen.

She nodded. "You've got to feel this!" Without waiting, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach, her own hand pressing on his. Her stomach was soft through the fabric of her nightshirt, was the first thing that past through his head. But then he felt it, almost like there was a hand

inside her, flicking its finger, though really it was a tiny foot.

"That's incredible," he breathed. "So there really is someone in there after all..."

Hermione nodded, a shy grin plastered on her face. "So there is." Her hand was still on his, he noted. Deftly he moved his own and gave hers a squeeze.

"This calls for celebration! I'm making you breakfast. Both of you," he added as an afterthought, moving to grab a cookbook from the shelf.

"I don't know, maybe we'd be better going out," she replied, snickering and easing herself into a chair. Out to breakfast, Draco had to remind himself. Not "going out" as in "going out together on a series of dates that ultimately lead to happily ever after." He had to shake his head. His mind seemed oddly one-tracked lately. "Well, why not?"

she asked, obviously misinterpreting the head shake.

"No, that is, I just found my recipe," he said. He had to turn away because he suddenly felt his cheeks flaring up, and Malfoys were strictly not allowed to blush. Sadly though, the page he'd turned to in the cookbook was labeled veal chops, and that most definitely wasn't his idea of a romantic... correction, celebratory breakfast. "Why don't you go take a shower?"

"Do I really reek all that much?" she asked, looking somewhat affronted.

"Or read a book," he added. "Just... this will take a while," he ended lamely.

"Okay," she said, giving him an odd look and excusing herself from the kitchen. Draco hastily looked up a recipe for waffles, remembered that they didn't own a waffle iron, and looked up pancakes instead.

"All right," he sighed, thinking fleetingly of how nice it would be to have a house-elf just about now. (Though she would love that.) He got out all of his ingredients, turned on a burner, and began mixing up his batter. He'd just poured the first one into the frying pan when he heard her.

"Bad boy, Crookshanks!" Hermione yelled, preceding the sound of something breaking. Lickety split, Draco was through the door and in the living room, staring around wildly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his heart hammering again.

She groaned. "Crookshanks scratched me," she announced, holding up her wounded finger. "Then he knocked over the lamp."

Draco stared somewhat transfixed at the blood that was seeping from her finger. It was so red and... pure. "Hold on," he commanded, and went to

grab their bottle of rubbing alcohol (the only alcohol she now allowed in the house) and a bandage. Hermione held her finger out tentatively as he disinfected it and wrapped it in the band-aid. Was it just him or was the room warming up? He kissed her finger over the bandage, and gave her hand a squeeze. "There, all better," he said, looking up at her. She was staring back at him. It occurred to him that he was kneeling down on the floor in front of her holding her injured hand in his own. Looking up into her chocolate-brown orbs that were currently staring so transfixedly at his own gray eyes, he suddenly couldn't help it and his eyes strayed down the few inches to her lips. And he stood, her hand still in his own, and placed his other behind her head. Her eyes widened slightly, but she allowed the gap to close between them, Draco bending over her stomach to capture her lips in his own.

Ecstasy, that was the word to describe it. Complete and utter ecstasy, the way her lips molded to his and her remaining hand went to tangle itself in his own hair. He moved closer to her, as close as he dared without doing damage to her pregnant belly, his mouth lingering longer than he had dared in

even the most blurry of forgotten dreams. She moaned, and he suddenly tasted salt. "What...?" She was crying, but looking rapturous while doing so. His thumb came up and wiped away her tears, and quite suddenly he knew what had to be done. "Stay here," he pleaded, backing a couple steps away and motioning to her to stay put.

He ran all the way up the stairs to his bedroom. His heart was pounding, but he knew what he had to do, now or never. He practically yanked his sock drawer from the dresser, placed it on the bed, and went diving through rolls and rolls of socks, before grabbing his metaphorical snitch and fisting it. The blood was pounding in his ears and he was dimly aware of some foreign sounds coming from below. He was bounding down the steps, two at a time, and then... He froze, nearly tripping, as his eyes came to rest on the scene that was rapidly unfolding in the room in front of him. There was Hermione, eyes wide and tears completely vanished, and there in front of her were two unlikely people, staring as indignantly back at her as was possible.

"Harry... Ron?" she gasped. No! Draco's mind announced, No! The other two men, who looked oddly young next to aging potion affected Hermione Granger, were each holding a small bouquet of flowers. "It's not what you think!" she practically screamed, and for a moment Draco was lost, until he realized that she was referring to her rather obvious pregnant state.

"Not what we..." Weasley sputtered. "Hermione... you're..." He couldn't seem to finish his sentence.

Her eyes flicked to Draco for a second, silently pleading with him to stay quiet. "Unconventionally pregnant," she finished, emphasizing the word "unconventionally" as if hoping it would save her life.

"What..." Potter began, seemingly in as much of a loss as his red-headed companion.

Draco slipped the item in his fist into his pocket, and despite her wishes, spoke up. "It was a

pregnancy lozenge," he declared, trying his best to keep her honor in tact.

Both boys spun around, apparently not having noticed his presence until just that moment. "YOU!" Weasley screeched. "You did this to her, didn't you?"

"If by 'did' you mean that I didn't fight off an old man when he plucked a hair off of my head and put it in a potion, then yes," he answered in a monotone.

Weasley sputtered again, "What are you talking about, Ferret?"

Hermione made a move to try and explain, but by then Draco had already made a fist and was smacking it against his hand menacingly. "You want a red nose to go with that red hair, Weasel?" But Potter had already started swinging and Draco was bent over double clutching his gut.

"HARRY!" Hermione scolded, quickly approaching and pulling the black-haired git away. "He didn't do anything!" And, much to Draco's enormous surprise, Hermione slapped Harry Potter, and then Ron Weasley, and quite hard at that. "Now will you shut UP and listen?" Both boys looked about as equally surprised as Draco did, and backed away immediately. "Draco," she glared at him, "started a rumor that I was pregnant. So we went to the ministry to try and remedy it, and, without our consent, they got me pregnant by giving me a pregnancy lozenge. So if you want to beat someone up, I suggest that pea-brain Tibbs."

"You," Potter began, "you called him Draco!"

"It's his name, Harry, get over it," she replied, still fuming.

"Iwanaseeyurbedroom," Weasley spat, still looking disbelieving.

"English, Ron, please," she demanded.

"I said, I want to see you bedroom," he growled.

Hermione frowned. "If it's proof you want, then go ahead!"

With Draco in the rear, they trudged up the stairs single file, where Hermione slammed open the door. And then she gasped. Draco came to a sudden halt, having to shove Weasley out of the way to see what was going on. He was about to die. Somehow or another, their bedroom had miraculously transformed from one containing a bunk bed to one containing a very large king-sized bed, complete with sock drawer still splayed out upon it. "It wasn't like that two minutes ago!" he attested, all due panic entering his voice. "I SWEAR!"

"Visitors!" Hermione shrieked. "We've never had visitors in here! The room changed to keep our identity a secret!" She looked near tears, though at the same time she seemed to be eyeing the sock drawer reverently.

"We had bunk beds!" Draco shouted, hands in the air.

"Fine!" Potter shouted. "We believe you!"

"We do?" Weasley asked.

"Yes, because Hermione would never come close to touching a vile snake like him," he said, jerking his thumb in Draco's direction.

Hermione fidgeted. "Do you... does anyone else smell smoke?" she asked.

Draco's eyes widened. "My pancakes!"

"Malfoy was making..." Weasley began, but at that moment the fire alarm went off.

"Bugger it all!" Draco screeched, taking the steps three at a time and skidding to a halt in the kitchen, the golden trio hot on his trail. "Stand back!" he cried valiantly to his lady love (there would be time to ponder that title more thoroughly later,) and poured the rest of the batter over the fire, putting it out immediately. But now the kitchen was smoky, the celebratory breakfast was ruined, he still hadn't proposed, and everything seemed to be coming up Potter and Weasley. "What are the two of you doing here anyway?" he asked, sitting down unceremoniously in a chair.

"We need Hermione," Potter answered, wiping the bit of soot and pancake batter from his glasses. Weasley nodded in agreement. "We got permission to take her back to Grimmauld Place, what with you being all adjusted to muggle life, and all that jazz. Though I hardly thought you'd be this adjusted," he added in an undertone.

"Will I be coming back?" Hermione asked, suddenly looking nervous.

Potter shrugged. "Hard to tell. You've been officially excused from the program, we even have an R.S.O.R., reasonable situation of reappearance, in order for you."

Hermione gasped, and sat down at the table, opposite Draco. "You mean, I'll be able to use my magic again?"

"Don't see why not," Weasley stated, giving her a cheesy smile. The pit of Draco's stomach felt like it had just sunk about then feet under the floor boards.

"But," he began, "how I am I to explain the disappearance of my wife?"

"She left you," Weasley offered sweetly, "for your grandfather."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. Her eyes flickered to Draco for a moment. "Just say I'm off visiting my

parents in Patagonia for a while." Her mouth turned pouty. "I guess this means I'll be missing my baby shower, won't it?"

"You'll be missing a lot of things," Draco replied, just as sadly.

She nodded. "You'll give my love to Fidget and Clarence, won't you?"

"Who are Fidget and Clarence?" Weasley asked curiously, eyeing them both.

"Clarence is our boss," Hermione began.

"And Fidget is Snape's semi-gothic estranged squib daughter who works at the local coffee shop," Draco answered breezily.

"You're kidding!" Potter said, at the same time as Weasley spat, "No way!"

"True," Draco answered. His eyes wandered briefly to Hermione's again, a feeling of pain passing through his heart. "And by the way, Snape thinks we eloped," he added.

Twin expressions of disgust passed through their faces. "We'd better get going," Potter announced, glancing briefly at his watch.

"I, I need to pack," Hermione announced, faltering. Her eyes drifted back to Draco again. "Draco, will you help me, since you know where everything is?" she asked.

Weasley and Potter looked about to object, but she held up a hand. "Why don't the two of you find me something to eat from the fridge, since my breakfast was so obviously ruined by your interruption?" They nodded, though grudgingly.

Draco stood and followed her slowly up the stairs and into their bedroom, where their bed had

remained steadfastly large. She turned to him. "I... I just wanted to say, yes."

"Yes?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"Yes to the sock drawer, and yes to this." Much to his great surprise, she reached her hand inside his pants pocket and removed the tiny velvet jewelry box. "Yes," she emphasized.

"You... knew?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.

She nodded. "Since my birthday. That's, er, why I've been so horrid these last few months." She paused. "You were going to ask... right?"

"Of course," he answered. "Hermione, I..." But she'd already draped her arms around his neck.

"I'll be back, I promise. We'll get Voldemort out of the way, and then..." She felt so fragile in his arms.

"And if the baby comes first?" he asked.

"I'll find a way to let you know," she answered, and kissed him lightly on the nose. There was the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

"I love you," he added, as she pulled away from him and pretended to be packing her things.

"I..." she was cut off by Weasley's head popping through the door way.

"Can I help?" he asked, looking cryptically at Draco.

"Sure," she answered, and tossed him a suitcase. Draco was sure going to miss her. He watched with some small amusement as she placed the velvet ring box deftly into one of the pockets in her suitcase while Weasley wasn't looking. He was in love.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Do you..." Ron began, "do you think there's something going on between Hermione and Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "I hope not."

"It's just... did you notice that they kept making googley eyes at each other?"

Harry looked down at the slice of bread he was spreading peanut butter on and shrugged. "Well, it's been four months. They were bound to... get closer," he finished, opening the jar of jelly with a little too much relish.

"But the googley eyes. You did notice that, didn't you?" Ron prompted.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I did. And the way she just made an excuse to be alone with him. And how he kind of kept defending her, and vice versa." He pulled a face.

"I'm going up there," Ron said, looking wistfully at the door.

"Suit yourself." Ron nodded in reply and left the kitchen, beginning his ascent of the stairs. He could hear whispering, and the door was closed. Carefully, he pushed it open and stuck his head through.

"I..." Hermione had started.

"Can I help?" Ron interrupted, taking a surreptitious glance in the direction of one Draco Malfoy.

"Sure," Hermione replied, and tossed a suitcase to him. Malfoy was just sort of standing there, staring at her.

"Anyway," Ron continued, frowning slightly, "Harry and I are sure glad to have you back. We've missed you, not to mention that Mum was in hysterics thinking you'd died. She'll probably have my head when she finds out you weren't dead after all, and that I knew about it."

"About that," Hermione began, frowning also, "I don't know if it's such a good idea for me to be making a sudden reappearance. I mean, people will start wondering if I suddenly show up five months pregnant, and I can't have the aging potion reversed until after the baby is born."

"Why not?" Ron asked, staring at Malfoy from the corner of his eye.

"Because then the baby will get younger too and 'poof,' she'll be out of existence," she explained, grimacing at the thought.

"Would that be so bad?" Ron began, before Malfoy interrupted him with an angry, "Hey!"

"That's my daughter you're talking about Weasel, so I'd watch what you say, if you know what's good for you," he said, crossing his arms and practically staring a hole through him.

"When did you get so parental?" Ron shot back, sticking his nose in the air.

"Since I became a parent. Duh," was his response.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "So it's a girl, then? Got a... name picked out?"

Hermione nodded, and smiled. "Yep. This is little Madelyn Malfoy," she said, patting her stomach.

Ron grimaced. "You're giving her his last name? You must be barking, 'Mione."

"He's the father, Ronald. Grow up a little, will you?" she spat back.

"Good grief," Ron grumbled, frowning. "Harry made you a sandwich downstairs. Is there much more to pack?"

"Just a bit," Hermione replied, pulling out another drawer and starting to stash maternity pants and regular pants into another suitcase. Malfoy had grudgingly left to grab her toothbrush and other toiletries. When he returned, Hermione had just snapped her old school trunk closed. "Done," she announced.

Ron stood, stretching, when his eyes found something in the far corner of the room that he had failed to notice earlier. "Nice crib," he said none too enthusiastically. "Very pink."

Hermione stood also and sighed, giving Malfoy a wistful look. "I guess I should be taking those things as well."

"They won't be doing me a whole lot of good," Malfoy remarked, stepping across the room and holding up a tiny baby's dress. "This isn't even my size." Hermione chuckled.

"You sure, Ferret? I could probably engorge that for you," Ron offered, sneering.

"Somehow I think I'll have to reject your tempting offer, Weasel," he replied coolly. "But maybe it would look good on you. Try it on when you get back, will you?"

Hermione smacked her forehead in frustration. "Boys," she said.

"Correction, one boy, one man," Ron said, giving Malfoy a saccharine smile.

"One guess which is which, eh?" Malfoy replied, equally sweetly.

Hermione took either of them by the ear. "Okay you two, start using those manly and boyish muscles and take these down for me, or I shall be severely put out."

"Yes Mum," Ron began at the same time Malfoy said, "Yes dear." Ron shot him a look.

"Guess that solves the earlier conundrum, son," Malfoy replied, laughing and grabbing the two suitcases. Ron grudgingly began pulling the trunk down the stairs after him, grimacing. Hermione followed shortly with the few light things they had packed.

Downstairs, Harry had been waiting, sandwich in hand and staring at their book case. "Just how many of these are Hermione's?" he asked. "The lot of them?"

"All but the top row," Malfoy informed, setting down the suit cases, while Ron breathlessly slammed down the trunk.

"So the copy of Expectant Mothers, and What to Expect is yours, then?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, I thought I'd give this whole pregnancy thing a whirl for myself... No, Potter, of course not. It just got misplaced," Malfoy replied sarcastically as Hermione came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Is that sandwich for me?" Hermione interrupted, putting down her things and tugging the plate from Harry's hands, before tucking in.

"You want some sardines in that?" Malfoy asked casually. While Harry and Ron's eyebrows shot up, Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "It's called a craving, you ninnies," he explained, pushing past them into the kitchen.

"Go and get the rest of the baby's things from upstairs, will you?" Hermione prompted Harry and Ron. They nodded, and hurried up the stairs, hauling the larger items down after them.

Meanwhile, Hermione herself popped into the kitchen. Draco turned to look at her, frowning slightly. "I was going to say earlier, that I love you, too," she said, suddenly feeling her face go red, and staring as best she could at her feet. He took three steps across the room to lift her chin up.

"I'll be here waiting," he said simply, and bent to deliver a lingering kiss. "Sardines?" he asked, shoving a couple in her face as soon as they had broken off. She smiled and took them by their fins.

"Hermione! Get a start on packing your books!" Harry called from the stairs.

"Better yet, get Malfoy to do it!" Ron added, sniggering.

Hermione gave him a sad smile. "Would you be so kind?"

He nodded. "You just eat that disgusting sandwich of yours," he replied, pushing her gently out the door before him.

"I resent your lack of enthusiasm for the PBJ & S sandwich," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Not too long from now, you'll be in agreement with me," he replied, and began packing her books into a few large boxes that were still hanging around from the delivery of their baby things.

"Done," Harry announced, breathing deeply as he set down the crib with a large "kerplop."

"How are we travelling, anyway?" Hermione asked, swallowing a bit of sardine.

"Portkey," Ron announced, holding up a rabbit's foot.

"And it's set to go off in about five minutes, so we best get a move on," Harry added, moving to help shove books into boxes.

Hermione finished off her sandwich, took her plate to the kitchen, and grabbed her few remaining things from the coat rack.

"Thirty seconds!" Ron announced, latching onto a few of her things. Harry and Draco tugged over the book boxes. "Twenty-five!" Hermione stepped up and put a finger to the portkey as well, also clutching onto the crib. "Twenty!" Harry moved to

do the same. Ron went into a full-fledged countdown.

"Bye!" Hermione bellowed, giving Draco one last glance before the infamous hook latched itself around her belly button, dragging her far, far away from her fiance and father of her child.

They landed in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione heard Ginny squeal. "Hermione, you're... you're... Hermione, you're puffed up like a balloon!"

She sighed. "It's nice to see you, too, Ginny!"

"Let me take a look at you," Ginny ordered, taking up each of Hermione's hands in her own. "That's not just fat, either!" she mock-scolded.

"Gin made us tell her where you'd gone," Harry explained. "She just plain refused to believe that you'd actually died."

"I'm pregnant," she admitted, "but it's not what you think, Ginny," she added for good measure.

"Was it Malfoy?" Ginny asked, giving her an appraising look.

"It was a cherry-flavored lozenge, actually, though he is, technically, the father," Hermione explained, pushing past to sit down. "Is it really only nine o'clock?"

"A cough drop?" Ginny mouthed silently, her face screwing up in confusion.

"Hey, hey!" The door opened and in marched several people Hermione hadn't given so much as a thought to over the last months, though now her mind went suddenly whirling back to the real world. The speaker was none other than George Weasley, or perhaps Fred. She could never really tell. "Great tickled leeches, you're knocked up!" he scoffed, slapping his thigh at his own observation.

"And royally, too," his twin piped in.

"What's that?" it was Mr. Weasley, and he was looking around through the small crowd to locate Hermione among the hubbub. He ran a hand through his own trademark ginger hair. "Is that our little Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley bustled past him, and had to do a double-take.

"My dear..." she stopped herself, mid-observation. "It's so good to see you, again, dear! I'm so glad to know you're alive!" She sent a glare to Ron and Harry. "You know they didn't so much as hint to me? Ginny finally told me twenty minutes ago!"

Hermione stood. "It's good to see you, too, Mrs. Weasley," she said, giving the woman a large hug.

The woman slowly pushed her away, still holding her by the arms. "But my dear... pray tell us the events of your life these last few months." She looked so tentative.

"Well," Hermione began, eyeing the eager Weasleys throughout the room, plus Tonks and Lupin, who were holding hands near the door. Tonks gave her a wave. "I was in a Witness Protection Program," she started, unsure of how much they knew, "with Draco Malfoy," she added.

"We'll kill him!" Fred or George said.

"Twice!" the other added.

"For good measure," the first finished.

Hermione shook her head. Despite the hour, it felt very late to her. "It's not like that," she said uneasily. "See, we were pretending to be married, and the idiot made the mistake of telling people I was pregnanttwice. So we went to the ministry and this was their little solution."

"The lozenge?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow slowly lowering.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

Fred and George exchanged a look. "Can't we kill him, anyway?"

"He did make an ass of himself, spreading rumors," the other said.

She shook her head again. "I'd rather you didn't, thanks."

"But what else," Ginny pressed. "Fours months is a long time to be gone, you know."

Hermione sighed. "Well, I did get a job at a bookstore, I guess that was something."

"Boring," one of the twins boomed.

"And I made a new friend," she added. "Her name is Fidget. Nice girl, a squib."

"And Snape's daughter, too," Ron added, pulling a face.

Lupin looked up curiously. "Really?"

Hermione nodded. "That's what she reckons, anyway. He keeps dropping by the coffee shop she works at. Plus she has a photo of him, not to mention he has her original nose."

"In a jar somewhere," one of the twins said softly, making the other one bark out a laugh.

"What did you say her name was, Fidget?" Lupin pressed.

"That's just her nickname. Her real name is Fiona Puddifoot, Madame Puddifoot's niece."

"Snape and Lara Puddifoot..." Lupin began, crinkling his brow. "I never knew."

"You knew her?" Hermione asked quizzically.

He shook his head. "Not well. She was a hufflepuff, and a good five years ahead of us in school." He shrugged. "So long ago..." he added, scratching his chin.

"You'd like her, Tonks," Hermione added. "She's a bit like you in some ways."

"Really?" the older woman asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "Here I thought I was a one-of-a-kind."

"Trust me when I say you both are," Hermione said, smiling.

"So about this baby," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, "boy or girl?"

"Girl, and part veela if you can believe it," she said, smirking.

"Really?" Arthur Weasley asked.

She nodded. "Apparently Draco's one-thirtysecond. It helps explain the long line of blond hair."

Arthur scratched his nose. "But if there haven't been any girls born to the Malfoys in that many generations, wouldn't that mean..." She nodded.

"What?" Harry asked.

"It's dreadfully confusing science-talk, but the gist is that this baby is going to be a much more concentrated Veela than a mere sixty-fourth would

usually be. Much more like a half," Arthur explained. "And Hermione's muggle blood would probably complicate it even more," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione frowned. "When we went to the doctor's for the first time, she told me she was the most beautiful fetus she had ever seen."

"Do you have a name picked out?" Molly asked gently.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it's Madelyn."

"Maudlin Madelyn Malfoy," Ginny sing-songed.

"Maudlin?" Hermione asked, reproachful.

"Her father's Malfoy, who would blame her?" Ginny replied. "I'm just kidding Hermione, ease up."

"Unless you need me this minute, boys, I think I'm in for a nap. Someone help bring my things up, will you?" Hermione asked. The twins complied, sending her furniture dancing up the stairs after her. Hermione stared up at the ceiling of her room for a quarter hour. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////// Draco sat down. That morning had been far too eventful for his taste, though some events had been much more appreciated than others. They had finally kissed again, and he had been the one to initiate it, but that was practically at the bottom of the barrel of importance compared to the other happenings. He looked over at the broken lamp, and was reminded very suddenly that Crookshanks had been left behind. The old and mangy cat himself was now making his way into the room, looking about uncertainly for his mistress. "She's not here," Draco informed, and the cat actually looked as if he understood, going up to the front door and scratching at it. "She's gone back to wherever it is Potter and Weasley live. I doubt you can get there, old man." Crookshanks turned to face him, hopped up on the sofa, and nudged Draco's hand, asking to be petted. It was uncanny

how intuitive the cat was. Draco complied, scratching him behind the ears.

He could hardly believe the fact that he was engaged. He hadn't actually asked, either. She'd just said yes, which still struck him as very presumptuous of her, considering she could have been completely off-track. He hated to admit it, but his own decision to actually ask had been made while under the impression that there was little chance they'd be returned to the real world for a very long time, and since they were having a baby, pretending to be married, and undergoing the pressures of mutual attraction anyway... why not? Nothing quite like Potter and Weasley to remind you of the real world, and that they had been living in a fantasy.

He did like her, though. He more than liked her. He especially liked the thought of being secretly engaged to her while Potty and Weasel were unawares. Wouldn't they by happy when the news finally spilled? And she, quite obviously, liked him as well, otherwise she wouldn't have said yes to him.

He had meant it when he told her he loved her. There were few people in life he could genuinely think this about. One was his mother... and the list actually ended there, now that he got think about it. He had liked Pansy Parkinson, but never in such a way that he could feel his heart contorting when he thought about her, even if she was still, technically, his girlfriend. Actually, scratch that, she thought he was a melted puddle somewhere, so they had to be broken up, right? It wasn't like he'd seen her since that night when Dumbledore had died.

He shook his head. Things would work out. After the war was over, he had high hopes of being forgiven by the ministry, otherwise they wouldn't have allowed him in the program in the first place. (Though Scrimgeour didn't exactly strike as a kind, caring, second-chances sort of fellow.) And it wasn't like Hermione was in danger. Odds were, she'd be in hiding for a long time. No one in there right mind would send a pregnant teenager, or rather a pregnant teenager under the effects of an aging potion, into battle. Besides, he was almost

certain he knew what the wonder twins had wanted her for, because it was more than obvious. It was the thing she had, but they lacked: a brain capable of complex thinking.

"Do you think we should wake her up?" Hermione was lying in bed and could hear whispers coming from the hallway outside her door. This voice had been Harry's.

"Yeah, probably," said Ron.

"This is so weird," Ginny remarked. "I just can't believe Hermione's pregnant!"

"Keep your voice down, Gin," Ron commanded in a flat whisper, which was still fully audible to Hermione. She sat up, her arms crossed.

"Well, come on, then," Harry said, and someone knocked on her door.

"I'm already awake," Hermione called grumpily.

"Can we come in?" Harry asked, now fully audible.

She sighed. "If you must." The door creaked open and the two red-heads and Harry made their entrance, Ginny flopping down on the bed beside her. "What time is it, anyway?"

Ron stifled a laugh. "It's three o'clock. You've been asleep for..." he stopped to add on his fingers, "six hours."

"Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked skeptically.

"I'm fine," she said crossly. "Just all the excitement and all..."

"In any case, I don't think you're in for much sleep tonight," Ginny said, patting her hand goodnaturedly.

"Was there something you lot wanted, or were you just concerned for my health?" Hermione asked, stretching a bit. Her foot was asleep.

"We thought we'd debrief you," Harry said, suddenly all business, not unusual for him lately.

"Go on," she said, propping herself up against a pillow.

Harry sighed. "We've managed to find and destroy all but one of the horcruxes." Hermione's mouth fell open.

"You can't be serious!" She looked between the three. "How did this happen?"

"Sheer, dumb luck," Ron volunteered, flopping down in an armchair. Harry followed suit, sitting down on the window seat.

"Well, you know there's seven altogether, right?" Harry asked. "There was the diary that I already destroyed, and the ring that Professor Dumbledore got to..." his voice went softer for a second, "and one part is Voldemort's actual body, and then there was the locket R.A.B. destroyed. So that brought us up to four, so long as you don't count his body as actually destroyed.

"We managed to track down that contact we had arranged for you to meet back on that night you found Malfoy in that pub. He didn't want to talk at first..."

"But my bat-bogey hex did an excellent job of convincing him," Ginny said, smirking.

Harry gave the red-headed girl a look. "Yes, well, although I had told her specifically not to come along, Gin did come in useful just then." He cleared his throat and looked back at Hermione. "Anyway, we managed to find out that the Riddles had a summer home in Sicily that seemed a likely

candidate. That's where we found Helga Hufflepuff's cup."

"It only took a bunch of dodging and leaping out of the way of killer shooting spells, not to mention bypassing a load of poisonous frogs that give you a rash like you won't believe," Ron added, looking disgusted.

Ginny laughed. "Part of the protection system required one of us to drink a potion. Ron went ahead and did that part. Turned out to be a love potion that makes you simultaneously in love with all the frogs at once. I don't think he'll be up to doing anymore frog snogging anytime soon."

"They didn't even turn into princesses," Ron added, looking sullen.

"And his lips swelled to the size of watermelons!" Ginny added, starting to shriek with laughter.

"It was lucky I had packed that bezoar," Harry added, trying to hide his own smirk.

"So that brings us up to five," Hermione prompted. "And the sixth?"

As they started to calm down a bit, Harry started to explain. "Now that was the weird one," he commented. "I had been going through the bedrooms on the fourth floor, and I found a door that was locked. After a lot of hard spell-work, and some ramming, I managed to get it open. It turned out to be Sirius's brother's room, Regulus. And then it hit me all of a sudden that his initials are R.A.B.! I even went down to look at that tapestry to check and make sure about that middle initial. So I started looking through his things... and it was funny, but I ended up finding a loose floorboard. And there it was, a horcrux checklist!" Harry reached into his pocket and handed a piece of paper to Hermione, who took a look at it.

1. His body

2. Ring

3. Locket (destroyed)

4. CupSicily?

5. School thing? Diary?

6. Mortar and pestle (destroyed)

7. ?

"A mortar and pestle?" Hermione asked quizzically.

Harry shrugged. "I decided not to worry about it. It was probably something that belonged to one of the Hogwarts Founders. It's number seven that worries me. Look." He snatched the paper from her again, muttered something under his breath and tapped his wand. The question mark disappeared and was replaced by the word, "Clone."

"What in the world?" Hermione asked. "Clone?"

"And that, Hermione, is where you come in," Ron said, giving her a half smile.

"You really don't have any idea?" she asked, looking between the three of them.

Harry gave her a guilty smile. "Well, we think maybe he means that one of them is repeated...? Maybe."

"Like maybe there's two of something?" she asked, smoothing her hair behind her ears. "A second locket somewhere?"

"At least we can rest easy knowing You-Know-Who doesn't have another body," Ginny commented. "Imagine how horrid that would be."

Ron made a face. "Thank Merlin!"

Hermione merely nodded. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Draco began to clean up the now burnt, yet strangely gooey pancake batter that seemed to be thoroughly stuck to the stovetop. Crookshanks had hopped up on the counter to watch him. After a minute of steady scrubbing, the cat pounced on his dishrag, consequently sinking his claws into Draco's hand. Maybe they weren't going to become the best of friends after all.

After Hermione had eaten some very late lunch, she paid a visit to the Grimmauld Place library, conveniently located on the second floor. She had just taken down a book that looked somewhat promising, The Dark Arts and How They Are Mastered when she heard the door squeak open and Ginny popped in.

"Hey," she said, grinning, "I thought I might find you here."

Hermione nodded. "I thought I'd try and look up the word clone, though I doubt it'll help much," she admitted, sitting down in a ratty armchair by the fireplace.

Ginny surreptitiously closed the door behind her. "Hermione how are you?" she asked, coming to sit down by her.

She looked up. "I'm fine, Gin, other than a few extra pounds, a taste for sardines, and mood swings that could get someone hurt if they aren't careful."

Ginny laughed. "And how's Malfoy?" she asked.

Hermione glanced at the door. "Ginny can you keep a secret?"

"You know I can. It's not about the baby, is it?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I was telling the truth about that. So if you'll kindly stop insinuating"

Ginny nodded, looking sheepish. "What is it then?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "This can't leave this room, you know that?" She waited for Ginny to nod again. "Malfoy and I are engaged."

The look on Ginny's face was priceless. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////// Hermione took a deep breath. "This can't leave this room, you know that?" She waited for Ginny to nod again. "Malfoy and I are engaged."

The look on Ginny's face was priceless. Her wide mouth opened, closed, opened, and her eyebrows scrunched up, making her somewhat resemble Pansy Parkinson just before a sneeze. "You... Wait a moment. What?"

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," Hermione said, covering her mouth to hide her smile.

Ginny sat down hard on the bench seat nearby. "How on Earth..." she began, still gaping in a rather undignified manner.

Hermione sighed. "Well..." She shrugged. "That's actually a good question. It was all so dreadfully gradual, like a snail trying to wade through frozen molasses." Ginny rested her head in her hands and signaled for Hermione to go on. "At first we mostly just quarreled whenever we weren't in public... and sometimes when we were in public. Then, as time wore on, we started to get used to the situation and the fights decreased a bit, and... Ginny, why are you staring at me like that?"

"You're leaving out all the interesting details, aren't you?" she asked, raising one of her ginger eyebrows way up past her bangs. "When was your first kiss?" She raised an index finger into the air. "I demand to know!" she said melodramatically.

Hermione sighed. "Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, Gin. But it was either the second or third day into the program. We had gone to get an application for the bookstore we work at, and we were about to turn it in..."

"Go on," Ginny said teasingly.

"When Draco spotted Snape, turned to me, and kissed me as a 'distraction,' which caused me to swallow my gum wrong, and it ended up shooting across the room after some bloke performed the Heimlich Maneuver on me," she finished, crossing her arms and daring Ginny to comment.

The other girl was stifling a laugh. "That's got to be the worst first kiss ever! Not a very effective distraction either."

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "we had a little chit-chat with Snape which somehow resulted in an argument between myself and Draco about how I knew he liked me, and how he thought I was worthy of a laugh because of it." She briefly told Ginny about their first meeting in the pub, and how he had hugged her.

"That's certainly odd behavior," Ginny commented.

"He's always over-sentimental when he's drunk," Hermione mused.

"So about this cough drop thing, how did that happen?" Ginny asked, steadily seeming to relax into hearing the unexpected tale.

"Fidget invited us to a party, we were dancing, some poor guy tried to cut in, and Draco got all protective and told him we were married and expecting. Before we knew it, it seemed like everyone in town knew. So naturally we had to do something about it. We went to the ministry expecting them to have some other solution besides actually impregnating me." She shrugged. "And there you have it."

Ginny plopped down backward on the bench she was sitting on. "So..." she said, "and how did he end up proposing, hmm?"

Hermione looked guilty for a moment. "He didn't. At least, not exactly."

Ginny propped herself up on one arm. "What do you mean 'not exactly?' You didn't propose, did you?"

"Well, not exactly." Hermione squirmed slightly under Ginny's scrutiny. "See, I found an

engagement ring in his sock drawer about two and a half months ago... and this morning"

"This morning!" Ginny bellowed, shocked.

"He, er, kissed me... and then he went racing upstairs. And that was when Ron and Harry showed up, and I noticed that there was something in Draco's pocket, and his sock drawer was pulled out, and..." Hermione sighed. "First chance I got to be alone with him, I confronted him and said yes."

"Huh..." was the red-head's only comment. "Do you... have the ring?"

Hermione nodded. "In one of my suitcases. And, oh Ginny! It's so pretty. You're absolutely going to die when you see it."

"Why Hermione Granger, I didn't know you were so vain! First engaged to a pretty boy like Malfoy, and now this!" Ginny stuck her tongue out.

"Oh, you're just jealous because Harry hasn't..." Hermione stopped herself at the look on the other girl's face. "I'm so sorry. That was completely out of line."

Ginny sighed. "No, it's okay. One of these days he's going to get it into his head that I'm a big girl and can cope with a little danger. And you know that sooner or later he's going to vanquish all evil and we can live happily ever after."

Hermione gave her a brave smile. "And in that case, I guess I should get busy solving this whole clone thing, eh?"

Ginny laughed. "You just want to be alone with all the books, don't you? Miss them much?"

Hermione scowled, and stuck her tongue out.

Draco sunk into the rather massive bed that had formerly been two bunks, enjoying having enough room to spread himself out again. Before Hermione had run into him at the pub, he'd been hiding out with other Death Eaters, and consequently had not slept in anything larger than a twin since his last visit home to the manor. In fact, at one point between leaving school and his run-in with Hermione, he had actually had to sleep in a pile of leaves in someone's back yard. (He hadn't been especially happy about that, but it had certainly fed his discontented-with-the-world super-mood.) He sighed, imagining how pleasant it would be to have Hermione curled up beside him, snoring away into his arm... Well, maybe without the snoring. He rolled over and put the spare pillow over his head. He so needed to get to sleep.

When he did wake and find it to be a Monday morning, he was at a small loss as to what to do with himself. He could certainly feed himself, despite yesterday's pancake fiasco. But the question was, should he go to work? And what on Earth should he tell everyone? Should he really say that Hermione, moderately pregnant, had gone to visit her parents at the tail end of South America?

Were pregnant muggle women even allowed to travel in whatever way muggles use to travel? What if he said they had come to visit, but in, oh, France or somewhere instead, and that he, "Derek," hadn't been invited? And the reason behind that? They had eloped and her parents were only just informed! There, that explanation seemed satisfactory. "Samantha" could win them over with the idea of a baby.

Great Scott... Hermione really did have parents out there somewhere that he would have to meet sometime. That thought brought a grimace to his face. Seriously, eek. Between the baby and the engagement, well, let's just say he'd never had a fear of muggle retaliation until just that moment.

With a subdued vigor, he made himself breakfast, ate it, and prepared to go out the door. He was actually relatively early. He was used to this because Hermione usually insisted on visiting Fidget in the mornings. With that thought in mind, he drove himself to the coffee shop in order to "test out" the little lie about Hermione's present location.

The bells above the doorway jingled and he came in, dusting some snow from his hair. "Just a mil Der!" Fidget said, scooting from the room into a kitchen-like nook. Draco approached the counter uneasily, preparing by running lines through his head. Behind him, the bells in the doorway jangled again. "Say, where's your wife today?" Fidget called, just before returning.

"She's" Draco stopped when he registered the expression on her face.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, where is your wife today?" Draco slowly turned around, coming face to face with none other than his former Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Fidget dropped whatever it was she had gone to fetch. Her heavily make-upped eyes gliding from one of them to the other in pure shock.

"Now look here" Draco began.

"No, you see here, Draco," Snape interrupted. He paused, though, as he looked toward the shocked girl behind the counter, whose eyes seemed to be brimming over.

"Is that your real name?" she asked Draco softly. He nodded mutely, looking down at the floor. "And you're..." she trailed off. "Anyone for coffee?" she asked meekly, turning swiftly around to grab the pot of regular with a shaky hand.

"Fidget," Draco said, somewhat pleadingly as he looked back and forth between the expressionless Snape, and the shaky-handed girl who was liable to burn herself at the moment.

Fidget set the pot down again, long lines of gooey mascara-tears streaking down her cheeks as she turned to face them. "Fiona," Snape corrected awkwardly. Draco was more than surprised as the older man reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh-pressed handkerchief, and handed it to Fidget. He then turned to Draco, almost as if

nothing had happened. "Where is Miss Granger? Or should I say, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked, his upper lip curling.

"Out of town," Draco answered aloofly.

"I see. And would this out of town be back with misters Potter and Weasley?" From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Fidget mouthing the word Potter in silent wonder.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," he replied, doing his best to set up his occlumency barriers.

"Hmm," Snape replied.

"You mean you know Harry Potter?" Fidget asked suddenly, ringing her handkerchief in her hands.

Draco nodded. "He's in my year at Hogwarts," he replied, frowning.

"But, but how can that be? You're my age."

"Mr. Malfoy here is under the effects of an aging potion," Snape replied, not meeting Fidget's eye. "In reality he's seventeen," he said, in what almost sounded like a reprimand.

"And married and having a baby?" Fidget asked, looking in awe at Draco.

Snape suddenly looked alarmed. "Now that I did not know. A baby, Draco? Is that where the rush to wed a muggleborn came from?"

Thoughts flashed through Draco's mind like lightning. "Yes," he decided. "It was the least I could do. You on the other hand," he gestured to Fidget, "I don't know."

"Apples and oranges, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said dangerously.

"Peas and carrots," Draco corrected vehemently.

"I did not know Miss Puddifoot had been affected," Snape replied delicately.

"Is that what you're calling it these days?" Draco asked, amused.

"For your information Mr. Malfoy" Snape began.

"So you really are my father?" Fidget asked, seeming to come out of a reverie.

Snape stopped, looking almost surprised to see her. "I suppose you could say..." Fidget stamped her foot, "yes," he admitted.

What happened next would stay in Draco's memory for all time. Fidget came out from behind her counter, took one hard look at Snape, and

threw herself on him. Snape, caught off-guard, stumbled under her weight. Delicately he eased her off of him while wearing an expression that seemed to scream that no one had dared hug him in a very, very long time. He patted her arm. "You're very... tall," he commented.

"It's the heels," Fidget replied, positively beaming. "Oh, Daddy..." ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////// Hermione sighed. No news there. (And did she ever wish she had a dictionary more recent than 1975.) She hadn't really expected any help from the simple definition. No, what she needed was a history lesson. Regulus had died roughly seventeen years prior, so really she needed to know more about the time just before Voldemort's first demise. For that she pulled out her well-worn copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, skipping forward to the chapter preceding the one entitled "Harry Potterthe Infant Savior." Although she had read this chapter several times over before, she tried reading it again, just to see if she was missing something. Apparently she wasn't. There was no

mention of cloning or anything to do with copies at all.

And so she tried another book. This one was, oddly, a biography of Harry. She guessed that it had been bought by Sirius, rather than any of the other Blacks. (Which would have been surprising, to say the least.) After flipping through it and finding nothing more substantial than Harry's favorite ice cream (someone had snapped his picture out front of Florean Fortescue's without his permission) she decided that it wasn't going to help her at all.

"Hermione?" It was Harry. He had been walking on eggshells around her for the last couple days.

"What?" she snapped. "Sorry," she added. She could hear the faint sound of music drifting in through the open door, and it disappeared as soon as he closed it behind him.

"Had to get away from the music," he explained. "If Ginny plays 'You Can Dance if You Want To' one more time, I think I'm going to have a conniption."

Hermione grunted in reply. "And Ron's not any better. You really shouldn't have taken them to that muggle music store, you know."

"How would I know he'd pick out a Lamb Chop's Play Along cd?" he asked, pulling a face. "All day long it's the song that never ends!"

"And it goes on and on, and on, and on, my friend," Hermione replied disgustedly. She rubbed her head. "At least he doesn't know 'I Know a Song that Gets on Everybody's Nerves.'"

"No kidding," Harry replied. "Any luck?"

Hermione sighed. "I've learned that you really like strawberry peanut butter brickle ice cream, but

other than that..." She shook her head. "Mind opening up Regulus' room for me?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. Maybe he has some books in there or something." Harry led the way to the fourth floor while Hermione followed. "Stand back," he cautioned, getting out his wand and starting to do a combination of hexes and door-slamming. Finally he just turned the knob. "Ladies first."

Hermione looked around her quizzically. It was definitely the sort of room that would belong to a teenager in the late seventies/early eighties, except that everything looked sort of dark and depressing. There was a mural of a spider web across the walls and ceiling, with charmed little black and red paint spiders scuttling around on it. "Charming," Hermione commented. Harry pointed out the loose floor board to her, and she ran her hand along the bottom of it. "What's this?" she asked, after standing up and approaching an ancient-looking cauldron that still had a few dregs left in it.

"I think it's a"

Hermione sniffed it. "Very, very rancid tomato soup that must have been affected by all the old potions to keep it from completely going bad after all these years."

"Oh," Harry said, as if this was not at all what he had thought it was, and sounding disappointed because of it.

Hermione turned to an old dresser and began pulling out drawers full of moth-eaten clothing. "Nothing under his socks," she said, unrolling some to check if there was anything besides lint concealed inside them. "Or in his underwear drawer," she added, while Harry looked slightly surprised at her behavior.

"Hermione," Harry said, as if just remembering something. "When we were at your houseyours and Malfoy's, I guesser, why was there a sock drawer out on the bed?"

Hermione turned so she wasn't facing him. "How should I know? It was from his dresser. Maybe he had been looking for a specific pair."

"Oh," Harry said again, sounding satisfied with her answer. "I thought maybe you had been looking through it for some reason. You did look sort of worried by it."

"Really?" Hermione asked, still not facing him. "Aha!" She held a pair of black pants up, reached into a pocket, and pulled out... a muggle bubble gum wrapper.

"What a find," Harry said, trying to hide his smile.

"At least it shows us he had been into the muggle world enough to have gum," she said glumly, stuffing the pants back into the drawer.

"True," Harry said, still stifling a smile. He went over to the book shelf and started looking through the books, Hermione coming to join him. "1001 Cures for Warts, Wizard's Chess Strategy Guide, Wilhelmina, the Wily Witch, Help! I've Turned Into a Disco Zombie..." Harry trailed off, pulling the last book out to read the cover, then stuffing it back on the shelf with a loud snort.

Hermione trailed her finger along the spines. "Nothing!" she cried out exasperatedly. "No mention of anything to do with the dark arts or clones or anything at all!"

"The way Sirius talked about him, you'd think this place would be crawling with it," Harry mused, flipping through a book called I Came, I Saw, I Did a Super-neat Cleaning Spell.

"Here, help me move the bed," Hermione demanded. Harry complied, sliding the bed a few feet across the floor. "Girly mags, a children's potion set, and a sleeping bag. Great. Just great." Hermione collapsed onto the floor. "He did a right

job hiding any evidence of what he was up to with those Horcruxes," she mumbled.

"Why don't you go get some rest?" Harry offered, looking nervously at her.

Hermione glared at him. "See here, Harry James Potter. If I want some rest, I'll very well go get some. You aren't the boss of me, got it?" A moment later her face was filled with joy, and Harry looked flummoxed.

"What?" he asked.

"Give me your hand," she said, grabbing it before he could respond. She placed it directly on her abdomen.

"Hermione," he began, looking terrified.

"Wait for it," she said. A second later and Harry was looking doubtfully down at her stomach.

"She's kicking," he said, frowning.

"Isn't it wonderful? The first time she did it, Draco was so..." She trailed off at the look Harry was giving her.

"I just can't believe you're having his baby," he said, his hand withdrawing. "You know how Ron feels..." he said, looking away nervously.

"Not that he ever bothered telling me," she said grumpily.

"Honestly, Hermione, you didn't say anything to him either," Harry said, turning a little green.

"And frankly I don't feel the same way anymore," she said. "Ron is no longer that to me, okay? I've moved on."

Harry frowned miserably. "If this is because of Lavender..."

Hermione shrieked. "What is it with EVERYONE and LAVENDER?"

Harry gulped. "I... You sure you don't want a rest?" Hermione nearly slapped him just then, but thought better of it and stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his face.

Draco watched the interaction between Snape and Fidget with subtle interest as a line of coffeedeprived muggles began forming behind them. Fidget must have noticed them out of the corner of her eye, because she stated loudly and without tearing her eyes off her "daddy," "We're closed today, folks. Sorry for the inconvenience." There was a murmur of discontent, and Draco began to realize that he just wasn't going to make it into work today. He shifted uneasily, wondering if he should warn Clarence. It just seemed like such a goody-goody thing to do, though. The crowd dispersed and Draco was left alone with the two

Snapes, who, now that they were standing side by side, turned out to actually share a few facial features, despite Fidget's nose explanation. Their eyes were uncannily the exact same color of beetle-black, though while Fidget's were sparkling and cheery, Snape's were broody and not just a bit scary. Slowly, Snape began to turn away from his daughter and returned his gaze to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy" he began, before Fidget cut him off.

"I just still can't believe you're here after all these years," she said, plopping down on a barstool.

"Yes, well," Snape said aloofly, looking as if he really didn't know what to say to her. He looked even more out of it when she took his hand in her own and held onto it.

"We have so much to catch up on," she said. "Can you stay very long?"

"I..."

"Please?" she asked, giving his hand a squeeze. She was fluttering her eyelashes in that way girls sometimes do to get their way.

"For a while," he said, and it was obvious to Draco that he was completely out of his element.

Fidget smiled, her wide mouth turning up at the corners. "Would you like to sit down?" she asked, gesturing to a booth across the room. Reluctantly Snape allowed himself to be dragged to it. Fidget looked expectantly at him as they sat there, Draco looking curiously between the two.

"What would you like to know?" Snape asked at last, seemingly uncomfortable under Fidget's awefilled gaze.

Fidget poked her chin. "How do you know my mother?"

Snape looked uneasy and glanced at Draco. "I didn't really..." he began.

Draco crossed his arms. "Spit it out, Professor."

Snape glared icily at him. "On second thought, I have a question for you, Fiona," he said.

"Shoot," Fidget said, looking only mildly disappointed that he hadn't answered her question.

"Did your mother ever give you something of mine?" ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /////// Hermione finally gave up and sent Ginny and Ron to the Diagon Alley library for her. She was at a lack, resource-wise. She was also running out of ideas. Going out was a semi-dangerous endeavor these days, but the two Weasleys seemed up to it.

When they came back, Ron gave a great grunt and flung down an entire stack of books, while Ginny held just two and handed them over with a smile.

"Anything and everything that mentions the Dark Arts from the time," Ron grumbled, now doubled over on his back and scowling.

"And I found a couple books on that pregnancy lozenge thing," Ginny said.

"Thank you," Hermione said, sorting through the stack of books Ron had brought.

"Due back in three weeks," Ron added. "Knowing you, though, you'll have read them all cover to cover by tomorrow night." He yawned.

"I'm a fast reader, Ron, but honestly, the human retina can't handle that much work in that amount of time and still allow the brain to digest the information."

He waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, science... I'm going to go lie down. My back is killing me." He grimaced as he held one hand to his lower back and hobbled out of the room, mumbling about the heaviness of books.

"He was asking about you," Ginny said conspiratorially as soon as her brother had left the room.

Hermione looked up from the book she had just flipped open. "Who, Ron?"

Ginny nodded. "He was trying to be all candid about it, asking if you had mentioned anything to me about him." She frowned.

Hermione sighed. She had had millions of conversations with Ginny about Ron in the past, back when she still liked him. It seemed like the moment he actually began to show some sort of interest, though, it was already too late. "Harry

mentioned something about him too." She put her head in her hands. "I'm horrified he's going to come out and profess undying love to me or something. Obviously, I'll then have to come clean... and... bugger." She leaned back and stared fixedly at the false Christmas tree that the Weasley twins had brought from their joke shop. It was bright pink and kept spouting carols every time anyone neared it.

"Do you think Draco will send me a present?" she asked, determinedly changing the topic.

Ginny seemed to consider it. "Depends how adept he is at catching wild owls, though I suppose we could send Hedwig or Pigwidgeon over to collect."

"He never did give me a proper birthday present. He took me baby shopping, and out to dinner, but that was about it." She looked glumly at the book she was still holding, and then to her hand. "I wish I could wear my ring."

"You could if you went ahead and told everyone the truth," Ginny said, looking unused to giving Hermione counsel on morality. "And I really do think you owe Ron that much. I'd hate to see him bound in some day, tell you he'll adopt your baby, and then fall down on his knees and propose with some ring he found in a muggle cereal box."

Hermione groaned. "Don't make me feel worse than I already do."

Ginny clucked her tongue and reached for one of the pregnancy lozenge books she'd gotten from the library, while Hermione turned back to the book she had been attempting to peruse.

It had been three weeks since Hermione had left, and Draco was still left confused by the conversation he had witnessed between Snape and Fidget. She had told him that no, her mother hadn't given anything to her that had been his, or at least that she wasn't aware of it. She had then went on to show her old man her only picture of herself as a baby, (she had destroyed the rest as a five-year-

old,) pointing out the prominent hooked nose she used to sport. Snape had looked mildly interested as he was forced to sit and listen to her talk about herself, and him, for what must have been four hours straight. Meanwhile, Draco had rested his head on his hand and wondered if it would be considered horribly impolite if he took a nap. He had been caught in the center of the booth between the two, and the only hope of escape seemed to be by either climbing over or under the table. Clarence was probably in a right state by then with two of his employees missing.

But the conversation had ended, and Snape looked like he just plain hadn't gotten what he had been hoping to bargain for, but had a strange air of contentment nonetheless. He had patted Fidget awkwardly on the shoulder, and of course she had insisted on hugging him, and Draco finally managed to escape to the loo.

Now it was only just a matter of days before Christmas, and Draco was starting to feel the effects of extreme loneliness set in. He had given Clarence his two weeks notice, which had ended a

week prior, and was officially spending his days in near-solitude. He did go to the coffee shop to visit Fidget, though, as well as to satisfy his odd craving for raspberry scones that had turned into a minor addiction.

Draco spent most of his days now moping around the house, and eating his way through a ten pound box of satsuma mandarins that had been imported from California (and had been right expensive because of it.) He had made no special effort to decorate the house for the holidays, and, indeed, wasn't even all that sure how muggles celebrated Christmas, aside from an adoration of Father Christmas and a fetish for twinkly colored lights. He had taken notice of the multitude of Christmas tree lots, however, and began to wonder how that particular pagan tradition had began. He had also found a variety of holiday-themed television programs, and had become completely obsessed by something called "A Christmas Carol." So far he had watched three different versions of it, including one featuring that Scottish duck who loved to swim through his tank of gold coins.

He was bored. So very, very bored. So bored he had actually dragged himself out of the house, into town, and went shopping, hoping to find a present for Hermione, and finding a multitude of muggle men surrounding him, looking equally lost as they all stared at displays, wondering just what it was that women liked. He was also wondering if he couldn't work something out with the ministry to get them to deliver a present for him. Hermione seemed like the sort of person who would have his head if he didn't at least try.

Finally, Draco picked out a cameo broach that he deemed to be pretty, and began trying to set about talking to the darned reflection in his hallway mirror. He had half a mind to try ordering one of their souvenirs as a bit of a joke for Hermione, but ultimately decided it was unnecessary. After what seemed like an hour of being on hold, he finally managed to talk to someone, and was able to get them to agree to take his present to the post office for him, for a fee of course.

He felt sure he was going to have a miserable Christmas, but at least this way he was ensured

that Hermione wouldn't bite his head off when they finally were reunited.

Hermione and Ginny had each been reading silently for about twenty minutes when Ginny let out a low whistle. "Listen to this!" she screeched, and began reading out loud.

The pregnancy lozenge was originally developed by a team of Death Eaters, under orders of HeWho-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was originally meant as a means to clone him, only there were unexpected complications. They were unable to separate the mother's deoxyribonucleic acid from the father's, which resulted in what might be deemed as typical offspring. Other complications set in that ultimately ended their research. Every child born turned out to be female. Furthermore, each child displayed a complete lack of magical qualities; in other words, they were squibs. Once the project ended, an anonymous researcher sent this information to a wizarding fertility lab, to help those unable to conceive.

Hermione felt herself pale as Ginny looked at her pointedly. Two thoughts clashed together in her mind at once: one, that she now knew what Regulus had been referring to, and two, that Madelyn was going to be a squib. Even as these thoughts raged in her mind, she felt a niggling at the back of her brain that made her mind wander to Fidget: the squib daughter of an expert DeathEater potion's master. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Hermione woke early on Christmas morning, which was not that unusual for her. Across from her, Ginny was still asleep, which was truly amazing for Ginny, considering what day it was. Hermione glanced down at the foot of her bed at her pile of presents, still half-concealed in the darkness. It didn't seem to open them just yet. It was still dark out. So she lay there for another half hour before Ginny sat bolt upright with a broad grin on her face. "Presents!" the younger girl said, lighting the lamp next to her. "Oh, I'm sorry Hermione. Did I wake you?"

"No," she replied, a teasing grin on her face.

With that, Ginny started unwrapping a lumpy package that turned out to be a royal blue sweater knitted especially by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione tore into her own matching package and pulled out a rose-colored Weasley sweater, which had been knitted to fit her increasing stomach size. To her slight horror, Mrs. Weasley had decorated it with a picture of a baby's face. It was smiling and giggling, but she pulled it on anyway.

"Ron gave me a Quidditch autograph book," Ginny announced, throwing it over her shoulder onto her pillow.

"I got a gift certificate for Flourish and Blotts from Harry," Hermione said, laying her second present aside.

Ginny tore open Hermione's present next and marveled for a moment at her new necklace. "Thank you," she declared giddily, pulling it on over her pillow-headed ginger hair.

"And thank you for this new inkwell set," Hermione replied, smiling over at Ginny.

"Anything from you-know-who?" Ginny asked, after opening her own present from Harry.

"We aren't exactly in correspondence," Hermione teased. "But if you mean Draco..." Hermione held a small package aloft. She carefully pulled off the simple silver paper and green bow and grinned. "It's a broach," she said happily. Ginny came over to inspect the cameo.

"It's very pretty," she praised.

Hermione nodded, pinning it to her sweater. For some strange reason she felt like she was about to cry.

"You okay?" Ginny asked, sitting down beside her. Hermione plastered on a fake smile.

"I'm great. I just miss him, I guess." She turned back to her packages, which now consisted of three from her parents, and what surprisingly turned out to be a card from Fidget, with the name Samantha in quotation marks.

"That's awfully strange," Ginny remarked, as she pulled on a dressing gown and a pair of slippers.

"What is?" Hermione asked, looking up from her organizing.

"Well, did you get anything from Ron?" she asked, frowning. "That's not like him. I know you haven't exactly been on the best of terms, but still."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, and I don't really feel like pestering him about it."

Draco woke up in his extra-large bed, feeling groggy and not-a-little sullen. There was something about Christmas and birthdays that caused one to either feel extreme jubilance, or extreme depression, for the mere reason that one wasn't feeling extreme jubilance. Suffice it to say, Draco wasn't exactly feeling the jubilance this morning. For one thing, his parents and friends thought he was dead, so that certainly put a damper on his gift supply. Nevertheless, at the foot of his bed sat a box, and a card. He picked up the latter with dull interest and opened it.

Dear Drako (sp?)/Derek, or whatever you like best!

I hope you have a happy Christmas. Take care, and I hope that little wife of yours comes back home soon. I look forward, especially, to seeing your new little baby. I'm sure she'll be gorgeous!

Much love,

Fidget

Draco sat for a moment staring at the K that had been placed in his name instead of the C. He then turned his attention to the box, picking it up.

He had, a few months prior, wondered what it would be like to spend Christmas with Hermione. She had been in the midst of her grudge against him at the time. He imagined, though, that she might cheer up by now and be one of those annoyingly happy-Christmas-partakers. He had idly thought about giving her that ring, and telling her it was for show alone. Then again, he had also idly daydreamed about hanging a bunch of mistletoe and... He chuckled. That was a daydream worth keeping. Maybe next year he'd be able to make it come true.

He unwrapped his box, which was, of course, from Hermione, and opened it up to find four pounds of Honeydukes' chocolate and a butterbeer. She had also written a note.

Dear Ferret,

I miss you terribly. I have been at work trying to solve a mystery. I can't say much about it here. Anyway, I want you to keep an eye on our friend. It's very important.

I love you,

Bookworm

"Our friend?" he mumbled, scratching his head. He understood that she was trying to be nonspecific, just in case the message was intercepted, but still. She had also taken the care to not give out their names. Granted, just about anyone in their year would understand who "Ferret" was, and "Bookworm" was really only a small leap after that. Then again, who would honestly think that Hermione would sign a letter to him with "I love you."

He opened his bag of chocolates and ate a piece. He had really been missing the stuff. Although

some of the muggle chocolates were very good, there was just no replacing Honeydukes in his mind. With nothing better to do, he went downstairs, grabbed something from the refrigerator, and plopped down in front of the television. Something called "It's a Wonderful Life" was on.

"Breakfast you lot!" Mrs. Weasley called from down in the kitchen. The two girls came down the stairs slowly, while Fred and George apparated before them.

"Excuse us ladies," Fred said, nudging George.

"Oh, yeah, ladies first," the other added, gesturing for them to go ahead. As soon as they went past the Christmas tree, it began singing "Winter Wonderland."

"My goodness Hermione, what a lovely baby you've got plastered to your middle," Fred then said, pointing at Hermione's sweater.

"Shut it, you two," Ginny said, between a yawn.

"What did I say?" George asked.

"It's what you were about to say that matters," Ginny replied, frowning at them. A moment later and she had an arm wrapped around either of her brothers' shoulders.

"Why Miss Ginevra Weasley, we didn't know you liked us so much," Fred said, patting his little sister on the head.

"Come on, Hermione, you can join us, too," George offered.

"I think I'll have to pass you up on your generous offer this time," she said, laughing at them.

Harry came down the stairs next and began walking with her to the kitchen. "Happy Christmas," he said, smiling at her.

"And thank you for that gift certificate. However did you guess?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Must have been all that divination in school. Thank you for the new cauldron." They stepped into the warm kitchen and all sat down at the table. Charlie, Tonks, and Remus had also come for the occasion. The last two were smiling extremely widely, and kept sneaking glances at one another. It was truly strange to see Professor Lupin looking so giddy.

Mrs. Weasley levitated the rest of the meal onto the table, and Arthur sat down at the head of the table. "Well," he began, but at that moment, Ron came tumbling through the door, red-faced, and sat down at the table sheepishly. "Well," Mr. Weasley continued, looking at his youngest son for a moment, "let's tuck in, shall we?"

"But first," Lupin said, looking back at Tonks, "we'd like to make an announcement." Tonks energetically raised her left hand, showing off a small ring. "We're engaged!"

The table broke at in applause, Fred and George hammering the table with their fists. "You going to take his name?" one of them asked.

"Or you going to keep the first/last name thing going strong?" the other asked.

Tonks seemed to consider this for a moment. "I think I'll take the Lupin, but make everyone call me Tonks anyway," she said, laughing. "No Nymphadora for me, please," she said, pulling a face. Lupin turned to her and kissed her cheek.

"My little Nymph." He chuckled.

They began eating, everyone now in high spirits. Everyone, that is, except Ron. He was staring determinedly at his plate, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was wrong.

"Oh, Hermione, what a lovely broach!" Mrs. Weasley praised.

"Oh, thank you," Hermione replied. She felt thankful when she wasn't given any follow-up questions about it.

After everyone had eaten as much as they could, they sat lounged lazily at the table, massaging their stomachs. The twins burped at the exact same time, and Charlie went into a laughing fit.

"Um, Hermione," Ron said, "could you come with me into the living room for a moment?" She nodded, stood, and followed him.

"Happy Christmas," she said trying her best to get a smile out of him.

"Thanks." He looked down. "Er, let's sit." He gestured over to the sofa and Hermione acquiesced. He folded and unfolded his hands. "I... I don't think I've been exactly honest with you," he said. Hermione felt her heart racing. "And I think you deserve to know that I love you," he muttered, turning redder.

"Ron..." she began.

"No, Hermione. I... I've been doing a lot of thinking and the thing is... I want to be with you. And seeing how you're having this baby, I think the right thing to do is... for us to get married." He was positively red as a tomato, now.

Hermione's throat didn't seem to want to work, and she tried swallowing a few times unsuccessfully. "I'm sorry Ron," she said softly. "But..."

"What?" he asked, looking at her straight in the eye. His color had changed again, and now he was looking almost green.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, either." She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and was positively frightened when she realized that everyone was coming up the stairs from the kitchen.

"How?" he pressed, gritting his teeth.

"Well..."

"Damn, Hermione! HOW?" The crowd of people in the stairwell froze.

"I'm engaged to Draco Malfoy!" she screeched back at him. Ron raised his hand as if he was about to slap her, and Hermione thought he was going to, until she realized that someone had petrified him.

"Come along, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, ushering her out of the room, followed closely by Tonks and Ginny. Hermione was sobbing full-heartedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Harry's baffled expression.

Draco, for some odd reason, was crying. The little girl on the screen was telling her father about angels and bells, and the movie ended. Good gracious but he must have been depressed. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////// Mrs. Weasley led her up the stairs and into her bedroom, sat her down on the bed and looked straight at her. "Are you all right, dear?" she asked. Between wet gasps for air, Hermione shook her head. Ginny sat on her other side, holding her hand. Tonks sat down on Ginny's bed across from them, looking interested. "Whenever you're ready, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, rubbing small circles into her back.

Hermione blew her nose and wiped angrily at her eyes. "That absolute git," she fumed. Mrs. Weasley

nodded in agreement, temporarily putting aside the fact that they were talking about her youngest son.

"He shouldn't have done that," Ginny said regretfully.

"No, he shouldn't," Mrs. Weasley agreed. "But I'm curious, dear, what exactly did he say?"

Hermione sniffled. "He... he asked me to marry him," she said, staring dismally down at her sodden handkerchief.

Ginny groaned. "Did he really? That oaf."

"And when I said I couldn't, he wanted to know why, and... you know." She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"So it's true?" Tonks asked. "You're engaged to my little cousin?"

Hermione nodded, stood, and approached one of her suitcases. She opened it up, reached into a pocket and pulled out her ring. She slipped it onto her finger and sat down. The three other women looked at it in slight jealousy. Mrs. Weasley's ring was nice but very simple. The same went for Tonks' ring.

"It must be nice to be with someone who sweats galleons," Ginny mused glumly.

Hermione shrugged. "He doesn't exactly have free access to his vaults, you know. Not with the whole fake death thing."

"I guess not," Ginny agreed. "Did Ron have a ring?"

Hermione shook her head. "He barely even had a proposal. Granted, neither did Draco, but at least he was nice about it and had the excellent excuse of Ron and Harry showing up at a very inopportune moment." She sniffed.

"You know," Mrs. Weasley said carefully, "I think you might have been a little unfair to Ron. You probably should have told him the truth earlier."

Hermione sighed. "I know, but... I just didn't want this to happen. And besides, he really should have told me how he felt last year, before he started going out with that trollop." She shook her head. "I shouldn't call her that..." she muttered.

"You could have told him instead, Hermione," Ginny suggested, before wilting under Hermione's stare.

"Anyway, it's over between us. I don't know if we can even still be friends now..." Her voice died. "I don't know if I can even still be friends with Harry."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Harry will understand, dear." Hermione shot her a doubtful look. "In due time, of course. Surely by the time the baby comes."

"And I think I might know something that will cheer you up," Ginny said brightly.

"And what might that be?" Hermione asked.

"I know where there's a payphone a couple blocks from here," she said, grinning. "You can call that blond fiance of yours."

A small smile crept onto Hermione's face before she frowned. "Do you think it would be okay if I went out?" she asked. She had not stepped out of Grimmauld the entire time she'd been there. It was just too dangerous.

"So long as I go with you," Tonks said. She scrunched up her face, and her hair turned a brilliant magenta while her nose narrowed. "And we can disguise you somehow," she added, her voice now much more nasally.

"Yeah!" Ginny said. "Put on this scarf." She rummaged through a pile of Hermione's things and retrieved the yellow scarf that Fidget had given her. "And you can wear my big green hat, too."

Hermione, now feeling slightly lighter than she had a few minutes previous, dressed accordingly, adding a pair of sunglasses to her outfit as well. "You look a tad ridiculous, but I like it," Ginny said amusedly.

"Take some change, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, scrounging in her pocket for a few spare pence. "Off you go."

Hermione thanked them and left her bedroom with Tonks, her tears nearly dry. As they went down the stairs, Hermione made out the distinct sound of several Weasley men lecturing Ron.

"You've got to be suave, Ronnikins," one of the twins was saying.

"Yeah, trollish usually just doesn't do the trick," the other said.

"Oh, shut up, Fred!" Ron huffed.

Hermione froze as they entered the living room, trying her best not to make eye-contact with any of them. Lucky for her Ron was doing the same, staring determinedly down at his feet.

"It's all right, Hermione, we're sorting this oaf out," George said.

"But honestly, that git Malfoy?" Fred asked. "You sure you wouldn't rather go for someone a might bit goofier, like Ron here?"

Hermione didn't answer, but sort of half-shrugged. She and Tonks were just about to the hallway when Harry called out to them. "Where are you going?"

Hermione froze with her back to them, the hairs on the back of her neck standing. "To make a phone call," she said.

"To who?"

"Whom," she corrected automatically. "To Draco," she added in half a whisper. Quite suddenly the tears were back, all because she knew just how disappointed everyone must be.

"Come on," Tonks said, and led her out the door. They walked down several blocks without seeing anyone. From one of the neighboring houses they could distinctly hear someone belting out Jingle Bells. At a corner, they came to a spot where there was a telephone booth as well as a bus stop bench. Tonks sat down guardedly as Hermione slid coins into the slot. She dialed her home number, or rather Samantha and Derek Jones' number, and waited. The phone rang five times before their answering machine picked up. "You've reached Derek and Samantha Jones," her own voice said. "We're either too lazy or too busy to answer right

now. If you leave your name and number, we'll get back to you soon. Cheerio!" Hermione cleared her throat. "Hi Derek," she said. "This is Sam. I just... I just wanted to call and tell you happy Christmas. The baby's fine and everything. Well, except for one thing. I'll tell you about that later. I... we miss you. I hope you're doing well." She paused. "If you're there, please pick up." She waited a few seconds. "But I guess you're not. Listen, take care of that spritelike friend of ours, okay? I, I guess I'll hang up now... I love you," she added, before hanging up downheartedly.

"Not at home?" Tonks asked, looking as if she had been trying not to listen in.

"No," Hermione confirmed. "No, he wasn't." Tonks wrapped a supportive arm around Hermione's shoulder as they walked back.

"You know," Tonks said, as they trekked along. "I may not be a complete master when it comes to love, but I did manage to reel in my catch. And I think that the hardest part is getting him to admit

to loving you. So you see, the hardest part is already over for you, you know?"

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment. Both Draco and Ron had now told her they loved her. Both of them had even proposed. So why did she feel so alone? She wrapped Fidget's scarf tighter around her neck. It never seemed to make her feel any warmer.

Draco, with little better to do, had gone out and driven to the coffee shop. He hadn't really expected it to be open, but going somewhere was better than staying shut up at home. How that house had transformed into a home over the last five months was beyond him. But it had felt a little too large lately. A little too lonely. It amazed him that he had ever spent any large amount of time alone at the manor, it being at least forty times larger.

Alas, the coffee shop really wasn't open at all, so he settled for wandering the streets a bit. Presently, he heard the sound of voices and realized that there was a pub down the street doing business. He hadn't had a drink in what felt like ages. Maybe he could get some eggnog, not that he'd ever liked the stuff. It was too sweet and too... pleasant. It sort of made him feel like a hufflepuff.

He went in, wondering faintly why anyone would volunteer to work on a holiday. After his newfound experience with working, he thought that he would gladly take any day off that he could. (And he had certainly never done homework on Christmas.)

At the bar sat four men, each looking distinctly tipsy, even though it was only about eleven in the morning. The woman running the business looked a bit forlorn as she surveyed her customers. "What kin I get ya, love?" she asked in a thick accent.

"Rum," Draco answered, sitting down as far from the drunken muggle men as he could. Truly, the

last time he'd been in a pub had been six months back when he had run into Hermione Granger. The memory sent a tingle down his spine. What if he allowed some strange, or not so strange, girl to drag him away and force him to join some sort of program again?

"That I 'ave," she answered, getting a clean glass and filling it for him. She pushed it to him, gave a glance to her other customers and turned back to him. "So whot's yer story?" she asked, looking like she wanted desperately to talk to someone who wasn't drunk yet.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, swirling his drink.

"Anywun whot comes intuh a place like this on Christmas Day's gotta story."

"Well, maybe I don't celebrate," he suggested.

"Yer wearin' green 'n' red, lad," she pointed out. "That's a sure sign if ever I saw wun."

Draco looked down. He hadn't even realized which shirt he had put on before leaving, but sure enough it was green with red stripes. He had never given it much thought, but Gryffindor and Slytherin colors together were very Christmasy. He sniffed his drink. "Do you always badger your paying customers like this?"

"Oh, come on, Love. Jus' answer the question." She grinned. "I'll give yer a piece of red velvet cake," she offered.

Draco sighed. "My wife's out of town," he answered with finality.

"Oh, wun of 'em," she said, nodding. "Just like Ern over there," she said, pointing to a particularly tipsy looking individual. She lowered her voice. "'Cept he only thinks he's gotta wife," she added.

Draco gave "Ern" a slightly disgusted look. "How sane," he said sarcastically.

"Not sane at all," the barkeep said, frowning. She shuffled off and brought back a piece of bright red cake with white icing. "Here, now you eat that, Love. 'Nough chocolate 'n' red dye to make anywun cheery."

Draco nibbled at his cake for a while in peace as the woman switched the television station. Suddenly he felt just as he had six months prior, only this time he was completely sober. Although he had his rum right in front of him, he felt no urge to drink any. There was really only one thing he truly wanted, and he didn't know when he'd be able to have her back. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////////////////////// When Draco finally stumbled home, it was nearly dinnertime. He planned to eat about a pound of chocolate and call it a night. What he was not expecting, however, was to find a flashing light on the answering machine. It was probably from

Fidget. He found the play button and pushed. But it wasn't from Fidget at all. It was from Hermione.

Hi Derek. This is Sam. I just... I just wanted to call and tell you happy Christmas. The baby's fine and everything. Well, except for one thing. I'll tell you about that later. I... we miss you. I hope you're doing well. There was a pause. If you're there, please pick up. She paused again. But I guess you're not. Listen, take care of that spritelike friend of ours, okay? I, I guess I'll hang up now... I love you.

There was a strange tone in her voice. She sounded so sad. Granted, she had been sad for a few months straight already. But it was more than that. What the problem with the baby was, he honestly couldn't say. Hopefully it wasn't what was causing her sadness.

One thing was cleared up. Between the note with the gift this morning and this message, he now knew just what friend he was supposed to be looking out for. There was really only one spritelike

individual they knew, and that person was most definitely Fidget. (Thought there was the offchance she meant an actual sprite, but those usually didn't live in that particular area of England.)

In any case, he was tired. Hearing Hermione's voice like this felt like such a tease. Their baby would be born in a mere three months. Could he really wait that long?

She hadn't left a return number, so he forced himself to give up any fancy ideas about speaking to her.

Hermione had returned to her room to mull things over. The pink Christmas tree was going off much more often than usual. Every few minutes a different song would begin, probably started by a Weasley twin prank, because she also heard groaning at the start of each new song (which

seemed to be "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" more often than not.)

Presently, there was a sound of stairs creaking, and someone knocked at her door. "Hermione?" It was Harry.

"Yes?" she asked without emotion.

"Can I come in?"

She paused. "Sure," she granted.

The door creaked open, and Harry came in. He sat down on an old chair and scooted closer to her. He didn't look at her for a moment, and when he did, it was with forlorn. "Hey," he said desperately. Hermione didn't respond. "I'm sorry," he added.

This was enough of a surprise to make her look up. "What?"

He cast his eyes toward her bookshelf. "We never asked you if you wanted to leave. We just assumed."

"Oh," she said, staring down at her feet.

"And I shouldn't have been trying so hard to throw Ron at you," he added. Harry groaned. "If I had known the great git actually ugh, fancied you, and vice versa" he trailed off.

She sighed. "There was no way for you to know." She paused. "I'm sorry, too, you know."

Harry didn't look quite satisfied, but he nodded. "We do need you here, though. We still haven't figured out the last horcrux."

"I have a lead," she offered.

"Oh?" Harry looked intrigued.

"I'm not sure why I didn't mention it before I was embarrassed I guess," she muttered. She went to her stack of books and papers and pulled out a copy of the paragraph she and Ginny had found in the Pregnancy Lozenge book. She read it to him.

The pregnancy lozenge was originally developed by a team of Death Eaters, under orders of HeWho-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was originally meant as a means to clone him; only there were unexpected complications. They were unable to separate the mother's deoxyribonucleic acid from the father's, which resulted in what might be deemed as typical offspring. Other complications set in that ultimately ended their research. Every child born turned out to be female. Furthermore, each child displayed a complete lack of magical qualities; in other words, they were squibs. Once the project ended, an anonymous researcher sent this information to a wizarding fertility lab, to help those unable to conceive.

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to translate for me. I don't get it."

She groaned. "Okay, so that lozenge I took that got me pregnant was created by Death Eaters. They wanted to clone Voldemort. Clone," she repeated.

"Well, I got that much," Harry said grumpily.

"Anyway, I'm betting they wanted to do several trial runs before trying it with You-Know-Who, himself. So, they probably used the DNA from Death Eaters and tested them on different women. Every time a baby was born, though, it would turn out to be a female squib, and she would show traits from both parents, meaning the cloning process didn't work."

"Hold it," Harry interrupted. "You mean you and Malfoy are having a squib for a daughter?" Hermione nodded. "I bet he'll just love that," he added in an undertone.

"Harry," Hermione scolded. "As I was saying, after they realized that the lozenge wasn't going to work, they gave up. One of the researchers released the findings to a magical fertility clinic, and here I am, with child. Ta-da."

Harry shook his head softly. "So you think I'm sorry, but what could this possibly do with a horcrux, other than the clone thing?"

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. "Do you remember what I told you about my friend, Fidget?"

"You mean Snape's" Harry froze and snapped his fingers. "Oh!"

"Exactly." She sighed in relief. "I'm thinking Fidge was a pregnancy lozenge baby, and one of the originals, too. She's the right age, and just look at who exactly is her father. Snape would have been a little young, younger than either of our parents were when they had us, but I'm betting that as an

aspiring young Death Eater with potions skills, Voldemort would have loved to have him on his team. Who knows, he might have even been the one who released the findings."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Snape? Do something nice? Yeah, Hermione, right"

"It's just a guess, Harry."

He stopped to think a moment. "Do you think this Fidget girl is a horcrux, then?" he asked in all due seriousness, which was broken quickly by Hermione's laughter.

She shook her head hard. "No way. I highly doubt anyone would want a horcrux to be a human being. Imagine having something you're depending on to stay intact, stuck inside something mortal?" She shook her head again. "It's got to be an object."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I guess so"

Hermione sighed. "But there's really no saying if it's something of Fidget's, or part of the lab the worked on, or if it has something to do with one of the other failed clones, or what. Although" she trailed off, thinking.

"What?" Harry asked.

Hermione let out a slow breath. "Snape has been around an awful lot lately. According to Fidget, she'd never seen him before from anything other than a photograph."

"So you do think it has something to do with her?"

She looked up. "It's a good guess, especially if Voldemort's feeling threatened. He might be checking up on all of his old Horcruxes." She stood up, pacing the room. "We need to talk to her"

Harry paused. "We could always invite her over," he suggested. "You could have that baby shower you were complaining about missing." He paused again, as if his next words were costing him everything he had. "And I suppose that Malfoy could, you know, visit with her. But-only-for-a-fewhours," he added quickly and vehemently.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and she smiled the first smile she'd had the entire day. "Thank you, Harry!" she squealed, launching herself on him. He awkwardly hugged her back.

"But we're going to have to send Ron away to the Burrow," he said forcefully. "He is NOT to know about this." He looked her in the eye. "So that means no skipping off to live with Ferret again."

Hermione nodded solemnly, but in her head she was already making up all sorts of wonderful plans. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// /////////////////////////

It took over a month for Harry to decide on a date that would successfully keep Ron out of the house. Hermione, however, suspected that he was really just putting off allowing Draco Malfoy into his house again. Then, of course, they had to get Ministry approval for the visit. It was hard convincing them to allow a known Death Eater to leave their program, even for a few hours. The visit might have been able to happen without their approval, but it was really better this way. They were able to shield the magic usage for a whole three minutes while Harry popped into "Derek Jones's" house and popped out again with Fidget and Draco in tow.

Hermione herself sat anxiously in the living room awaiting their arrival. She was now seven and a half months pregnant. (That day's date happened to be February 15th, just barely missing Valentine's Day.) Because of the promised baby shower aspect of today's events, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Tonks were also present.

"You really think she's a bit like me?" Tonks asked for what must have been the tenth time in three

weeks. For some odd reason, she seemed absolutely delighted by the idea of meeting anyone who acted remotely like herself.

Hermione shrugged in response. "I don't even know anymore," she answered. She was wearing a very loose fitting top. Because she wasn't allowed out in public she had been forced to send anybody else who was willing to go get her larger maternity clothes. As a result she felt a bit like a patchwork doll. Her clothes didn't even begin to suit her; most of them weren't the right size, and anything Mrs. Weasley had bought, well, looked like Mrs. Weasley had bought them.

"Almost time," the aforementioned woman remarked, looking at the clock. She had brought in her clock from the burrow that told her where her family was, but how she was able to tell the real time was beyond anyone else's knowledge.

Hermione remained sitting. Although she would have liked to be standing when Draco and Fidget arrived, she was feeling especially pregnant today.

Ginny sent her a reassuring smile, and a moment later three figures arrived in front of them. Surprisingly, it was Harry and not Fidget who crashed to the floor after the use of a portkey.

"SAMwhat did you say her real name is again?" Fidget asked, looking uncertainly toward Draco.

"Hermione," he answered, looking uneasily around the room before looking at Hermione. He gave her a small smile.

"Hermione!" Fidget greeted, stepping around the coffee table and giving her a bent-over hug.

"Fidget!" Hermione returned, smiling up at her friend.

Harry sat down uncomfortably on a folding chair, glared at Draco, and gestured for him to sit as well. "Take it easy, Potter," Draco muttered.

At the mention of "Potter," Fidget's head spun around and she stared at Harry. "You mean... you're..." Her mouth fell open for a good three seconds. "Wow!"

"Er," Harry said uncomfortably, "yeah."

Fidget beamed and clapped her hands together for emphasis. "Awesome," she said simply, absolutely marveled.

"So," Ginny said, breaking the semi-awkward silence that had begun to set in. "My name's Ginny Weasley, this is my mother, Molly, and this is Nymphadora Tonks."

"Just Tonks, thanks," Tonks added. "Wotcher, cousin," she said, winking at Draco, who looked momentarily confused at being addressed.

"Nice to meet you," Fidget said, smiling broadly. She was wearing a fluffy black and white dress,

and her hair was currently pink and red. She snapped her fingers, reached into her purse, and removed a small box. "Happy baby shower!" She handed the box over to Hermione. "You too, DerDray-whatever your name is."

"Thanks," he replied, sitting somewhat stiffly next to Harry.

"Well, go ahead; open it," Fidget said cheerily. Ginny was watching the new girl with a small amount of amusement.

"Okay..." Hermione said, and removed the paper (which was decorated with pictures of baby vegetables) from the box. She opened it to reveal a pair of knitted booties. Hermione smiled, showing them to everyone. "Thanks Fidge!" she said, giving the young woman a hug.

"No problem at all! My mum knitted them," she added secretively.

"We got you something, too, Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley said, handing over a much larger gift, which turned out to be a magical nappy dispenser. "You just put the old one in the compartment at the bottom, and take a fresh one from the top, and it cleans them for you, so you never need more than one. Unless you have Fred and George on your hands, of course," she added in displeasure.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said happily.

Draco nodded in agreement, making Harry give him a sidelong glance. "What? I don't want the smell of dirty nappies around either, Potter." Harry grumbled something under his breath. "We can keep it under the changing table."

"Anyway," Harry said, sounding very unhappy to be playing host to Malfoy, "I got you a little something, too." He drew something from his pocket and enlarged it with his wand before handing it to Hermione.

Hermione opened the package and grinned. "A magical baby monitor," she said. "I hoped I'd get one of these. Thank you, Harry." She sent him a smile.

"Not a problem." There was a tense moment of silence before Tonks pulled a gift from her pocket.

"Magical earplugs," she said, throwing them to Draco. "You can set them to let you hear the cries for a few minutes and then let you go back to sleep while the other's taking care of it." She paused. "Mind that you share them."

"And I got you this," Ginny said, brandishing a box out of nowhere. Hermione opened it to reveal two newborn-sized outfits.

"Oh, thank you, Gin," Hermione said, and Draco nodded his agreement.

"So now what?" Fidget asked, looking around at the group.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, we kind of need to ask you a few questions Fidget." He looked uncomfortable using her name.

"And that's our signal that it's time to skidaddle," Ginny said, gesturing to her mother and Tonks. "But don't worry, we'll be back in awhile with cake." She winked before the three women left.

Fidget wrinkled her nose. "Interesting party," she mused teasingly.

"Yes, well we only have a few hours and a lot needs to be done," Harry said. Now that it was just the four of them it seemed strangely quiet.

"Fidget," Hermione began, "do you have anything of your father's?"

To her surprise, Fidget and Draco exchanged an odd smirk. "That's just what ol' Dad asked," she said.

"You mean you talked to him?" Hermione asked, amazed.

Fidget nodded. "Yeah, we had a real heart-to-heart the beginning of December, just after you left. But I'll tell you what I told him: not to my knowledge." She shrugged. "What's up with everyone, anyway?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Snape really is looking for the horcruxes?"

Fidget shook her head in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Yeah," Draco added. "What?"

Hermione groaned. "We have reason to believe that Voldemort," both Draco and Fidget flinched,

"is keeping part of his soul in an object that is somehow connected to you, Fidge."

"Part of his huh?" Fidget shook her head again.

"It's dreadfully confusing," Hermione said, moaning. She really didn't want to have to explain all of it.

"Look," Harry said, "you're probably better off not knowing. But is there anything you've got that you've had your entire life that seems suspicious somehow?"

Fidget scratched her head. "Umm" She looked around as if for help.

"Anything you know your mother had when she was pregnant?" Hermione offered.

"Well," Fidget said, still looking baffled, "I suppose there's the knitting."

Hermione frowned. "Knitting?"

"Yes, well you see, my Mum started knitting when she was pregnant with me. She knitted an insane amount of things, and always the exact same pattern all except" She froze before saying something very vile that made both men and Hermione look at her as if they'd never seen her before.

"Except what?" Hermione asked.

"Do you do you have that scarf I gave you?" Fidget asked, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

"The yellow scarf?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted. Fidget nodded. "Yes, I'll be right back," she said, before heading upstairs and coming down a few minutes later.

"This scarf has always driven me a little mad," Fidget said, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "See, when you knit and I know because of my mum, there are certain times when you drop a stitch and purl, and knit and" She paused. "It's just not made right. I don't know how to explain, but it's not. See how the pattern weaves in and out? See this row? It's not right. And the color! My mum has never, ever liked yellow. So why make a scarf that color? And have you noticed it's not warm?"

Hermione nodded. "I feel like an idiot," she mumbled. "I learned how to knit a few years ago and I never even noticed this. And you're right. It's not warm at all."

"So you're saying," Harry said, "that we've had the last horcrux in the house for two and a half months and didn't even notice?"

Draco swore. "Don't just sit there, Potter, destroy it," he commanded.

Harry glared at him. "It's not as easy as all that," he said.

"What? Do you have to drench it in holy water first?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry answered. "But there might still be a spell on it," he said. He paused. "But there's still one thing that bothers me about this," he said. "Why would Voldemort," the two flinched again, "have made a horcrux that wasn't extremely hard to get to?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose it was extremely hard to guess what it was. I mean, the only reason we know is because of that list you found in Regulus's room. After all, what keeps something more hidden than making it inconspicuous?"

"Well," Draco said, "if this thing does have a piece of his soul, then I think we should chuck it in the fireplace and see what happens."

Harry crossed his arms. "What sort of Death Eater are you, anyway?"

"The kind with indigestion," Draco growled.

"Anyway, Professor Dumbledore," here he glared at Draco again, "had that blackened hand from destroying a ring that was also a horcrux last year."

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "you destroyed that diary in second year, and the cup just a few months ago. It'll be fine."

Harry looked uncomfortable. "But what if"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore's hand got hurt from retrieving the horcrux, not from destroying it," she said. "Please Harry, just try. What could be the harm? More importantly, what could be the gain?"

Harry still looked distrustingly at the scarf. "All right," he agreed.

"It was never my favorite anyway," Fidget offered.

Harry sort of rolled his eyes at her, tugged the scarf out of Hermione's hand, stood back, and threw the scarf into the fireplace, wand at the ready. Nothing happened at first, other than the smell of burning wool, but then a small cloud of smoke shaped suspiciously like a face appeared and drifted lazily up the chimney.

"Interesting," Fidget commented. "Can we have that cake now?" ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////// "That was... easy," Hermione said uncomfortably.

Harry nodded, but then he shrugged. "I'm not going to complain. Something similar did happen when we destroyed the cup."

"Cake," Fidget reminded.

"And now without any horcruxes in the way, we can go ahead and..." Harry looked uncomfortable, "er, kill him."

"Have fun with that," Draco said with a false smile. He stood and walked to the couch where Hermione sat, offering her a hand to stand up. Harry scowled and rushed to her other side, and together they hoisted her to her feet.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why, look at all of these fine gentleman," Fidget remarked. "And not one helping me."

"You might have to wait 'til you're in your third trimester," Hermione said, clicking her tongue at the two men.

"Well, I am wearing a dress. That should count for something," Fidget said teasingly before standing up. "Come on, cake's calling," she added, starting to push Harry forward. She added in an undertone, "Let's give them a minute to themselves, eh?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, turned, and raised his eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"

"They haven't seen each other in over two months," she explained, gesturing to Draco and Hermione, who both looked somewhat embarrassed, "so come on." Before Harry had a chance to object further, she tugged him down the hall toward where she had seen Tonks, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley disappear.

And suddenly, there they were, all alone. "Hi," Hermione said, turning to him.

"Hi," he replied, a faint smirk tilting his mouth to the right. "I've missed you," he added.

She nodded. "Me too."

Very gently he eased her back down onto the couch and sat next to her, taking one of her hands in his own. "Everytime I look into the mirror," he began, "I have to remind myself that I'm only seventeen."

For some reason, Hermione felt herself stop breathing. "Oh?"

"I just don't feel it," he admitted. "I don't feel seventeen."

She sighed with relief. "I don't feel eighteen either... granted, I've felt about seventy-years-old my entire life," she added with a shrug.

He grinned. "Well, I'm certainly glad you don't look it." Hermione punched him gently in the arm. He sighed and rubbed a gentle circle into her palm. "Do you think we're ready for all this?"

Hermione looked down at her stomach's bulge. "I don't think it's going to let us wait," she said.

He shook his head. "No, I guess not." He paused. "What was it you were going to tell me about her? Madelyn, I mean."

Hermione took a deep breath. "You aren't going to like it," she said.

"So long as she's healthy, and... Great Merlin, she is mine, isn't she?" he asked, alarmed.

"Of course, you dolt," she said, smacking him slightly. "Unless somebody else's hair was in that lozenge." She frowned. "But it is to do with the lozenge," she said, eyes not meeting his.

Now it was his turn to frown. "You know you can tell me," he said. To his horror, her eyes started welling up with tears.

"Every lozenge baby," she squeaked out, "is a girl and a... a..."

"Please tell me," he pleaded. "I promise I won't get angry."

"A squib," she finished, barely audible. His hand froze inside hers and she squeezed at it desperately.

"Oh?" he asked, sounding oddly emotionless.

"Like Fidget," she added. "She was a practice lozenge baby."

He took a deep, unsteady breath and flashed her a forced smile. "Well, there's not much we can do about that, now is there?"

She shook her head. "You mean... you're okay with this?"

"I'm not going to lie and say I'm thrilled, but... I have been living among muggles for how many months now? I think I can learn to cope." He squeezed her hand. "Besides, the next one won't be."

Hermione frowned. "Next one?"

He grinned mysteriously at her. "I don't want just one, you know," he said tenderly, placing a hand on her stomach. "So long as I have my way, Madelyn's going to have several adoring younger brothers. And she'll be special enough with the whole 'beautiful fetus' thing." He leaned in towards her. "It'll be all right, love," he said, before kissing her softly.

"Ohh..." They were torn apart by the entrance of Ginny Weasley. "Oh, please, don't mind me. You just go back to what you were doing," she said, grinning broadly.

"What were they doing?" Harry asked, coming up behind Ginny with a scowl on his face.

Ginny flashed him an annoyed look. "Honestly, Harry. Use your imagination," she said heatedly. "Goodness knows somebody around here should be getting a good snog," she added, before stomping past him.

Harry looked torn between revulsion and fear, so he settled for glaring at Draco and then running after Ginny.

"I think I might actually grow to like the SheWeasel," Draco commented. Hermione jabbed him gently in the ribs. He grinned at her, and she grinned back. "Now where were we?"

"You were telling me that you wanted to have more than one child," she said. "And personally I vote that you go through the pregnancy next time."

He frowned. "Ouch. No thank you." He tapped his chin. "And I think we were further along than that..." He leaned in again and kissed her gently until Hermione's arms came to wrap around his neck. Reluctantly he pulled away from her lips and simply held her for a few minutes. This time it was the sound of her stomach gurgling that interrupted them. "Cake?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm starved," she said guiltily. He kissed her one last time on the forehead before helping her to her feet.

"So where's the rest of the Weasley clan today? I noticed there wasn't any Ron," he asked as they began the short trek to the kitchen.

"We didn't tell him you were coming. He's currently at a Quidditch match with his father," she replied.

"That afraid we'd get into a row?" he asked, chuckling.

Hermione looked up at him. "I haven't told you what he did, have I?"

Draco stopped. "What did the Weasel do?" he asked, frowning automatically.

Hermione grimaced. "He proposed to me," she admitted.

Draco's mouth dropped open a degree. "That big, red rat!" He swore. "When did this happen?"

"Christmas," she replied gloomily. "I hadn't told anyone other than Ginny about us at the time," she added guiltily, "so it wasn't like he knew he was trespassing on your territory."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Nice metaphor." He frowned. "He knew you were having my baby, though," he added. "I assume you turned him down?"

"I turned him down!" she agreed.

"Good!" he said with a sigh. "I swear I'm going to make him pay the next time I see him."

She crossed her arms. "I wish you wouldn't."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine.. but if he starts something, I'm fighting back," he said with finality.

Hermione smiled at him. "You know, you're very cute when you're jealous."

"Malfoys are never cute," he corrected. "But I'm very glad you think so, darling."

"Did you just call me darling?" she asked.

"Got a problem with it?"

"To the contrary."

He leaned in and kissed her one last time. "And now for some cake," he told her.

They ate quietly while Fidget and Tonks had a very deep discussion on Hermione's statement that the two were similar. Tonks had done a very good demonstration of her powers as a metamorpmagus, and Fidget had made a very long list of every single color she had ever dyed her hair. They had discovered that they're birthdays were only two days apart, and that Tonks was really only a year older. It was sort of fun watching the two of them. Meanwhile, Draco and Hermione held hands under the table, Draco squeezing to reassure her.

"Okay," Harry said, marching into the room and looking extremely red and irritated. "Time to go."

"What?" Hermione asked, checking her watch. "Already?"

"Yes," Harry said, looking purposely away from her.

"Shoot," Fidget said. She had just discovered that both she and Tonks could touch their tongues to their noses. "It was very nice meeting you all." She stood, gave Tonks and Hermione a hug, and looked expectantly at Draco.

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry barked.

"You know what Potter? You can go" but Hermione interrupted him.

"It won't be that long," she said. "You remember my promise, don't you?" Draco paused, and shook his head. Hermione leaned in. "I'll contact you when the baby is coming." She had tears glistening in her eyes, and Harry was tapping his foot impatiently.

"Portkey's going to expire, Malfoy, and you're still in that stupid protection program. You aren't getting out of it," Harry ground out.

"Fine," Draco said, and he stood. "But there's one thing you've got to know, Potter, and I think it's about time you found out."

"And what's that?" Harry asked, arms crossed and glaring daggers.

"I'm in love with her," he said simply. With that, he bent over and gave Hermione a final kiss before angrily following Harry up the stairs, Fidget in tow and looking amused.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //// ermione glared at Harry from across the dinner table.

"And then he dives for the quaffle, and just when I think he's going to get it, McDurfin comes and intercepts the snitch, and everyone was like, 'Ahh!' because, you know, they were on a collision course, but then we realize that Remington's stopped at just the right moment, and then this bludger goes WHAM!" Ron's fist landed in his mashed potatoes. "And McDurfin broke his arm, but boy did he ever get the snitch! You should have been there, Harry!" Ron ranted happily, licking some gravy off of his knuckles.

Hermione groaned inwardly. To think that Ron Weasley, of all people, had been the object of her affection for several years. He was such a boy. Nevertheless, he was the happiest she'd seen him in months. "I take it you enjoyed yourself?" she asked.

"Did I ever!" Ron said. He reached into his pocket and removed a miniature Quidditch player, much like the one he had of Krum. "Show them what we practiced," he demanded. The little player sat on the edge of a spoon and pretended to fly. "Isn't that great?"

Everyone at the table nodded half-heartedly, except, that is, for Fred and George. They were flinging peas for the figurine to catch.

"So," Ron continued. "What did all of you do today?"

Hermione looked to Harry uncomfortably. "Oh, you know this, that, destroyed the final horcrux," Harry said.

Ron spat out the pumpkin juice he had just sipped. "You what!"

"Er," Harry said. "We figured out that it was Hermione's yellow scarf, and"

"Huh?" Ron asked. "How'd you do that?" It was usually fairly easy to deceive Ron, but even he deserved a verifiable answer.

Harry gulped nervously. "We had Hermione's friend Fidget over," he explained.

Ron pulled a face. "What? Why?"

"Because we figured out that she probably had the final horcrux, or that she knew something about it," Hermione explained.

"Yeah, go on" Ron prompted.

"She's a lozenge baby," Hermione said, wondering why she hadn't even bothered explaining this to him before.

Ron squinted. "You know you aren't making any sense, don't you? And why wouldn't you tell me you were having her over?"

"We thought you'd be uncomfortable," Harry lied swiftly. "She is Snape's daughter."

"I wouldn't be any more uncomfortable than you would," Ron pointed out.

"Well plus you had that match to go to. No need to tell you about something that you couldn't participate in, anyway."

"Hermione," Ron whined, turning to her. He hadn't been in the mood to talk to her much since Christmas. "What do you mean she's a lozenge baby?"

"We found this book at the library that explained that the pregnancy lozenges were created by

Death Eaters in order to try to clone Voldemort, and we think Snape donated a hair which ended up creating Fidget," she said in one breath. "Also, it explains that all lozenge baby's are non-magical and female," she added.

"Oh," Ron said slowly, looking as if he was attempting to digest what she had just said. "Oh, clone!" He looked semi-triumphant. "I get it!"

Hermione nodded and looked uneasily at Harry. It had been his idea to keep Draco out of the picture. What Ron didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"So," Ron continued, "does this mean" he faltered, "we've got to, ugh, destroy the old bat?"

Harry nodded. "I'm going to call an Order meeting; we can figure it out from there."

Ron nodded hesitantly. "You know, I still don't get why you didn't tell me this," he said.

"Well," Hermione started. At that moment the miniature Quidditch player was pelted by a slice of zucchini, and the twins began to pretend to be Healers, sailing down to save the little fellow with a tourniquet made from a straw wrapper.

"Oi!" Ron was yelling. "That cost me a whole galleon! Fred, you're going to break it!"

"I need to go to the loo," Hermione said quietly, slipping from the room unnoticed. After using the bathroom (her bladder was being pushed into by the baby lately) she went up to her room to sit. She hated lying to Ron. She had the most horrible feeling that he was really never going to forgive her. In a scant six weeks she would be giving birth to the daughter of his childhood enemy. Not to long after that, she'd be marrying him. At least, that was the plan.

Seeing Draco that morning had been like a dream come true. She hadn't realized it was possible to miss someone you had spent so long hating. Even

if he hadn't declared his love for her until the last minute, she would still have missed him. He had become a companion. True to his word right after they'd found out she was pregnant, he really wasn't that bad. In fact, he was really pretty wonderful. While she'd been giving him the cold shoulder, he'd grown especially attentive. He had stopped treating her as just a vessel for his child but as a true human being.

At the same time, though, she hated the idea of losing Ron. She had been friends with him since she was twelve. They had been together through good times and bad. Although they had had many, many fights in the past, they had always managed to make up somehow. This though she feared he would never forgive her. She was beginning to wish that Ron had been there this morning if for no other reason than that he could have heard Draco saying that he loved her, as he had said to Harry.

Harry would get over it. He had never loved her in that way, so it was easier with him. True, he hated Draco. Their rivalry had gone on longer than his

friendship with her. She was sure he would understand eventually.

A knock resounded on her door, and Ginny stuck her head in. "Hey," she said. "How are you doing?"

Hermione shrugged. "Okay, I guess," she responded.

Ginny came to sit on the bed beside her. "I had a huge spat with Harry earlier," she said, grinning.

"What's so great about that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He's cracking," she said. "One of these days he's going to have to come back to me." She had a big smile on her face. "That and we kissed for a good ten minutes after Malfoy left," she added.

Hermione gasped. "No way!"

Ginny just sighed dreamily. "Who knows, I might just get him to allow me to lend a hand in the final battle. Do you suppose Bellatrix would enjoy a good Bat Bogey hex?" she asked.

"Would anyone?" Hermione asked, frowning slightly at her friend.

"Oh, and what's the name of that woman with snakes growing out of her head? Mm something. That would be a great hex for her, methinks." Ginny continued to ramble about different hexes for a few minutes.

"So you're really in love with Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Ginny looked left and right. "Well, yeah" she said. "I have been since I was what? Ten? What brought this up?"

Hermione shook her head slightly. "Suppose Harry didn't get together with you last year, and you fell in love with someone else, and then Harry suddenly told you he loved you," Hermione said.

Ginny frowned at her. "Trying to turn my situation into yours isn't going to help much. I've dated guys other than Harry, you know. I'm committed to him."

"I just feel like I'm being a complete bear to Ron," she admitted. "He certainly never called me the Mword, and yet, look who I'm going to end up with? The person Ron tried to defend me against. He ended up burping up slugs for me."

Ginny looked at her firmly. "Hermione," she said, "I'm not going to tell you who to chose."

"Whom," Hermione corrected.

"Ron is my brother, and though I don't often act like it, I love him. I've got his best interest at heart. Just try to be nice to him, okay?" Ginny gave her a pitying look. "I'm going back downstairs." She paused just before the door. "Oh, and I wanted to tell you that you looked really cute together, you and Malfoy." She left Hermione alone.

Draco sat in the living room of his home with Fidget. She was currently talking his ear off about how cool it was that she had just met the Harry Potter. Draco groaned. Somehow he had gotten into a situation where he was marrying a muggleborn, having a part-veela squib daughter, and associating with a semi-gothic squib, all while living like a muggle in the middle of suburbia. How strange had his life gotten? At least he wasn't in Azkaban.

He wondered vaguely what his father was doing right then. Had he heard the news of his son's death? Was he mourning him? He decided he

preferred the thought that his father thought he was dead, rather than the truth. He had completely betrayed the man. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////////// Hermione felt the strangest urge to clean anything and everything. It had started when she barked at Harry to put away his broomstick servicing kit, and escalated when she found herself picking up after the twins by levitating their new invention, the Tentacular Tonic, into a high cupboard, much to their complaint because they had currently been at work testing it on a very peeved Ron (who happened to be sprouting tentacles out of his eyebrows.) And then she had gone to take a shower, scrubbing herself clean with a loofa and double shampooing her hair. When she was done and dressed, she settled herself in a chair in the living room, frowning.

"Is there something wrong?" Harry asked. Hermione had also taken a washrag and scrubbed thoroughly behind his ears.

She shrugged. "I just feel sort of peculiar is all," she said. She rested her hands on her large belly, rubbing it soothingly. "Have you noticed that smell? It absolutely reeks in here. It's like rotting potatoes mixed with turmeric or something."

Ginny, who was sitting beside Harry, attempting to teach herself how to knit, looked up. "I don't smell anything," she said.

"Someone should really get some air freshener," Hermione said grumpily. "I cannot believe you can't smell that! It's putrid." She held her nose and waved a hand in front of her face.

"Doesn't pregnancy give you a heightened sense of smell?" Ginny asked, turning a page in her book entitled, Knitting for (K)nitwit(che)s!

"Yeah, yeah" she grumbled in reply. "Does anyone else feel a little sick? My stomach hurts." Quite suddenly her face scrunched together, and she whimpered. "Oh, no"

"What is it," Harry asked, frowning.

Hermione grimaced. "I think I just had a contraction," she admitted. "It's the first one though, so I'm not very far along."

Harry dropped the Quidditch book he had been reading and stared at her, aghast. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously?" Ginny asked, snapping her book closed and throwing her needles and yarn aside.

"It's about five days early, but" Hermione trailed off. "Somebody help me stand up, please," she begged, holding out her arms. Ginny and Harry complied, just as Ron wandered into the room, eating an ice cream sandwich.

"What's going on?" he asked, as Ginny ran up the stairs frantically to get Hermione's things.

"Hermione's in labor!" Harry said in a rush, looking for all the world like he had never been in a tough spot before.

Ron gagged on his ice cream. "What?" He pounded on his chest with one fist to get his bite to go down the rest of the way. "Did your water break?" he asked, his ears turning red.

Hermione groaned. "That doesn't always happen," she said, leaning against Harry. "Come over here and make yourself useful," she added, slinging her other arm over his shoulder.

Both boys looked completely freaked out, which wasn't helping Hermione calm her own nerves much. Ginny made a mad dash to the foot of the stairs, Hermione's suitcase in hand. "Floo?" she asked curiously, looking excited.

"Yeah," Harry began, at the same moment Hermione said, "No."

"Why ever not?" he asked, turning to her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, the floo networks are probably being watched. We don't want Voldemort knowing where we are. Secondly, no one out there that we might run into even knows that I'm pregnant, and the aging potion will probably give them all a slight amount of confusion, so we can't go to Mungo's. Third, well, pregnancy isn't exactly a magical malady in the first place, now is it?"

"But I was born" Ron began.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "why don't you go down to the corner and call us a cab?"

Harry raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, but he complied. About twenty minutes later, taxi pulled up and they all climbed aboard, Ron and Harry still helping her walk. The added weight of the baby combined with the slight pain of her contraction

was doing a number on her. "Where to?" the cab driver asked.

"Nearest hospital," Ron began, before Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth.

"The City Hospital of Gelding," she corrected.

"Gelding?" Ron muttered. "Where's that?"

"That's about an hour from here," the cab driver said. He turned around to take a look at them, noting Hermione's pregnancy. "You sure you want to wait that long, missy?"

"I'm not very far along yet, we have time," she assured him.

"Gelding" Harry repeated, "isn't that the town where you and Malfoy were living?"

Hermione nodded resolutely, and Ron gagged. "Ew, we're going to have to see the great ferret, aren't we?" Hermione sent him a death glare, and Ron backed down immediately.

"Whatever you want," he said automatically.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and latched onto Harry's knee. "Ow!" she cried, breathing harshly. She looked at her watch. "Twenty-five minutes apart. I'm fine," she said calmly.

Harry rubbed at his knee. "You've got quite a grip on you," he muttered.

The taxi pulled out and found its way onto the motorway, speeding along quickly. Apparently the cab driver didn't enjoy the idea of having a baby delivered in his car. Just under an hour and a couple more contractions later (Harry's knee was bruising,) and they pulled up in front of the hospital. Hermione quickly grabbed a few pounds

from her suitcase and paid the man before they made their way in.

They arrived at the front desk and the receptionist looked up at them. "My name is Samantha Jones," she said. "I'm in labor. Is Dr. Reed in?"

The receptionist took a quick look at a clipboard. "You're in luck, Dr. Reed is available. Just fill out these forms and she'll be right with you. Which one of you is Mr. Jones?" she asked.

"He's not here yet," Hermione said quickly. She turned. "Would one of you call him? I'll give you the phone number." As Ginny and Ron looked slightly at a loss, Harry nodded begrudgingly.

"Oh," the receptionist added, "and how far apart are your contractions?"

"Fifteen minutes, last time," Hermione informed. She had just given Harry Draco's phone number

and started to fill out her forms when Dr. Reed appeared.

"Mrs. Jones?" she asked. "Oh, yes! The one with the beautiful fetus," she said, smiling. "I haven't seen you since your fifth month checkup," she reprimanded.

"I've been out of town," Hermione answered.

"Aw well," the doctor said, bringing over a wheelchair and helping Hermione into it. "Where is that gorgeous hunk of a husband of yours, anyway?"

"He should be here shortly," Hermione said, ignoring the face that Ron was currently pulling.

"Right this way, Mrs. Jones," Dr. Reed said, directing her into a room, Ginny and Ron following. "The two of you may stay for awhile, but then I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said.

"That's perfectly fine by us," Ginny said, looking uncomfortably around the room.

"It should be awhile," the doctor added, flicking the television on, "so just sit tight. I'll go see about getting you some ice chips. Would you like some anesthetics?" she asked, to which Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Harry wandered in a moment later, just sidestepping the doctor as she left.

"He'll be here in a few," he said glumly. He swiped the hair off of his forehead. "I think I have a headache," he added. "Anywhere I can get some Tylenol around here?" he asked bemusedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You think you're in pain?" she asked, taking up the remote control and changing the channel to a nice documentary on sea lions.

Draco had been doing pushups when the telephone rang, and he almost didn't answer it. He kept getting calls about switching credit cards, which was absolutely annoying. After the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. "Malfoy" the voice on the machine said, "pick up."

Immediately, Draco answered. "Potter?" he asked, doubtful.

"We're at the hospital in your town," Potter said dully, "Hermione's in labor; she wants you to come."

Draco paused. "I'll be right there," he said, hanging up quickly. He made a mad dash to the door before realizing that he wasn't wearing any pants, so he dashed upstairs and dressed before getting into the car, a muggle camera in hand. Brewster was in his yard, and the man waved enthusiastically at him. Ignoring his neighbor completely, Draco backed up and drove off toward the hospital.

He felt breathless and his blood was pounding through his veins as he pulled up and entered. "Her Samantha Jones's room?" he asked.

The receptionist smiled. "Number 22, right down the hall there," she answered.

The blood was pounding in his ears as he walked quickly and surely to the right door. He took a big breath before opening it, and four sets of eyes turned to him, and he smiled. She was there in a hospital bed, looking beautiful and pink with her hair tied up at the back of her head, her skin sweaty. He knew in that moment that all his doubts about their relationship had subsided.

Draco took two strides past Weasley and collapsed to his knees beside her, taking her hand into his own and kissing it.

"You made it," she said, smiling back at him.

Quite suddenly behind them, Potter made a horrible sound. Draco turned to look at him. The dark-haired boy was clutching his forehead, a look of anguish on his face. Then, just as suddenly, Draco yanked his hand from Hermione's and latched onto his forearm, grimacing in undisguised pain. He pulled his sleeve up where his dark mark was black and throbbing.

"Breaking news!" a woman on the television said, and everyone turned to look as a picture of a brick building appeared on the screen. "An explosion has just occurred in Purge and Dowse, Ltd. in London. Even stranger is the add smoky shape in the sky." The camera panned upward to show what was unmistakably a skull with a snake sticking out from its mouth. "Is it the bat signal? So far no casualties have been reported, the store having been closed for the last thirty years. More at ten. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming."

"That's St. Mungo's!" Weasley said, aghast.

"Sweet Merlin," Ginny Weasley mumbled, her gaze shifting to Potter's.

Hermione squeezed Draco's hand hard as she went through a contraction. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////////////////// And along came Snape, and he said, "I'll deliver Miss Granger's baby!" And Harry said, "I'll use my telekinetic powers to kill Voldemort!" And they did. And they all lived happily ever after. The end Just kidding!

Hermione panted as her contraction ceased, a feeling of horror washing through her. Draco was looking gravely down at her, not seeming to mind that she had just squeezed his hand extremely hard.

Harry swore and stomped his foot. "Bloody excellent timing" he muttered. He looked at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know I've got to go," he said.

"Me too," Ron piped up. His eyes were suddenly glassy with the flash of nausea that had overtaken his features.

"And so have I," Ginny added. Harry was about to object, but one look of scorn from Ginny closed his mouth.

"I'm just sorry I can't help," Hermione murmured breathlessly, "but you see, I'm somewhat predisposed at the moment."

Harry laughed half-heartedly, but looked at Draco for a moment. "Malfoy," he said, "you bloody-well had better take care of her for us."

Draco dispelled a breath, his eyes lingering on the hand he was clenching. "Potter" he began, "I I do know a few things more about the Death Eater attack than you do," he said slowly.

Harry paused. "Like what?"

"Little things" Draco said allusively. "Certain strengths and weaknesses among them Hit my aunt Bella with a confundus charm. She depends entirely too much on her good aim. The Crabbes can easily be taken out with a fatiguing charm. Snape well, just be wary. I'm still not sure which side he's on."

Harry nodded, about to leave. "And Potter," Draco added, not facing him, but staring resolutely at a poster of a womb, "if you should see my father, you should know that he that we are extremely susceptible to very bright light."

Ron was staring as if he had never quite seen Draco Malfoy before. "Thank you," Harry said.

Ginny sent Hermione a final brave smile before following him and Ron out of the room.

Hermione placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and turned him to face her. "That was"

Draco just nodded. He moved some of her sodden hair from her forehead, and kissed it gently. "Let's focus on delivering our daughter into the world," he said. Hermione nodded in resolute agreement, praying silently for the safe return of her friends.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny made a mad dash down the hallway and into an abandoned hospital room. "Right," Harry said. "Should we apparate?"

Ginny bit her lip. "Um" she began. "I don't know if you recall but I haven't learned how."

"You could side along," Ron offered, though he looked slightly nauseous from the mere suggestion.

"Or" Harry began.

"I swear, Harry Potter, if you say to stay here, I will hunt you down and kill you when this is all over!"

"Er," Harry corrected himself. "Yeah, let's side along with you." He and Ron exchanged a look while she wasn't facing them.

They latched onto one another, and a moment later they were standing in front of the smoldering brick department store that housed St. Mungo's.

"You know what we just did don't you?" Ginny asked, while struggling to keep herself from vomiting..

Harry nodded. "We just apparated in front of a crowd of muggles"

"Oops," Ron said. "Erm, let's get going, shall we?"

"Let's." They bypassed the firemen that were currently gaping at them and quickly shoved their way toward the dummy in the window. "Rescue mission," Harry whispered, remembering briefly his excuse he gave in the phone booth at the ministry.

With the slightest wiggle of her finger, the dummy beckoned them in. Without bothering to make sure that the muggles on the street weren't looking, because really, this was the final battle after all, they glided through the glass and into the building.

"Where did your friends go?" Dr. Reed asked, as she came into their room once more. "Oh, hello Derek!" she greeted. "It's good to see you."

"Er, hi," Draco mumbled, slightly distracted.

"They had to leave," Hermione said. "There was an emergency."

Dr. Reed laughed lightly. "You know, some people would call a birth an emergency."

Hermione shrugged slightly from her position in the hospital bed. "It's okay, really."

The doctor turned to Draco. "Alright, Daddy. It's a while off, but I'd like to give you some basic instructions on how to cut the umbilical cord."

Draco looked blank. "Excuse me?"

"Unless you'd rather not," Dr. Reed said, looking hastily at Hermione.

Draco looked to Hermione as well. "Is that some sort of tradition, or something?"

"Well" Hermione began, "there are many traditions throughout the world involving the umbilical cord. In some societies, people plant them under a tree. In others, they eat it, and"

Draco was turning steadily green. "I'd really rather not," he stated. "Thank you."

Dr. Reed grinned. "No problem," she said. "You know, some people eat the placenta, too"

Draco pretended he wasn't listening.

People were wailing in Mungo's. The people in the waiting room, most already sporting odd magical ailments, were going temporarily ballistic. A man with two walnuts instead of hands was trying to

make a break through the door that led out onto the street, but apparently it had been charmed not to let anyone out again. A nurse was desperately trying to convince him that it would not be a good idea to break the walnut shells. She paused, though, when she realized just who exactly had arrived in the room.

Tears fell freely down the woman's face as she latched onto Harry for a quick hug. "Thank Merlin!" she gasped.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, shoving the woman away slightly.

She made a desperate wipe at her eyes. "The lift's not working. There's been smoke and no one can leave. We keep hearing things, horrible things." She pointed toward the ceiling. "There's this sound like someone's screaming bloody murder every few minutes."

Harry nodded briefly before going to the lifts and shooting a hex at the doors to force them to open. "The shaft's empty."

Ron grimaced. "I suppose we could climb up it somehow," he remarked skeptically.

Harry swore. "I wish I had a broom," he said.

From behind him, someone piped up. "I've got a broom." It was a little boy, maybe eight years old. He had purple sparks shooting out of his nostrils. He coughed and a violent burst of purple fire came spouting out of him.

"Mind if I use it?" Harry asked.

The boy shook his head. "You can have it, Mr. Potter," he said, looking up in awe at Harry.

Harry didn't seem to notice but took the broom and quickly mounted it. "Harry," Ginny began.

"Not now," he said, zooming slowly into the elevator shaft.

"It has a weight limit of ninety pounds!" she shouted.

Harry landed again, frowning. "What?"

She shook her head. "That's a training broom. At best it'll get you about four feet off the ground."

The boy nodded. "I can only go about ten feet up," he volunteered. He kicked a chair. "How am I supposed to play keeper if I can't reach the goals?"

Harry dropped the broom and rubbed a hand over his face. "Where's Hermione when you need her? She'd probably know a good spell to get that thing higher."

"She's in labor, Harry," Ginny reminded. "And besides, I know a way we can fix this."

Harry frowned and turned to her. "How?" he asked.

Ginny smirked. She walked straight up to the lift and pressed a red button. Instantly a winding staircase appeared in the place of the empty elevator shaft. Harry's mouth dropped open. "How did you?"

She shrugged. "Hermione's not the only one who can read," she said simply.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Ron asked, quickly beginning to mount the twisting stairs. Harry and Ginny nodded and followed after him.

Hermione shrieked, grabbing desperately onto Draco's hand. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!" she shouted, Draco's face mimicking the look on hers exactly.

"Good heavens, Granger!" he said, massaging his badly bruised hand as best he could.

She snarled at him. "Name, Malfoy!"

"I'm sorry!" he said automatically.

She breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. "I don't want to do this!" she confessed. "I'm too young to do this!"

He placed at hand onto her forehead. "No, you're not. Women for centuries have been having babies, some much earlier than you."

"Don't you dare lecture me, you sniveling Slytherin! And get your hand off me; I'm sweating bullets as it is!"

He removed his hand. "Okay, okay" he said as placating as he could manage.

"Iwant to tear Tibbs from limb to limb!" Hermione seethed.

"Me, too," Draco said, backing away from her bedside slightly.

"Why? You're not the one in the worst pain imaginable! You're lucky! You get a baby without all of the work!"

Draco didn't look as if he quite agreed, but he nodded slowly. "You're right," he said.

Hermione whimpered. "I want my mommy!" she cried, her eyes slowly beginning to brim over with tears.

"Would you like me to call her?" Draco asked delicately.

"No!" she whined. "It's too too dangerous!" She was sobbing freely. "Hold me?" she asked.

Draco nodded sympathetically, wondering vaguely where his own mother was, and if she had made his father go through this same torture when he had been born. He bent over and held his fiance in his arms. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////// "You phantasmagoric effervescent slime ball!" she yelled.

"You're hurting my hand, Sweet Heart and effervescent? I'm not bubbly," he objected, cowering slightly as she sent him a look.

"It's my insult! How dare you insult my insult!" she screamed.

"Now Samantha," Dr. Reed said. "Take a few calming breaths. You're almost fully dilated now."

"You're a no-good, rotten, flame-retardant crook!" Hermione continued to shout.

"Flame-retardant?" Draco asked hopelessly, looking to the doctor for help. The other woman shrugged.

"I saw that!" Hermione shouted. "Purblind, scaraboid scaramouch! Saturnine marron glac!"

Draco mouthed the word "huh" and looked to the doctor again. "Alright!" she said. "I think we can start pushing!" Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of another insult, while she prepped herself. "Deep breaths," the doctor instructed. "Alright, now push!"

And Hermione did push. She was in the worst sort of pain imaginableand under drugs. She just didn't get it. Why did it have to hurt quite so much? "You can do it!" Draco was cheering her on, but sounding whiny and annoying as he did so. Was he always so nasally?

"Very good. Remember your breathing. Another push," Dr. Reed instructed. Hermione followed through on her orders, gasping. "She's crowning! Derek you have to look at this!"

"NO!" Hermione commanded in a very loud voice.

"No thanks," Draco replied, looking green around the gills.

"One more big push should do it!"

With all her might, Hermione pushed, and hard at that. And suddenly she felt empty and the pain had decreased. She panted, clutching her bed frame. It

was over. Her eyes drifted lazily to Dr. Reed's back. The woman was across the room, fiddling with a small bundle. And then it happened. A sound like broken bells echoed throughout the room. The baby was crying. Dr. Reed turned around and flashed them a big smile. "You have a beautiful, healthy baby girl."

Hermione clutched her heart, which suddenly felt like a butterfly. She was a mother.

"How many stairs can there possibly BE?" Harry seethed, panting as he made yet another loop on the spiral staircase.

"One-thousand-five-hundred-two and counting," Ron said breathily. "Or something close to it."

They had visited a few floors and had thus far only found a bunch of panic-stricken nurses and

patients. Some of them were now fleeing to lower floors via the staircase. (Apparently, all other stairways were blocked.) The problem was that the hospital was truly huge. Every floor had at least fifty rooms that needed to be checked. In one they had come across a woman who looked distinctly werewolfish holding several puppies to her. They had left the moment she snapped her long jaws at them.

Ginny was silent except for the sound of her heavy breathing. They came to an abrupt stop at a set of lift doors, which were an absolute pain to open. They were reinforced and required a complicated set of spells that included alohomora and a pretty spiffy heating charm that Harry knew. As soon as the doors opened, they knew they had reached the right floor. "It's the tearoom," Ginny said in a hushed voice.

Ahead of them, sitting at a madhatter style tea table, were about twenty-five Death Eaters, grinning slyly. Voldemort himself took a slow sip of tea, staring directly at Harry over the brim. He replaced his cup on the saucer, and a rare smirk

twisted his upper lip. "Well, Harry, will you, won't you join the dance?" The lift doors shut behind them.

Tears slid down Hermione's cheeks as she held the tiny bundle in her arms for the first time. "Madelyn," she whispered softly, too softly for the doctor to hear. The baby was truly the most beautiful being she had ever laid eyes on. Beside them, Draco was also entranced. The infant's skin was a pearly white with a burst of rouge on either cheek, ensuring her parent's that she wasn't ill. For now, the baby's eyes were blue, though Hermione wagered that they would not stay that color for long. What little hair she had was soft, white, and curly.

"May I?" Draco asked after a moment. He sounded almost achy with the desire to hold her. Very reluctantly, Hermione handed her over. The look that came over his face was alien. The only time Hermione had seen his expression even close to

resembling this was when he had been about to propose to her all of those months ago. "She's absolutely gorgeous," he said after a moment, staring spellbound at their daughter's delicate features. Her lips were pink and curly, and her tiny nose greatly resembled her mother's.

Hermione held out her arms, feeling the most peculiar longing, need, rather, to hold the baby again. Draco, with difficulty, relinquished his hold and gave her back to her mother. "She smells like strawberries and cream," Hermione muttered softly, smoothing a tiny lock of hair down. "And"

"And you feel as if you could never be without her?" Draco asked softly.

Hermione nodded. "I don't know if it's the hormones, or maternal instinct, or"

Draco nodded. "She's definitely got the Veela pull in her." He bent down and kissed Madelyn's

forehead. "I love you," he said genuinely. "Both of you."

Hermione smiled tearfully. "I'm sorry for calling you a gloomy candied chestnut," she said, her sniffle turning into a tiny chortle. "And whatever else I called you. I was under duress."

"Apology accepted," Draco answered, kissing her cheek as well. "You know what this reminds me of?" he asked.

"What?" Her voice was hushed as Madelyn blinked her eyes drearily.

"You know how when you eat something really good, you can't wait for the next bite, even though you're still chewing?" She nodded. "I can't wait for our next child," he whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, gave another glance to the baby, and nodded in

agreement. "Neither can I," she said. If he noticed her blush, he didn't let it show.

Harry snarled, resisting the urge to rub at his aching scar, which felt as if it was liable to crack his head open.

"Do forgive my manners," Voldemort continued. "Tea? Cake?" he asked, gesturing with flourish at the immaculate table. "I'm afraid we only have Earl Grey," he added, smirking.

"Thanks but no thanks," Harry answered, looking around carefully. There were a pair of stocking-ed feet sticking out the door of the gift shop, a small trickle of blood not far from them.

"You know, Harry," Voldemort said, standing, "the phrase where there's smoke, there's fire, is not always correct. A better substitution might be,

where there's smoke, there's a cause, but I'm quite sure you've figured that out by now, eh?"

Harry's nostrils flared. "What have you done?" he snapped.

"Now, now," Voldemort replied, the epitome of calm. "Is this any way to behave at a tea party?" He turned. "Perhaps one of you would like to teach our guests a lesson on etiquette?" he asked. "Snape, perhaps you would like to do the honor?"

Harry's eyes snapped to his Professor. "Very well, my lord," he answered, standing. Snape fixed them each with a glare. "When invited to a tea party, the proper thing to do is sit." As if on command, three high-backed purple chairs came forward and scooped them up. Off to the side sat a fourth chair. Snape sat down again.

"We had been expecting four to tea," Voldemort speculated. "No mudblood today?" he asked. "Pity, that."

Harry's mind raced. Snape Snape Hermione had mentioned running into Snape His train of thought was disrupted as he heard a shriek from Ginny. Apparently, Pettigrew had taken up the role of dormouse and had just run across her hand when she hadn't been expecting it. Ron, on the other hand, was making a mad attempt to rise from his seat.

"So here's the game plan," Voldemort continued, motioning the floating teapot to fill each of their cups, "down this corridor behind us are several rooms. Each room holds a little surprise for you. The object of the game is to come to the rescue of anyone who has had a little too much tea."

"And what about you lot?" Harry asked.

There was an odd twinkle in his eye. "You have a two minute head start. Go." ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////////////////

"So here's the game plan," Voldemort continued, motioning the floating teapot to fill each of their cups, "down this corridor behind us are several rooms. Each room holds a little surprise for you. The object of the game is to come to the rescue of anyone who has had a little too much tea."

"And what about you lot?" Harry asked.

There was an odd twinkle in his eye. "You have a two minute head start. Go

Instantly the purple chairs released them, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny found themselves hurtling down the corridor. "What's that even mean?" Ron blurted out.

"I dunno, but something tells me we've got to hurry," Harry muttered, flinging open the first hospital room door he came to. At first he didn't

see anything that looked particularly out-of-place (except maybe for the fact that this floor was purely meant to be a tea room and gift shop, so these rooms seemed to be for no more purpose than to fill up the rest of the floor.) Before he could shut the door and move on, though, something caught his eye. "Oh, no!" he cried.

"What is it?" Ginny called. She was about to open up the next door.

Harry muttered a series of hexes before slamming the door shut. He panted. "Potted plant was was a grown mandrake." He didn't say anything more but simply moved on down the corridor.

Ginny was heard using an unforgivable on whatever she had found in the room she'd entered. When she'd managed to close the door again, she was ashen-faced, but she managed to move on down the corridor none-the-less.

In what seemed like no time, they overheard Voldemort giving his subjects leave to go after them. Harry, in a daze, started opening doors faster and faster, while shooting near-random spells over his shoulder. Ron gave a shout. "Over here! I found someone!" Harry quickly left his post to go in Ron's direction.

Harry gaped at the figure on the white hospital bed. It was a strange woman who had quite obviously been poisoned. A stray teacup had rolled out of her grasp and onto the floor. "Do you know what to do?" Ron asked, sounding much more highpitched than usual.

Harry shook his head. He didn't have a bezoar with him, and even if he knew how to find an antidote, he wouldn't have time. He felt a dull nagging, which seemed suspiciously like Hermione, at the back of his mind telling him that he really should have done actual work in Potions the year before.

"Come on," Harry instructed, "maybe we'll think of something and can come back." As he made to leave, a shadow fell across the floor.

"Come now, Mr. Potter, surely you learned something from my old textbook?" Harry growled as Snape closed the door firmly behind them. He then muttered a quick locking spell.

"Like what?" Harry asked, hands clenched and shaking.

"I believe," Snape said very slowly, "you may wish to check your pocket."

Instinctively, Harry didn't budge. "And why should I trust youa murderer?"

Snape didn't so much as flinch. "Stupid boy," he said. "Do you trust everything you know nothing about?"

Harry frowned slightly. Against his better judgement, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what was unmistakably a bezoar. "But" he began, looking up at his old Professor in confusion.

Snape held up a hand. "Do send my regards to Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, or, should I say, Mrs. Malfoy. I believe they're expecting a child, are they not?"

Harry's mouth dropped fully open. "And you didn't tell" But Snape had already swept out of the room, his billowing robes behind him.

Harry wasted no time and stuck the bezoar into the woman's mouth. After a mere second she opened her eyes and coughed the stone out again. "Harry Potter?" she asked, looking confused.

Without answering, Harry and Ron raced from the room.

"Hush little baby; don't say a word. Mama's going to buy you a mocking bird," Hermione sang softly. "And if that mocking bird won't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's going to buy you a looking glass" her voice trailed off. "I don't know any more words," she whispered.

Draco sat in a chair beside the bed, staring transfixed at the two most important women in his life. A mere year ago he would never have dreamed it possible. Madelyn was napping peacefully in Hermione's arms, looking for all the world like a wingless cherub. Hermione had fed the little girl a short while ago, and now that she was asleep, it dawned on him that he and Hermione were alone.

But he didn't seem to have anything to say, and kissing her seemed oddly inappropriate. At last he spoke. "When should we have the wedding?" he asked quietly.

Hermione looked up from staring at her baby. "Not too long from now, I suppose," she whispered back. She bit her lip. "I hope they come back soon."

Draco nodded. Of course, her friends meant much, much more to her than to him. For all he cared, Weasel could die in a heap of charbroiled red hair, especially after he'd had the insolence to actually propose to her. Ginny, well, he didn't have much of an opinion of her. They had scarcely ever interacted, but for Hermione's sake he hoped the other girl would return safe and sound. As for Potter well, he did hope the bloke would, you know, save the world and all that bunk. He wouldn't mind if he returned with some sort of physical handicap, though. A missing leg a missing head something along those lines.

As if sensing his thoughts, Hermione sent a small disapproving frown his way. "I love them, too, you know," she said.

He nodded. "I know." He stayed quiet for a moment. "Would you like me to call anyone? Fidget, maybe?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "No, I think I'd rather just be alone for a while longer." She gingerly scooted over on the bed, being careful not to wake their sleeping angel. Taking the hint, Draco sat down beside her. He very carefully smoothed down the baby's hair before kissing Hermione's cheek. She smiled at him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Ginny, apparently, had already opened and closed five doors during the time it took Harry and Ron to rescue the woman. She very quickly told them which rooms she'd found with poison victims before shooting a beam of sunlight toward Lucius Malfoy, who seemed utterly unaware of what was happening in another hospital not too far away. The man turned almost instantly a dark shade of pink, yowling as he continued to move despite his

sunburn. Ginny ignored him and went on to the next room.

Harry took the bezoar to the rooms Ginny had indicated and cured a little boy and a man who looked and acted suspiciously like Frank Longbottom. The Death Eaters were more than just hot on their trail. Ron was engaged in a fierce battle with Pettigrew and shouting taunts about how he much preferred Pigwidgeon as a pet. Ginny had halted in her pursuit of doors to battle against Bellatrix. The older woman currently looked something like Medusa, with long green snakes growing from her scalp instead of hair. From the looks of it, she wasn't exactly happy about it either. Ginny herself was sporting a black eye and a broken wrist, but was still managing to put up a good fight. Harry took the opportunity to ransack a few more rooms, feeling disgusted when forced to face a legion of Inferi.

"Potter," a greased and easy voice said from behind him as he managed to pull a door shut.

Harry grimaced. "Lucius Malfoy," he grunted. "I must say the pink suits you."

Malfoy scowled. "Where did you find the bezoar, Potter?" he asked in a hiss.

Harry didn't reply but instead pretended to see something behind the blond man's shoulder. Lucius began to turn slightly when Harry quickly stupefied him. He didn't stop to think that knocking Lucius Malfoy unconscious had been entirely too easy but continued down the corridor instead. He was dimly aware of the sound of Ron shouting as he opened another door.

The room he entered was dark and he heard a faint sound like humming, and there was a putrid smell. Harry lit his wand and stared around. Instantly he felt his stomach drop to the floor. Someone had removed Dumbledore's corpse from the grave, and there it lay on the bed, being gnawed at by flies. Of all the horrible disgraceful things that Voldemort could have done, this one filled Harry with the deepest level of hatred he had ever summoned

before. With a roar of rage he left the room, flew down the corridor past everyone else, and aimed his wand toward Voldemort, who merely smirked at him.

"What's wrong, Harry?" the mere shell of a man asked, settling his teacup onto a saucer.

With a horrible cry of anguish, Harry shouted out the Cruciatis Curse, hardly caring that his forehead felt ready to split in two. Voldemort lost his balance and swayed on the spot, gritting his teeth. "YOU HORRIBLE MONSTER!" Harry shouted with blind rage. In his moment of weakness, Voldemort's grip on his wand had loosened, and Harry took this moment to expel it away. Voldemort stared grimly at the wand tip that now pointed up between his two snakelike eyes.

"You can't kill me, boy," he said with a hiss. "I've taken precautions that you could never imagine."

Harry spat, the sound of the battle behind him fading into white noise. "You may be surprised, Tom, at what is and isn't true." He paused. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" A blinding green light shot from his wand, and Harry was propelled backward. A look of disbelief settled on Voldemort's face before he fell back upon the tea table, body lifeless once and for all.

Harry panted for a moment, incredibly surprised. He turned only to find that no one else had apparently noticed what he had just accomplished. "ENOUGH!" he shouted. This time, everyone stopped in their tracks to turn and stare ahead. Bellatrix's mouth fell open with a look of heartbreak. To Harry's great surprise, instead of offering retaliation, she fell to the floor with a sob.

"Alright," she muttered. "Everyone stand down." ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////////////// Not everyone took Bellatrix's advice, however. A few of the lesser Death Eaters held their hands in the air immediately. The majority apparated away

as quick as lightning. Those others who remained were either unconscious, like Lucius Malfoy, still putting up a vicious fight, or standing stoically, like Severus Snape. Ron and Ginny panted for a few brief moments, wands still at the ready.

"Well done, Mr. Potter." Harry's head swiveled to Snape, who was actually clapping rather boredly.

"Severus!" Bellatrix wailed. "Cease your blasphemy this very instant!"

Ron knocked out a Death Eater who had started creeping slowly toward Ginny. "Blasphemy, my good woman?" Snape asked. "I think you would benefit from a new dictionary." Snape chuckled darkly as the doors to the lift sprang open, a number of Order members making a sudden and belated appearance.

Bill Weasley came charging in, a spell on the tip of his tongue. It dwindled away and turned into a swear word. "What the What happened?" he

asked, as McGonagall strode past him, only to gasp at the sight of the tea table, and just who exactly it was who lay with arms outstretched against it.

Harry answered. "I killed him." A simple explanation seemed the best.

Tonks let go of a long whistle before vaulting to take out the last few loitering Death Eaters. Snape still stood with arms crossed, looking as if he was merely watching a very boring sorting ceremony. Lupin approached him warily, wand arm stretched toward him, but still Snape made no move to flee.

"I think," Ginny said, sinking to the floor and nursing her broken wrist, "there may still be poison victims in the rooms down the hall. Harry nodded and threw the bezoar to Bill, who continued to aid the victims.

Down the hall, Lucius stirred, and Tonks quickly aimed her wand toward him. A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "I wonder," he said loudly, "if Mr.

Malfoy is aware that he is, today, a grandfather." Lucius sat up and stared.

"My son is dead," he replied, a flush overshadowing his heavy sunburn.

"He is not," Snape corrected, taking sudden interest in the turn of conversation.

"Did Hermione have the baby?" Tonks asked, grinning despite the situation.

"She was about to when we left," Harry answered.

"Herm" Lucius trailed off, as if wracking his brain. "The Mud muggleborn?" he corrected swiftly, as Tonks changed the position of her wand on him.

Harry nodded. "Your granddaughter might be arriving into the world as we speak."

Lucius' ears pricked up. "A girl?" he repeated. He began to laugh almost maniacally. "Impossible!" Snape, too, looked apprehensive.

"She's a lozenge baby," Ginny added smugly.

Lucius became suddenly very still. Snape's eyes swiveled to look at Ginny. "But that would mean" Malfoy said, "that she would be"

"A squib," Snape said faintly. "Unless, of course, the Veela blood and muggle blood were to have a combined reaction and cancel out the affects of the lozenge." A look of utter triumph washed over his face. "Of course why I didn't think of it before, I'll never know," he said softly.

"What are you babbling on about?" Harry asked, moving his wand to aim at Snape.

Snape straightened and looked Harry directly in the eye. "I am, Potter, the inventor of the Pregnancy Lozenge."

Throughout the conversation, McGonagall had been looking increasingly confused. "Do you mean to say that young Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger are not only alive but having a baby together as well?"

"That, Minerva, is exactly what we are saying," Snape answered. "The two have been in Witness Protection Program, if I am not mistaken." He turned to Harry for confirmation.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy, rather, the young Mr. Malfoy, told me that he and Miss Granger eloped, and he led me to believe that it was because she was pregnant. Now that I am aware of the Pregnancy Lozenge's play in this, I think I can safely assume that it was used to help keep them under cover. Am I correct?" Harry

nodded in confusion. "Besides," Snape continued, "I also became aware of his appearance at a Death-Eaters Anonymous meeting. It is not quite so anonymous if you're the one in charge," he added. At this revelation, Harry's mouth fell open. "The fish look is unbecoming, Mr. Potter. I would abandon it post-haste."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny were given leave to go by McGonagall. The professor told them that because they were planning to go straight to the other hospital, that she could find no objections, even if Muggle medicine was not exactly state-of-the-art. Harry paused briefly to tell Snape that Fidget seemed like a pleasant sort of girl, to which Snape merely nodded.

They left Mungo's and managed to catch a taxi back to the hospital Hermione was staying at. By this point, all three of them were exhausted and slept on the way there. The fact that Voldemort was gone, once and for all, only barely settled into

their brains. It would be awhile before they were each able to breathe easily once more.

The cab pulled to a stop and Harry drowsily paid with what little muggle money he had left. They entered the hospital, and before they could begin toward Hermione's room, were quickly stopped by a nurse who said that they each needed immediate attention.

One sling, fourteen stitches, and an ice pack later, they were finally admitted into Hermione's room. They found Hermione fast asleep, and Malfoy no where to be found.

"Maybe we should check the maternity ward?" Ron suggested in a whisper, fearful of waking his sleeping friend. He was still feeling some sort of doubt about Hermione's state, having never really made up with her after Christmas' proposal fell through. They walked in the direction that a nurse pointed them in, and there found the tall blond leaning up against the glass. He nodded at them as they approached.

"Which one is she?" Ginny asked. No sooner had she said this than she easily picked out Madelyn from the bunch. The wee baby had her eyes open, and was looking straight at her father. Ginny gasped. "She's absolutely stunning."

"I know," Malfoy answered. He didn't sound arrogant but simply proud. A warm glow radiated off of him. Harry turned to look back at the baby, who, in turn, look over at him.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely.

Malfoy didn't answer, but he smiled slightly. Ron continued to be quiet for a long moment, just staring at the newborn. It felt foolish, suddenly, to have spent so many long months feeling resentful toward a child who was completely innocent, and who now gave off an aura of wisdom and good.

"I killed Voldemort," Harry said at last.

Malfoy looked up, startled. "Really?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "I guess this means that you and Hermione will be able to come back into the public eye. You can even get married, if you're still planning to."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I can assure you I have every intention."

"I might add," Harry said slowly, "that it seems that Snape was not on the side I previously believed. He didn't say so but I've a feeling Dumbledore might have agreed to let Snape kill him in your stead." Malfoy didn't reply. "And according to him, Madelyn might well have some magical ability after all."

Malfoy, rather than jumping for joy, simply smirked. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Harry frowned. "Why's that?"

Malfoy turned, looking smug. "Because, not even an hour ago, Maddie there twitched her nose and a teddy bear came floating into her crib." He paused. "Maybe we should have named her Tabitha Madelyn, rather than the other way around."

Before Harry could say anything, Hermione came marching down the hallway, a happy smile on her face. Malfoy turned. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Hermione laughed. "And miss this?" She beamed and gathered her friends into a tight hug, forcing Ginny to groan from her injured wrist. She moved to stand within her fianc's arms. Together they stood in one long line, staring at the new baby and the future. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////////////////// Things did not go quite as smoothly as all had hoped. No sooner had they finally breathed a sigh of relief, than Draco was sent to trial. The Golden Trio all took turns testifying, even Ron, much to his chagrin, and Draco was eventually let off on

probation. Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to the Dementor's kiss, but Hermione managed to pull some strings and allow him to meet his granddaughter first. Lucius, for his own reasons, had had a very hard time believing that his son was even alive, nevertheless a father. The meeting between the eldest and youngest Malfoy was crude, and Lucius spent most of it squinting at the baby, remarking that she didn't look a thing like "that bushy-haired mudblood."

Severus Snape was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, despite evidence that he had been working for the Order as a spy. He and Fidget spent his last days of freedom together, though it was hard to say whether he enjoyed it or not. (It was hard to say if he enjoyed anything, really.)

Draco and Hermione were married exactly a year after their first meeting at the bar. It was a hot July day, and Fidget attended, feeling only slightly confused that her married friends were only now getting married.

During the bouquet toss, Ron had the unhappy fortune of catching the bouquet. His spirits were lifted slightly when the attention of every available female, Ginny excluded, landed on him. Ginny herself latched her arm firmly onto Harry's. They were engaged within the hour.

It was a short while after the wedding, when, sitting in the kitchen together at the Manor (they had decided to leave their obnoxiously cute home) Draco and Hermione received an owl. Madelyn burst into instant tears at the sight of the bird, and Hermione did her best to console her little daughter as her husband picked the letter from the owl's leg.

"It's from Hogwarts," he announced, confusion written clearly across his face. "McGonagall's reopened the school."

Hermione stood, and rushed over to read as well. "What the" she muttered, as she yanked the letter right out of her hands.

"What?" Draco asked, running a hand through his hair.

"She's inviting us back for our seventh year. And" Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm Head Girl!" she cried aloud, doing a little dance.

Draco didn't look nearly as surprised. "Of course you are," he said. "Your initials were H.G., after all. H for Head, G for Girl"

Hermione's elation deflated as she cast a glance at Madelyn. Surely McGonagall had heard about her. She skimmed further down the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. "She says they're willing to give us a joint apartment, and day care service (poor little elves) for Madelyn." This news perked her up quite a bit. "I guess this means we'll be seeing everyone again."

Draco nodded. It also meant facing a lot of his old friends (and non-friends) who had only heard about their wedding via the Daily Prophet. He sighed.

School wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind for his first year of marriage. "Who's Head Boy?" he asked, going over to pick up Madelyn, who had started to whine again.

Hermione shushed him as she continued to read the letter with fervor. She sighed, grinning happily. "Harry," she answered.

Draco didn't even try to hide his disapproval. "Yuck. Classes, homework, diaper changing, and Potter's the Head Boy?" He looked down at Madelyn. "Not fun." The little girl just cooed, her now-brown eyes beaming up at him.

Hermione frowned. "It won't be all bad. You've been made Quidditch captain."

He just groaned. "I'm not going to get any sleep at all this year, am I?" He planted a kiss on Madelyn's petite blonde curls. He sighed. "Aw well. I'll have my girls in any case, and being married to the Head Girl's got to come with its perks."

Hermione looked affronted. "If you think for one moment, Draco Malfoy, that I'm going to relax the rules and let you do Merlin knows what"

"What? You think I want to set off dung bombs?" he asked.

"Well, no, I suppose not, but"

Draco just smiled. "I'll have the prettiest girl in school all to myself her mother, too," he added. Hermione gaped at him for a moment before he kissed her. "And as it happens, she's the second prettiest girl in the school."

Hermione smirked. "Well, if I had to be second, I'm glad Madelyn's the one who beat me."

He smiled thoughtfully. "Remind me to break up with Pansy when we get back to school, will you?"

They lived, well, happily ever after, of course, although Draco did sport a rather nice black eye for several weeks directly after this point in our story.

The End