Chapter Text
January 22nd 2008
Brew, the pub, is busier than normal for a Tuesday. While usually a great place for a quick drink or a date you don’t want to prolong, tonight you can barely hear your own thoughts let alone a conversation. Bodies line the bar and every booth and table are occupied. Between the music and the crowd, Hermione must concentrate on the movement of her companion’s lips to catch every word.
Sitting at a table near the front, she twirls her drink in hand, ice clinking against the glass. The bartender had recommended the strawberry tasting cocktail and now the name escapes her.
It’s what makes Brew so popular, a new modern wizarding pub. It was more updated than the Leaky Cauldron and its drink selection intertwined classic wizard and muggle concoctions. The candles that line the wall and ceiling are enchanted to give off blue light, keeping everything in a navy hue.
She’s been here more times than she can count. It was down the street from the Ministry which meant it was the easy go to if you needed a drink after a long day.
Tonight, however, Hermione is here on a date with an intern. How desperate is that?
Will, her so-called date, is running on and on about some legislation to do with dirt composition in the north and the properties it could possess. Hermione doesn’t even know why she decided to come out with him. Probably has to do with Will asking nine times, and she ran out of excuses.
His hands move a mile a minute as he talks. It makes her a bit dizzy. She wants to grab them and place them firmly on the table. He’s young, eager and overwhelming when you get him going.
Sipping her drink, Hermione nods at whatever he’s just said. Twenty more minutes should be polite enough before sneaking out isn’t an obvious ditch.
The front door opens and the January cold air hits her, a welcome chill in the overcrowded bar. Whoever walks in brushes by, and she gives a quick glance. Even from his backside she would know that platinum blond head anywhere. Draco Malfoy is hard to miss. He takes his coat off and shakes hands with someone in the booth. He scans the room, as any auror would do, and catches sight of her.
She immediately averts her eyes, but not before the classic Malfoy sneer appears. One lip slightly curled up. What a git.
She turns back to Will, who is still talking about the dirt. Merlin help. Downing the rest of the drink, she motions to the bartender, who nods and begins making another. She usually only lets herself have two, but extra help is imperative to surviving this night.
“Hermione?” Will pulls her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry. I’m being boring, aren’t I?” His cheeks blush the slightest pink, and he tries to loosen his tie. His fingers fidget with it until he gives up.
Will is completely overdressed. His black dress jacket makes it look like he just left a wedding. He dressed up for her. Flattered is what she should feel , but it all just adds to the embarrassment of it all.
She hadn’t put any thought into her outfit before leaving for work. A normal primrose blouse and white skirt that ended at her knees. Tonight’s plans had been forgotten until lunch when Will had sent a memo confirming their meet time. She almost cancelled, should have cancelled. “No, no of course not,” she lies.
“It’s okay. I know my job isn’t grand. Not like yours.” He props his head up with one hand on his cheek, a soft smile as he watches her far too intensely.
Her job isn’t grand, but they don’t need to talk about that. She looks at criminal faces all day long. The last thing Hermione wants to do outside of the Ministry is to talk about them.
An uproarious laugh from Malfoy’s booth catches her attention. He is almost in tears over something. She thinks Nott is there as well but can’t see anyone else clearly. Her view of Malfoy is unhindered. This time when their eyes meet, he looks straight at her. His expression turns neutral. However, Malfoy’s neutral is almost angry. What did the muggles call it? RBF. She should call it RMF. Resting Malfoy face.
He continues to stare at her like the adolescent he is. She sees the person next to him, which is most definitely Nott, peer over to see what Malfoy is transfixed by.
A waitress sets Hermione’s drink down and takes her empty glass. Keeping full eye contact Hermione takes a long drink. Malfoy cocks an eyebrow, takes a sip of his beer and the corners of his lips curl in amusement. She looks away.
Fine, you win, moron.
Going back to Will she sees his eyes going from her to the booth and back.
“Is that Draco Malfoy? Isn’t he in your department?” he asks.
“Yes, but he is an auror. They are almost always on an assignment. We don’t see each other very often.”
This is true. She has an office while the aurors have cubicles as they were in and out so much. She barely saw any of them except for meetings or lunches with Harry.
“Oh.”
“Oh what?” she snaps at him and regrets it immediately. Poor Will. What a horrid date she’s being.
Is it getting hot? She feels hot. Maybe that is where the irritation comes from.
“It just seems like you were both staring,” Will points out.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You kind of were.”
She wants to tell him to mind his business Or just tell him off. The rush of anger building inside is so unlike her. What is happening?
She takes another sip of her drink and lets a piece of ice fall under her tongue. It’s definitely hot. And she is getting incredibly annoyed with the situation.
“Look, I get I was probably too persistent in asking you to come out and you are just humoring me, but I mean you are the Golden Girl. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?”
Golden girl. She’d rather him mispronounce her name. The Daily Prophet could choke on a flobberworm for ever donning her with that nick name.
Also, no one was asking her out, which is why she probably ended up saying yes to this. This evening is a perfect example that one might be better off with a good book. Book boyfriends don’t talk about dirt.
“Oh Will, you are really sweet,” he really is, “and I appreciate you asking me out,” sort of, maybe not, “but I don’t think we are on the same page.”
She could kick herself for ever agreeing to this.
“No, I get it. Thanks. I’ll just settle the tab. Be right back.” Will surveys her, his wristwatch and then heads to the bar.
He does not in fact come back, which should bother her, but doesn’t. Taking another drink, she downs it again.
Before she can stand to go, Will’s chair scrapes across the floor and a body sits in it. “I think your date left.” Malfoy places his half empty beer on her table. He leans back as far as the chair lets him, straightens his legs out in front and crosses them at the ankles. Long legs. Too long. Legs that had tight perfect thighs that only came with habitual flying.
Holy Helga Hufflepuff.
“It wasn’t a date.” She tries to take another drink, but remembers it’s finished. The glass is slammed down in irritation.
Does he know when he wears black that it makes his pale ivory skin seem almost white? His dark shirt has a sheen to it, probably silk. It looks expensive and would feel cool to her if she touches it. He should unbutton a few buttons at the top.
Mother of Pearl! Maybe she shouldn’t drink this cocktail ever again. Or drink ever again because she really wants to undo a button. Hermione tries to mentally slap herself. She needs to go, needs to get away from him.
“Did he know that? It appeared like a date.” Malfoy leans over, closer to her.
She glances back at the booth he had occupied. His friends are still there. What is he doing here?
“I know we have to be cordial at work, but we really don’t have to pretend to know each other after five,” she spits back.
“Whose pretending?” Malfoy picks up her glass and sniffs it. “We do know each other. We go waaaay back.”
“You’re drunk.”
She kind of is too. Maybe that’s why her heart is beating a bit fast or why she hasn’t just got up and left.
Or why she can’t stop staring at him. His boyish features are long gone. Jawline is more chiseled and his face is leaner. And those eyes. Those same grey eyes that always felt like a cool fog rolling in. Like what the air felt like when you knew a storm was coming. She always felt that suited him. He was not light, he repelled it.
“I’m not really. Just toying with the idea of it at this point.” He uncrosses his ankles and one leg grazes against hers, accidentally.
It was accidental, right? She jumps in her seat.
He laughs, “Relax Granger.” His thumb moves back and forth as it rubs his bottom lip.
What comes over her she will never know. Everything is fuzzy. And his freaking ridiculous long legs look good in those pants. Pants that are entirely too tight.
Her mind is really, really fuzzy. She leans over the table, grabs his shirt collar and pulls him to her. He smells faintly like vanilla. Why did he smell sweet?
His mouth opens just slightly, he licks his top lip. “Yes, Granger?”
She kisses him. Only means to do it for a second, just to throw him off guard when one of his hands wraps itself into her hair and holds her against him. Hermione’s hands let go of his shirt and move up his shoulders, digging her fingers into them. Lips part and his tongue pushes into her mouth. He presses harder and she feels like they might melt into one person when they push apart, panting. They evaluate each other out of breath.
“My place.” It’s not a question.
And that is the last thing Hermione remembers.
Her alarm goes off at 5:30 AM just like any other weekday morning. She pulls her arm out of the sheet she is tangled in to make it stop. Except she can’t feel the bedside table to her right like normal. Instead there is skin and a hard torso. Before her head can pop off the pillow there is a loud crash. Her alarm clock is now in pieces on the floor. The arm that threw it drops back on the bed beside her.
She jumps out of bed, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself. This reveals the arm and the very naked Malfoy it’s attached to. His head is turned toward her and one eye opens, blinks, takes her in and then he jumps out of bed too.
“Shit!” He looks down at his body and then uses both hands to cover his private bits.
She pulls the sheet over her head to hide the rest of him. “What are you doing here?!”
There are shuffling noises which she assumes is him running around, hopefully finding his clothes.
“I don’t even know where the hell here is, Granger!”
“My flat. Why are you in my flat?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well get out,” she demands.
“You couldn’t get me out of here faster if you tried.”
“Fine.”
“Fine, fuck where are my shoes?”
She pulls the sheet down under her chin and barely opens one eye to see if he’s dressed. He is for the most part. The button up shirt is undone showing his abs and chest, but he has pants on at least.
She pulls the sheet tighter around herself. It smells…weird. A strange mix of her floral perfume and sweat. Gross. She might just buy new bedding versus washing these. They had seen too much.
He drops to the floor, partly crawls under bed and then back out, shoes in hand. He stands back up. “Right.”
“Go!” she yells.
“Right.” He heads toward the door, but then turns back to her. “Please tell me you’re on the potion.”
The potion. THE potion. “No.”
“Fuckin’ fabulous. Hold still.” He reaches around and pulls his wand out from his pants pocket. He does a silent incantation while the wand makes a semi-circle then upward flick directed at her midsection. “Whatever this was. We don’t need to talk about it. Or mention it or even acknowledge its existence.” He waves the wand about with every word.
“Agreed.”
He leaves and a second later she hears him say something and then the familiar crack as her floo is used.
She stays there, wrapped in a sheet with a broken alarm clock and no clue what just happened.
One week later…
“We need to talk.” Malfoy storms into her office.
She purposefully does not look up. “I thought we didn’t do that. I distinctly remember you requesting it.” Not that she wants to bring up that night. Or the mistake they had made. Mistakes, if certain memories were to be trusted.
He ignores her and sits in one of the chairs opposite her desk. Using his wand, the door closes behind him. “Silencio.”
This gets her attention. Her quill stops and she hesitates before peering up and meeting his gaze.
He crosses his legs with his ankle resting on his knee and hands clasped in his lap. “Granger, this is serious.”
“Oh.” That was all she could muster. Her hands, that were certainly not starting to sweat, move down under her desk, hiding.
They had not spoken once in the past week. Not a glance or a nod. Not one sign they knew the other worked on the same floor.
Their relationship had been civil up to then. It had to be after Malfoy joined the auror team under Harry. Not that he had a choice. There had been two options after the fallout of the war: a lifetime of strict probation or becoming an auror for ten years. He most likely would have rather had any other position in the Ministry than the one that put him in the same vicinity as Harry or even her, but here they were.
He wastes no time getting to his point. “As much as I would love to keep ignoring our little tryst, we may have a problem. We’ve had several complaints from that night at the pub. People acting strange or behaving in ways they wouldn’t in normal circumstances. I asked Potter for the case and do you know what I found?” He pauses, but she doesn’t venture a guess.
“Potion tampering,” he continues. “Specifically, a minor love potion which the maker had tried to enhance. It affects the limbic system of the brain and intensifies emotions, all emotions. One of the barmen did it. Most drinks that night had differing amounts. It causes some to act out and some to shag anyone they could find. Lucky us.”
At least there was an explanation. It made sense. There was so much anger against Will. Almost couldn’t stand his presence. If only she had experienced the same with Malfoy. At least she could stop questioning her sanity now.
When thinking back on it she couldn’t fathom why they had ended up at her place. Why neither of them had stopped at any point and called it madness. Now she knew. They weren’t in their right minds.
“I’m assuming he’s been apprehended?” She goes back to perusing her paperwork.
“He has, but there’s a bigger problem. It didn’t just affect decision making. It had nux myristica in it. Wanker didn’t even know what he was creating.”
Bloody hell. “You’re sure?”
“Analyzed the concoction. Twice,” he says through clenched teeth.
That specific ingredient affected a very important aspect: Contraceptive charms and birth control potions.
“You couldn’t be…” he starts, eyes slowly moving down to her middle.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She wipes her paperwork to one side of her desk and looks at the calendar underneath.
Except it isn’t ridiculous. It’s only been a week. Too soon for her body to tell her such things. If she is, there is no way to know. “It’s too soon to tell,” she says dejected. “No way. No way the first guy I bring home…”
Silence. Awkward regretful silence. Inside voice you nitwit.
“Granger, please tell me that wasn’t your first time?” His eyes widen in disbelief.
“What? No. No. Not my first, just first in a long time.” A long time. Longer than she cares to admit to herself.
He exhales loudly. “Thank the gods for that,” he says more to himself. “How long until you know?” His tone is calm, but somber.
“Two weeks. Maybe a little less.” It feels like a countdown to a death sentence. Two weeks and then she could find freedom from him or an alternative she can’t fathom.
He nods his confirmation, but other than that his expression is blank, unreadable. He jumps up abruptly and turns to go. “You’ll keep me informed of any…developments, yes?”
“Of course.”
He nods, seems to hesitate, but leaves her with only this thought consuming bombshell he’d dropped on her life.
She takes an early lunch down to the Ministry library’s immense section on every spell created. Heck, if something told her jumping backwards up a hill in a yellow jumper could prevent pregnancy she would try it.
Books fail her for the first time in her life. Contraceptive spells were only effective if done before or within a day of the act. There is not a magical spell, potion or herb that could help days later.
The only thing she can do is wait.
Draco stays away, but as his job had him out most of the time and hers kept her at her desk, it isn’t unusual to barely see each other. When they do, his eyes find anything other than her to pay attention to.
At night she goes home, makes herself dinner and eats alone. Her normal routine. Except for the fact that she can’t quite keep her mind off the happenings or non-happenings of her abdomen. Hermione consoles herself that she knows getting pregnant can take months or years and that is when you are actively trying. There were only so many days a month one could even conceive. And even if they had hit one of those days it didn’t mean she’d get pregnant. Of course not. Just keep thinking along those lines.
And she tries to keep thinking that. If it wasn’t for the blasted nux myristica inserting doubts.
There are things to do in the meantime by learning and practicing the pregnancy detection spell. One which she had never had any reason to know before now. A simple incantation and a downward flick of her wand as it points toward her. So far and as expected, nothing happens. Nothing would happen if there wasn’t anything there, but it’s still too soon.
__________________________________________________________________________
Four days later the spell reacts as a positive. Instead of nothing, a faint yellow orb floats just below her navel; it stays for just a moment and then flickers out.
She does it again. The yellow orb returns and fades. Her wand drops from her hand as she stumbles back.
Not sure when or how she ends up in the shower. Her hand numbly turns the knob until the water turns hot. Steam fills the shower, making it hard to see. The water burns her skin and she lets it. It streams down her body, pooling at her feet until disappearing down the drain. She wants to follow it. Disappear into the dark nothing below.
Pregnant. Pregnant. You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
She sits down, water and hair covering her face. Her hands grasp at anything to hold onto, but only finds a bare white tile wall. Her hands clench and her nails streak across the wet smooth tile.
Nothing to hold onto. Nothing. Nothing. Pregnant. Nothing.
She pulls her knees tightly into herself. The familiar tightness in her chest wraps itself around her lungs. She struggles to inhale, small gasps coming out instead. Her mind healer’s instructions fill her thoughts. Use your hands.
Can’t. Can’t let go. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.
Her vision narrows, blurred at the edges. She can’t feel the water running down her anymore. Can’t hear her gasps as her lungs scream for air. Use your hands.
One hand releases her legs and shakily covers her heart, the other taps out a rhythm on her thigh. The one the healer taught her. Match your racing heart, then slow it down. You control that. It doesn’t control you. Feel that rhythm. Concentrate on that tapping until you feel your heartbeat return to normal.
The tapping is concrete. It is within her control. She is in control.
Her heart rate eventually returns to normal, and she sucks in air, filling her lungs until they hurt. She stays there far after the water cools. Stays after her body starts shivering from the cold, tapping a rhythm for her heart to follow.
Hermione calls off Monday and sits in the darkness of her flat alone. Except she isn’t alone and that is the entire problem.
She calls off Tuesday, but pulls herself out of her misery just enough to act. A plan starts circling her mind. Her life is no longer just hers.
Her fingers brush her shirt where a child is forming within her. A child that was hers. A child that was his.
She sends an owl with a message to him:
Meet me at Cup & Crumb 8:00
He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to. He’ll come.
Hermione gets there early and chooses a table up front by the door. Then changes to a table in the back after five minutes of the front door opening and closing with every patron. The ringing bell does nothing for her nerves.
The café is large for a coffee spot. The light brown walls have cream colored swirls throughout, like a cup of coffee after cream has been poured in. Calming. She oddly found caffeine and anything that reminded her of it calming. It’s one of her favorite spots to get a cuppa and sit unnoticed.
The bell upfront dings and Malfoy walks in. She almost falls out of her seat with shock. Under his coat, instead of the fancy shirt and trousers he always wore, today he had on a grey T-shirt and jeans. Jeans! Tight, butt clenching blue jeans. He looks positively anti-Malfoy.
He scans the room, finds her and walks over.
She tries to still her hands as he takes off his coat and places it on the back of the chair.
“Do you want anything?” He appraises her, his gaze ending on her hands.
“No, no thank you.”
Malfoy walks over to the counter, and she watches him peruse the menu overhead before making a selection. Pulling a wallet out of his back pocket, he hands the cashier several muggle bills. This surprises her. It’s something she wouldn’t have expected him to have or understand how to use.
A moment later two mugs appear. He walks back over and places one in front of her and then sits down with his own. “You look like you could use that.” He flings a few sugar packets on the table between them.
She pulls the warm mug into her hands in hopes they will still. “Thank you.” The strong smell of roasted beans with a hint of something else wafts to her. The something else is sweet, caramel maybe?
“So?” He takes a sip of his own drink. Studying her over his mug.
“First-“
“Oh here we go,’ he groans.
“First,” she reiterates, “I want you to hear me out and let me say what I need to say, Because…well I’ve practiced this and it will just be easier.” She takes a deep breath, and he leans back in his chair preparing for her onslaught.
“We didn’t mean for anything to happen and obviously it isn’t our fault.” She takes a sip of the coffee. The strong bitter taste is followed by sweet. Definitely caramel.
He motions for her to continue.
“Anyway, I think it is important that we both understand nothing romantic has ever been between us. Nothing romantic could ever be between us.”
“Noted.”
“Right. So with that fully understood…there has been a development.”
His eyes widen for the briefest moment before he composes himself again.
“I’ve thought about my choices here…about ending it I mean. There is no earthly reason, none whatsoever, for us to be tied to each other in this way. But I have written down every reason to not do this.
And there are a lot, a lot of reasons why we shouldn’t.” She looks down at her drink, unable to meet those intense grey eyes watching her. “I just can’t…I can’t get myself to even consider that. I’m choosing to have this child. You are welcome to be a part of this or not. There is absolutely no pressure on you. I don’t hold you responsible. I don’t think you owe me anything. You can walk away. No one needs to know you were even involved if you wish.”
His thumb is absently rubbing up and down on his mug handle, but other than that he doesn’t move. “Are you done?”
She nods still unable to meet his gaze. Readying herself for his indignation.
“My wishes-,” he mumbles to himself, sitting up straight. "So, you have this all figured out then? Go at this by yourself while I what? Live out my life while you raise my child? News flash Granger, you may not expect anything from me, but I certainly do. I don’t know what opinion you have of me these days, but I am not a tosser that knocks up a girl and leaves. I never needed to think this over. If you had asked me-”
“Asked you? It’s my decision-,” she interrupts.
He cuts her off and raises his voice just slightly. “I didn’t say you had to. You are perfectly correct, my opinion on this does not matter. But if you had asked me a week ago or two days ago or even before your little tirade, I would have told you I’m in.”
“You’re in?” Now she glances up, flabbergasted.
“In.”
Her shoulders, which have been tense, relax. “Sorry, I had kind of thought this would be a big problem to you.”
“Why?”
“Because we have-“
“A past? Yes, I am aware. I’ve moved on,” he says it so casually as if the time that has passed softened the edges of his memory.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you would want an out. I just-I hardly know you.”
“Hmm. We both have a lot to learn I suppose.”
She had heard quite a lot about him from Harry, who would never admit that he thought Draco was a great asset as an auror. Harry may not have gone so far as to applaud Malfoy’s character these days, but he said the man is a different person from their time at Hogwarts. That was the best compliment Draco would ever get from Harry.
Hermione doesn’t know what to say. She had only planned on telling him and then prepared various responses to his anger. Except he wasn’t angry. He seems resigned.
Finally, Malfoy breaks the silence and speaks, “Are you alright?”
“Physically or mentally?”
“Either. Both. Ladies’ choice.”
She takes a long sip of her coffee and calculates what response she should give. They weren’t friends. There wasn’t a term for what they were. “Physically fine. No symptoms yet. And the other…jury is still out.”
“What does that mean?”
“Jury is still out. It’s a muggle saying. Decision pending so to speak,” she explains.
There is a hesitation to say ‘muggle’. Even if he is different now, they do have a past. And that past certainly revolved around that topic. If he notices her hesitation he doesn’t let on.
“And you? You’re taking this better than I did when I learned.” She gives a sympathetic smile. No matter what their past was they were in the same predicament now.
He takes a moment, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. His hand tightens into a fist before lowering it. “I knew before you asked me to meet here. We’ve had six pregnancies already reported as part of the case against the barman. It seems he unwittingly started a wizarding repopulation effort with his offense. I knew for sure when you didn’t come in yesterday. The severity of our situation hasn’t completely hit yet. I could be one hangover away from the anger I should be feeling, but for now oddly fine. Check back later if you wish.”
That is strangely honest.
“I’d like to keep this between us for right now. Just until I wrap my head around it,” she requests.
“As long as we don’t wait until you have the kid’s whole life planned out.” His head is down, but he looks up at her with those smokey eyes of his. They really are beautiful when he isn’t driving her mad.
“Please.” It must be a secret, just for now.
His hands raise in the air as if in defeat. “I won’t tell a soul.” His head shakes as if disagreeing with a thought he keeps to himself. “What’s next? What do you need?”
“Oh, umm an appointment. I’ve already done some research on that.” She continues and ignores his eye roll. “Nothing interesting at the first one. Just confirming the pregnancy and what to expect. No need for you to bother yourself with it.”
“That’s fine. I will defer to you and your judgment.” He stands up, puts his coat back on and takes one last sip of his drink. “However, I meant what I said. I’m in, Granger.”
And with that he walks away leaving her more confused than when he had entered. Malfoy had not reacted in the way she thought he would. He had not said what she thought he would. He was in.
They are both deeply, irrevocably in something.