Hermione had felt it for weeks—the slow, creeping sensation that something wasn't right. At first, it had been easy to ignore. The exhaustion was just the aftermath of stress, the nausea was from skipping meals, the dizziness was because she had been pushing herself too hard. Logical explanations, ones that made sense. But then she fainted. Twice.
The first time, she had barely registered it, waking up in bed with Draco's worried face hovering over her, his fingers running through her curls with careful precision. She had waved it off, promising him it was nothing, that she had simply stood up too fast. He hadn't believed her, but he let it go.
The second time, however, had been different. It had been in the library, where she had collapsed into his arms.
One moment she was reaching for a book, the next the world tilted violently, and before she could even process what was happening, she was falling. The way Draco caught her was almost instinctual, his grip tight and desperate, like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers if he didn't hold on hard enough.
The look in his eyes had terrified her.
From that moment, Draco had not left her side.
If she took a single step, he was there. A constant shadow, a silent force of protection. He hovered like a storm cloud, his fingers ghosting over her lower back when she walked, steadying her when she stood too quickly, pressing against her waist whenever she wobbled slightly.
He had taken over nearly every one of her daily tasks—bringing her tea before she even asked for it, forcing her to eat even when she didn't have an appetite, frowning at her stomach like it personally betrayed him every time she felt queasy.
She would wake up in the middle of the night to find him wide awake beside her, his sharp silver eyes studying her in the moonlight. Watching her breathe. As if ensuring that she was still here. Still whole.
It wasn't just worry, it was pure terror.
And the truth was, that terror was starting to seep into her as well.
So when she reached for a quill that morning and her vision wavered, just slightly, it wasn't surprising that Draco was already there before she could even think about falling.
Draco's grip on her arms tightened ever so slightly, his thumbs pressing into the fabric of her blouse as if grounding himself in the moment. His usually sharp, calculating mind was racing, but with thoughts he wasn't accustomed to—thoughts of fear, of helplessness.
He had spent his entire life learning how to control his surroundings, to anticipate threats, to eliminate them if necessary. But this? This was different. This was Hermione, the very core of his existence, the only thing he had ever truly needed, and he had no power over whatever was making her sick.
He exhaled a slow, shaky breath, trying to keep himself from unraveling. "Enough." His voice was raw, breaking slightly at the edges, but his determination was unwavering. "Ma chérie, we need to get you to the Healer. You fainted twice already, and you keep throwing up. This isn't normal."
As soon as the words left his lips, Hermione stilled.
The moment stretched between them, heavy and taut with something unspoken, something tangible. Her mind worked rapidly, piecing together every symptom, every strange sensation, every moment of fatigue she had brushed off.
And then it hit her.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him so tightly that her knuckles turned white. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, her breath coming in rapid, uneven bursts as the realization crashed over her like a tidal wave. No. No, it couldn't be. Could it?
A tremor ran through her hands as she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against the sharp line of his jaw before curling around the nape of his neck. He barely had time to react before she launched herself into his arms, throwing her entire weight against him. He caught her instinctively, arms tightening around her waist, steadying her even though he nearly stumbled backward from the sheer force of her excitement.
Her breath was warm against his neck, her entire body vibrating with energy. For a moment, Draco stood frozen, his mind struggling to catch up, to process whatever revelation had just taken hold of her.
He felt her breathless laughter against his skin before he heard it.
"I have a plan," she whispered against his ear, her voice filled with uncontained excitement.
Draco frowned slightly, confused. "A plan?" he echoed.
She pulled back just enough to beam up at him, her wide, honeyed eyes shimmering with something that sent a shiver down his spine. She looked… radiant. Overjoyed.
And that terrified him.
"I need you to take me on holiday," she declared.
Draco blinked at her. "A… holiday?" he repeated, utterly dumbfounded. "You just collapsed into my arms and now you're talking about a holiday?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
He ran a hand through his hair, silver strands falling slightly out of place as he let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, already failing miserably at keeping up with her train of thought. "Because that makes perfect sense."
She tugged on his collar, pulling him down just slightly, her lips grazing his jawline as she whispered, "Our anniversary is coming up. So make sure it's romantic."
Draco froze.
His heart stuttered, then slammed against his ribs, a heat spreading from his chest and curling at the base of his spine. His hands, which had been resting lightly on her waist, tightened possessively, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of her dress.
"Romantic?" His voice was husky, dangerously low.
"Exceptionally romantic," she teased, tilting her head playfully, though there was something deeper in her expression, something vulnerable beneath the teasing.
Draco studied her intensely, his silver eyes scanning her face as if memorizing every detail, the curve of her lips, the soft flush dusting her cheeks, the way her breath hitched when his fingers ghosted up the curve of her spine. She still held onto his collar, still pressing into him as if she belonged there, as if she never wanted to let go.
And Merlin help him, but he had never loved her more.
He lifted a hand, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before trailing his knuckles slowly along her jawline. His voice was rough when he finally spoke, filled with absolute devotion.
"Then I'll make it my life's mission to plan the most perfect anniversary," he murmured, his lips just brushing against her temple. "A holiday so perfect you'll be cursing my name for setting the bar so high."
Hermione grinned. "That sounds like a challenge."
His smirk was wicked. "And you know how I feel about a good challenge."
She laughed, soft and unfiltered, her hands slipping into his hair as she pulled him down for a slow, lingering kiss. He sighed into it, drinking her in, letting himself get lost in her, in the way she melted into him, in the way her fingers tugged just slightly on his hair like she knew exactly what it did to him.
Draco was already planning a hundred different ways to make her forget how to breathe when he took her away.
But even as his mind raced through private villas and moonlit beaches, there was something else lingering just beneath the surface.
Something in the way she was holding onto him, searching his gaze.
Something that told him this wasn't just about their anniversary.
And when she pulled away, breathless and glowing, looking at him like he held every answer in the universe, he felt it—
That same pulse of suspicion curling in his gut.
Something wasn't right.
And he would figure out what it was.
~~~~~~
The moment they arrived in Spiaggia dei Conigli, Hermione's breath hitched at the sheer beauty of it all. The secluded beach stretched out before them, bathed in the golden hues of the late afternoon sun. The sky melted into shades of soft pink and lavender, mirroring the countless pink peonies scattered across the sand, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of the sea mixed with the sweet perfume of the flowers, creating something almost intoxicating.
And there, standing amidst it all, was a magnificent white horse, its mane shimmering like silk in the fading sunlight. The creature pawed at the sand slightly, waiting patiently, as if it already knew it belonged to her.
She turned to Draco, her eyes wide with wonder, her lips parted in disbelief. "Draco," she breathed, her voice laced with awe and emotion. "You remembered?"
Draco smirked, his grey eyes glinting with quiet pride as he watched her take it all in. "Of course, I did, ma chérie," he murmured, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. His lips ghosted over the shell of her ear. "You told me you wanted to try horseback riding, but only somewhere breathtaking. I couldn't think of a more perfect place to make that wish come true."
Hermione turned in his arms, placing both hands on his chest, her heart overflowing with love. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, shaking her head in amusement. "Beautifully, impossibly ridiculous."
Draco chuckled, tipping her chin up with a single finger. "If ridiculous means making you happy, then I'll be as absurd as you want, love."
He helped her onto the horse, his hands steadying her as she adjusted herself in the saddle. The warmth of his touch lingered, sending little shivers down her spine. "Comfortable?" he asked, his voice softer now, intimate.
"I think so," Hermione said, patting the horse's neck gently, marveling at its strength and elegance. She glanced down at Draco, who was already climbing onto his own horse—a striking black stallion, its dark coat gleaming under the fading sun.
"Then let's ride, love," he murmured, clicking his heels against his horse's side, urging it forward.
The moment they started moving along the beach, the world around them seemed to still. The waves lapped at the shore in a rhythmic lullaby, the horses' hooves creating soft imprints in the sand. Hermione felt the wind in her hair, carrying the scent of salt and flowers, and for the first time in weeks, she felt utterly, blissfully free.
She turned her head to look at Draco, who was watching her instead of the view, his gaze filled with nothing but adoration. "You're not even looking at the sunset," she teased, laughing lightly.
Draco smirked, tilting his head. "That's because nothing in this world is as breathtaking as you are."
She felt heat creep up her neck, her heart stuttering at his words. "You really are impossibly romantic," she murmured.
"I know," he admitted shamelessly. "And it works, doesn't it?"
She laughed, her head falling back slightly as she let herself bask in the moment. He watched her, his chest tightening at the sound of her happiness, at the way the golden light reflected in her wild curls. Merlin, he loved this woman.
As they continued down the beach, Hermione started gaining confidence, guiding her horse with more ease, her movements fluid and natural. She felt powerful, in control, exhilarated. The tide was low, allowing them to ride closer to the water, the seafoam licking at their horses' hooves as they galloped side by side.
When they finally slowed down, the sky had turned a deep shade of violet and indigo, speckled with the first twinkling stars. The beach stretched endlessly before them, quiet and untouched, as though it belonged only to them.
Draco dismounted first, reaching up to help Hermione down. His hands gripped her waist, holding her just a moment too long before setting her gently onto the sand. "Well?" he asked, smirking down at her. "Did I make your first time memorable?"
Hermione bit her lip, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. "Every moment with you is memorable," she whispered, her fingers trailing up his chest.
Draco inhaled sharply, his hands resting at the small of her back. "You drive me mad, you know that?" he murmured, his forehead coming down to press against hers.
"Good," she whispered back, her lips brushing against his.
And then, beneath the starlit Italian sky, with the scent of pink peonies and saltwater wrapping around them, she kissed him. It was slow and deep, the kind of kiss that spoke of promises yet to be made, of futures yet to be written.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Draco took her hand and led her toward a candlelit setup further down the beach. A private dinner, complete with champagne, fresh seafood, and a luxurious spread of fruits and cheeses.
The flickering flames cast shadows across the white linen, the entire scene drenched in romance.
Hermione gasped softly, taking it all in. "You planned all of this?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Draco squeezed her hand. "Of course. It's our anniversary, my love. You deserve nothing less than magic."
She turned to him, overwhelmed with emotion. "I love you so much."
His eyes darkened with something deep and unwavering. "And I love you."
With that, he pulled out her chair, guiding her to sit, before taking his own place across from her. As they dined beneath the Italian stars, the ocean whispering its lullaby in the background, Hermione realized something—
This was happiness.
Pure, unfiltered, once-in-a-lifetime happiness. And she would cherish it forever.
Hermione stood before him, her eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement, her fingers wrapped around a small envelope. She had been waiting for this moment for weeks, planning it meticulously, anticipating the precise look of astonishment she hoped to see on his face. Now, as she watched Draco sit across from her, utterly oblivious, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass, she could barely contain herself.
She shifted closer, biting her lip to suppress her grin.
"I have three very special gifts for you," she said, her voice soft but laced with something undeniably teasing.
Draco arched an elegant brow, intrigued but skeptical. "Three?" he repeated, tilting his head as he studied her. "And they're groundbreaking, you say?"
Hermione nodded, her curls bouncing slightly as she leaned forward.
"Somewhat groundbreaking," she corrected, though the warmth in her eyes suggested they were more than just that.
Draco smirked, placing his drink down and stretching an arm along the back of the sofa, exuding the kind of lazy confidence that never failed to make her stomach flip. "You know you don't have to buy me anything, love," he murmured, watching her with a fondness that made her breath catch. "I already have everything I want."
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, allow me to be an overachiever, then," she teased, before handing him the first envelope.
Draco took it with mild curiosity, flicking it open with the kind of ease that suggested he had long since learned to trust anything that came from her. But as he pulled out the document inside and his eyes scanned the bold lettering at the top, his entire expression shifted.
He stiffened. Blinked. Read it again.
Then, slowly, very slowly, he looked up at her, his mouth slightly parted in shock. "You—" He stopped, as if his brain had momentarily short-circuited. His fingers tightened around the paper. "Hermione. Is this what I think it is?"
She grinned, nodding.
"You told me on our honeymoon that you wanted to open a shop," she explained, warmth filling her voice as she recalled that memory. "Something that sold overpriced cauldrons and terrible coffee, remember? Well, I decided to do you the honor of buying you an overpriced place where you can fulfill that ridiculous dream."
Draco let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked back down at the deed in his hands.
"You bought me a bloody shop?" he muttered, almost to himself, as if he needed to say it out loud to confirm it was real. His eyes flickered back to hers, soft but still laced with incredulity.
"Doll, this is—"
Hermione arched a brow, pretending to inspect her nails. "A business investment," she quipped. "I figured if you're going to be snobby about potions, you might as well profit from it."
Draco laughed then, a real, rich sound, shaking his head as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His voice dropped to something softer, something filled with something much deeper than gratitude.
"You are truly unbelievable," he murmured against her skin, brushing the lightest of kisses against her knuckles. "Thank you, love. I mean it."
Hermione smiled softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back into her seat, watching his expression closely. "That was just the first gift," she said, her voice light with mischief but her eyes warm and full of affection.
Draco tilted his head slightly, a playful furrow appearing between his brows as he regarded her with amusement. "How could you possibly top this?" he asked, lifting the deed still clutched in his other hand, the parchment crinkling softly in his grasp.
She let out a quiet laugh, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Well," she began, leaning in just a bit, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret, "I remember that conversation we had. You wanted a ridiculous gift, something sentimental, like the shop… and you said you wanted to see the Northern Lights someday." Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. "So maybe we can do that. Maybe we can go north, just the two of us, and stand under the sky you keep talking about."
His gaze softened immediately, something unspoken flashing across his features, and for a brief moment he seemed almost disarmed. "Oh, darling…" he murmured, the words escaping him like a sigh as he set the deed aside. "Thank you. So much."
Hermione smiled again, but this time there was something deeper behind it, something almost reverent. She shifted forward slightly, her hands now folded in her lap. "But there's one more gift," she said quietly, her voice full of quiet gravity. "The real one."
He blinked at her, curiosity lighting up his expression.
She inhaled slowly, then met his gaze without flinching. "It's the one you helped make possible, Draco… but I'm the one creating it."
Hermione's heart pounded. This was the moment. The one she had envisioned over and over again, the one she had been waiting for with barely contained excitement.
She took a deep breath, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a second, smaller envelope. "This," she said, placing it in his hand, "is the real gift."
Draco's smirk faltered at the intensity in her gaze. His fingers curled around the envelope, his heartbeat inexplicably speeding up.
Carefully, he opened it, pulling out a small, neatly folded slip of parchment. His breath caught the moment he read the first line.
Then, everything else fell away.
His hand trembled. His eyes darted back to hers, wide and disbelieving.
"You—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, trying again, but it still came out strangled. "Hermione—"
She bit her lip, her eyes glistening as she nodded.
"We're going to have a baby, Draco."
He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire world narrowing to that single, staggering truth. A baby. Their baby. His throat closed up, his hands clutching the parchment so tightly it crinkled. His mind raced, struggling to keep up, to fully process what was happening.
A baby.
A family.
Hermione, pregnant with his child.
He blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it. His vision blurred, and then, he broke.
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them. His body lurched forward as he pulled Hermione into his arms, holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together.
"Please don't play with my heart," he whispered against her hair, his voice shaking. "Tell me this is real."
She laughed softly, wrapping her arms around him just as tightly. "It's real," she whispered back. "You're going to be a father."
A choked sob escaped him as he buried his face in her neck, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. He had imagined this moment before, had dreamt of it in hazy, wistful thoughts, but nothing compared to the actual feeling of it.
He pulled back, his hands framing her face as he searched her eyes, as if he could memorize every tiny detail of this moment.
"A baby," he whispered, reverence dripping from every syllable. "Our baby."
She nodded, tears now slipping down her own cheeks. "Our baby."
And then, with an almost desperate tenderness, he kissed her. It was slow, deep, and full of love so raw it was almost painful.
When they finally parted, Draco pressed his forehead to hers, his breath uneven. "You have given me the world," he murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair. "And now, you've given me something even greater."
Hermione smiled through her tears. "You're stuck with me now," she teased.
He let out a watery chuckle, shaking his head as he pressed another kiss to her lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my love. Not for all the magic in the world."
~~~~~~
Draco had always lived his life with precision. Every choice was measured, every outcome carefully mapped, every piece on the board moved with purpose. Control was his comfort, his shield, his creed.
And yet, despite the familiar weight of discipline and strategy, something in him felt unmoored as he walked the length of the marble corridor in the penthouse. His steps echoed beneath the vaulted ceilings, but it wasn't the grandeur or the ghosts of legacy pressing on him tonight.
It was something far more intimate, something raw and untamed, humming just beneath the surface of his skin.
He was going to be a father.
The thought landed with such force he had to pause, just for a breath. An heir. His heir. The continuation of a bloodline older than some countries, yes, but it wasn't the dynasty that caught in his throat. It wasn't the history or the duty or even the name. It was the memory of Hermione's hand curling over her stomach, still flat beneath silk and moonlight, and the way her eyes had gone soft and wide when she told him. That was what made his chest tighten. That was what made him feel like the ground beneath his feet had tilted just enough to change everything.
He had spent a lifetime being told what mattered. Legacy. Influence. Preservation. But none of that came close to what he felt now. This wasn't about obligation. This was about love. About her. About the future they were building together, not as a performance of tradition, but as something real, something sacred. Their child. Their family.
Of course, given the magnitude of it all, there would be a spectacle. That was inevitable. Nothing with the Malfoy name attached could happen quietly, especially not something as seismic as this. The announcement would be grand, the guest list exhaustive, the decorations no doubt so elaborate they bordered on comical. History would mark it as a significant moment, a political gesture, a cultural statement.
And, of course, there was one person who would be utterly insufferable about it.
His mother.
°°°°°°
Draco exhaled sharply, adjusting his coat as he approached the sunlit drawing room, where he knew she would be waiting. This was a conversation he had been both anticipating and dreading, for he knew Narcissa Malfoy well enough to predict exactly how this would go.
She was going to be unbearable.
He stepped into the room with the same effortless confidence he always carried, watching as his mother, poised elegantly on the chaise lounge, turned to greet him. She was the picture of refined grace, her silver-blonde hair pulled into an elaborate twist, her silk robes flowing with practiced ease. A cup of tea rested delicately in her hands, her nails gleaming as they tapped against the fine porcelain.
"Mother," he greeted smoothly.
"Darling one," Narcissa purred, setting her tea down as she gave him an indulgent smile. "Where is my dearest Hermione?"
Draco paused, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. "You are unbelievable, Mother. I am your son. And yet, the moment I arrive, you immediately ask for my wife?"
"Well," Narcissa said lightly, barely suppressing a smirk, "I do like her."
He huffed, shaking his head. "I am aware. The Daily Prophet is filled with your quotes about how much you like her."
And it was true. If anyone had bothered to pick up a newspaper in the last four years, they would have been treated to a never-ending saga of Narcissa Malfoy's blatant adoration for Hermione Granger. There had been headlines ranging from 'Narcissa Malfoy Declares Daughter-in-Law "A True Gift to Society"' to 'Mrs. Malfoy Slams Pureblood Bigots: "Hermione Is the Best Thing to Happen to My Family"' . At one point, a columnist had even referred to Hermione as Narcissa's Favorite Child , and Draco still hadn't quite gotten over that insult.
He leveled her with a look. "You're obsessed."
Narcissa merely smiled, reaching for her tea once more. "I'm simply appreciating a wonderful addition to our family."
He rolled his eyes. "Right, well, if you could take a break from adoring my wife for five minutes, I actually have some rather important news."
At this, she perked up, her blue eyes sharpening as she sat straighter, curiosity flaring. "Oh?"
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, before reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out a small, nondescript box. The moment it was free, it expanded instantly, magic unraveling to reveal a much larger, finely crafted case, sleek and pristine.
With careful precision, he extended it toward her, watching as she reached out, her delicate fingers brushing against the polished surface before accepting it.
Narcissa arched a perfectly sculpted brow, glancing at him with intrigue. "And what, pray tell, is this?"
"Open it," he instructed, his voice calm, but there was no mistaking the weight of emotion buried beneath it.
She did.
The moment the lid lifted, revealing the contents inside and let out an audible gasp.
For nestled inside, resting atop velvet lining, was a silver-rimmed frame, and within it perfectly preserved, undeniably precious, was an enchanted photograph of an ultrasound.
A tiny, growing life, caught in shades of black and white, floating in a sea of magic and possibility.
She did not move. Did not blink. Did not speak.
Draco watched, carefully schooling his expression, though his throat felt tight.
She looked up, her mouth parting as if to say something, only for her voice to fail her entirely. Her eyes, impossibly blue and usually so controlled, shimmered with a depth of emotion that even she couldn't suppress.
Draco's lips twitched. "Well?"
Narcissa swallowed, staring back at the image before her, one hand coming up to press against her throat, as if she were trying to physically contain the emotions threatening to spill over.
"You—" she exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again. "Draco, darling—"
His smirk deepened. "Yes, Mother?"
Her gaze darted between him and the photograph, her usually pristine composure beginning to crack.
"You-you could have led with this," she finally burst out, her voice high with incredulity. "Merlin, I thought you were handing me some overpriced trinket, and instead, you—you—" She let out an uncharacteristically sharp breath, her fingers tightening around the frame as if it might vanish.
Draco's amusement only grew.
"I take it you approve?"
Narcissa blinked rapidly, as if processing the magnitude of what she was holding. Then, with a haughty sniff, she straightened, though the telltale shimmer in her eyes betrayed her attempt at regaining control.
"Well, of course, I approve," she said, as if the very suggestion of anything else was absurd. "It is simply the most important piece of news you have ever delivered, and yet you insisted on making me wait."
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
Then, after a beat, he sobered, exhaling slowly. "I wanted you to have this first," he admitted, nodding towards the frame still clutched in her hands. "Before the papers find out. Before the rest of the world starts making a spectacle of it." His voice softened. "I wanted you to know before anyone else."
Something flickered across her face—something unspoken, something undeniably maternal. She reached out then, pressing a hand to his cheek, and for the first time since he had entered the room, her carefully guarded walls fully crumbled.
"My boy," she murmured, her voice thick, affectionate, overflowing with a love that needed no further words.
Draco swallowed.
For all his sharp wit, for all his practiced arrogance, for all the carefully cultivated control he had mastered over the years, Draco found that, for once, he had absolutely nothing to say.
No dry quip, no sharp remark, no effortless retort. Because in that moment, as he stood in front of his mother, as he watched her fingers tremble slightly over the delicate silver frame, as he saw the sheer, unguarded emotion flicker across her usually composed face, he realized something.
This mattered.
More than he had ever truly understood before, more than any title, more than any fortune, more than any carefully crafted image of himself. This moment, this life-altering, fragile, utterly profound moment was everything.
And then she spoke.
"I am so proud of you, darling," Narcissa whispered, her voice rich with emotion, her regal composure cracking at the edges. "This… this is the best gift I have ever received."
Draco inhaled sharply, willing himself to keep his expression neutral, but he knew that the warmth in his mother's voice, the unmistakable reverence with which she held the frame, was breaking him apart in ways he hadn't anticipated.
"Thank you, Mother," he murmured, his voice steadier than he felt.
Narcissa exhaled softly, her fingers ghosting over the enchanted image once more before she finally lifted her gaze to meet his.
"I do love you, you know that?"
For a moment, time itself seemed to still. The grand chandeliers above them shimmered faintly, the golden light casting a soft glow against the opulent furnishings of Malfoy Manor, but none of it mattered.
Not the marble floors, not the ornate tapestries, not the grandeur of their surroundings. Because Draco had only heard those words from her twice in his life. And even now, even as they reached his ears for the third time, they still felt foreign.
Like something unfamiliar, something too precious, something too easily shattered.
He should have known.
He should have known that his mother loved him. It wasn't as if he had ever doubted her devotion, her loyalty, the ferocity with which she had protected him. But love had always been an unspoken thing between them. A silent force, woven into her actions rather than her words. She had shielded him from the Dark Lord's wrath, had lied to protect him, had risked everything to keep him safe, but she had never said it. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way he had longed for as a child.
Until now.
And gods, how it unraveled him.
"I… love you too, very much," he whispered, the confession slipping out before he could stop it, before he could catch his breath, before he could stop the burn that began behind his eyes.
And that was it.
That was the moment he broke.
Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down his cheeks, slipping past his carefully constructed defenses. He had not cried like this in a long time. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of Malfoy Manor, allowing himself to feel. Allowing himself to fall apart. Allowing himself to be her son, just for a moment.
Narcissa did not comment on his tears. She did not move to wipe them away or hush them into silence. She simply placed a hand against his cheek, her cool fingers grounding him, steadying him, reminding him of who she was.
He took a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly, before she gave him the smallest of smiles.
"May I visit Hermione?"
The question was so gentle, so casual, that it made Draco let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly as he reached up to rub at his damp eyes. Leave it to his mother to effortlessly shift from emotional devastation to polite inquiry in a matter of seconds.
"Of course," he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to gather himself. "But no perfume, please. She's been sensitive to odors lately."
Narcissa's lips curled ever so slightly. "Naturally. I shall wear only the most neutral of scents."
He huffed, rolling his eyes before exhaling slowly, willing himself to fully return to the present.
"Oh, and please," he added, his voice suddenly more serious, "don't tell Jane."
Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow, her expression curious.
"She wants to tell her herself," he clarified, shifting slightly.
There was a moment of pause before his mother gave a small, knowing nod, a flicker of something fond crossing her features.
"Of course," she said simply.
Draco relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. And for the first time in his life, he truly believed that everything was exactly as it should be.
~~~~~~
The package arrived before the sun had fully risen, before the house had stirred to life, before Hermione had even so much as cracked open an eye. It was there, as though it had appeared overnight by some magical force, which, given the sender, wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.
The sheer size of it was absurd.
It took up nearly the entire front hall, stacked in pristine silver wrapping, each box adorned with elaborate enchanted bows that shimmered beneath the soft morning light filtering through the windows.
The Malfoy family crest was stamped onto the ribbon of the largest box, subtle yet unmistakable, a quiet but firm declaration of the sender's identity. Not that there had ever been any real doubt. No one else in the wizarding world would have the audacity to send such an over-the-top display of wealth and grandeur at this hour. No one else even came close.
The only issue was that Hermione was still blissfully unaware of its existence.
Draco stood before the mountain of gifts with his arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between weary amusement and long-suffering resignation. He should have expected this. In truth, he had expected it. But somehow, even knowing it was inevitable, the sheer absurdity of it still managed to leave him speechless.
He was still absorbing the scale of it all when he heard the quiet sound of footsteps descending the stairs. He turned just as Hermione entered the hall, wearing one of his old button-down shirts, her curls tangled from sleep, eyes half-lidded and still adjusting to the light. She rubbed at her face with the heel of her hand, moving like someone who had not yet consented to being awake.
She blinked once, twice, then froze.
A long, drawn-out silence settled between them.
"What the fuck," she said, her voice still thick with sleep, but no less horrified.
Draco winced. Ah. There it is.
"Oh… shit," he muttered under his breath, already anticipating the reaction that was about to unfold. "Mother's coming soon."
Hermione's head snapped toward him, her eyes widening as she took in not just the monstrosity of the gift pile, but the implication of his words.
"Oh lords," she groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. "This is too much. Draco, this is too much."
He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, love," he murmured, his tone a mix of amusement and mild apprehension. "This is just the congratulations present."
She inhaled sharply. The congratulation presents. Her gaze snapped back to the mountain of silver-wrapped boxes, and her mouth opened and closed like she was trying to summon words that refused to come.
Of course it would be Narcissa Malfoy. Regal, dramatic, and impossibly extravagant. She was not the type of woman to send a single present wrapped in modest ribbon. That would be far too restrained. Instead, she had clearly sent an entire shipment, an ostentatious display of wealth so thoroughly over-the-top that
Hermione half-expected to see a Muggle delivery lorry parked outside.
The implications made her head spin. If this was merely the congratulations gift, then what in Merlin's name would the actual baby gifts look like?
Would the nursery be transformed into a miniature Versailles before Hermione even had a chance to pick out curtains?
Would a team of house-elves be assigned to the child before they had taken their first breath?
Would Narcissa commission a life-sized portrait before Hermione had even started to show?
She turned back to Draco, her expression somewhere between disbelief and mild panic. "Draco," she said, her voice deadly serious, "tell me the truth, are there more coming?"
He hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. And that hesitation was answer enough.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she groaned, throwing her hands up before dropping onto the bottom step of the staircase, head in her hands.
Draco chuckled, stepping forward to crouch in front of her, his fingers brushing gently along her knee. "Come on, love," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It's just my mother's way of showing affection."
"Her way of showing affection could single-handedly fund a small country," she mumbled against her palms.
Draco smirked, tilting her chin up with a single finger. "Well, lucky for you, you're now part of that affection."
She gave him a long, hard look, then sighed, flopping back against the step. "I should have known this would happen. I did know this would happen. I knew she was going to be extra about this. I just… I wasn't prepared."
Draco laughed, standing up and offering her his hand. "Come on," he said, tugging her gently to her feet. "Let's at least open one before she gets here."
Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh but allowed herself to be pulled toward the towering mountain of silver-wrapped packages, eyeing them with both apprehension and resignation. "If it's a gold-plated pram, I'm leaving," she muttered under her breath, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Draco, the absolute menace that he was, merely smirked, his grip on her hand tightening as he led her forward with a maddening twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Well…" he drawled, drawing out the moment as if savoring the impending chaos.
Her head snapped toward him, her glare sharpening into something lethal. "Draco."
His smirk widened. "About that…"
Before she could fully process what that implied, the grand double doors of the living room swung open with practiced elegance, revealing none other than the woman responsible for the overwhelming display before them.
"Oh, my dear," Narcissa all but cooed, sweeping into the room like a force of nature, her robes flowing behind her with effortless grace, as if the very air around her bent to her presence.
Hermione barely had a second to react before she was swept into the unmistakable embrace of a Malfoy matriarch. It was warm and firm, lingering just long enough to make it clear to everyone watching that Narcissa Black Malfoy had officially claimed her. The scent of expensive roses clung to her robes, softened by a whisper of citrus, and for a moment, Hermione stood frozen, overwhelmed by the unexpected warmth radiating from a woman who had once regarded her with distant civility.
When Narcissa finally pulled back, she kept Hermione at arm's length, studying her with a gaze that could have sliced through steel. Only, this time, the sharpness wasn't cold. There was something else in it. Something startlingly tender, as if she were looking at her daughter for the very first time and seeing her as something precious.
"This is a lot of gifts, Narcissa," Hermione managed, still catching her breath. Her eyes flicked toward the towering stack of silver-wrapped boxes. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, visible in the slight furrow of her brow. "Thank you. Truly. But this is a bit much."
Narcissa gave a graceful flick of her wrist, as if brushing off the suggestion with all the effort of swatting a speck of dust. "Oh, darling one. That was merely the beginning."
Hermione's stomach turned slightly. The beginning? She felt Draco shift beside her, the faintest tension in his posture betraying his dread. He was clearly waiting for the inevitable theatrical reveal.
Then, with the poise of a woman who had spent her entire life turning the mundane into the momentous, Narcissa took Hermione's hands in hers and smiled with such sincere pride that it nearly undid her. "I want to congratulate you properly. This is, without question, the most magnificent thing that has ever happened to me."
Draco let out a strangled noise, a mix between protest and disbelief. "Mother, please."
Narcissa turned to him with a slow, deliberate blink, the kind that suggested she had only just remembered his existence. Her smile was delicate, perfectly timed, and laced with something suspiciously close to mischief. "Yes, darling, you were the gift. The most precious, most miraculous gift of my life." She let that settle for a moment, then sighed with theatrical emphasis. "But this is something altogether more important."
Hermione, still holding onto her hands, had to fight the overwhelming urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.
Unbothered by the offense she had just delivered to her only child, Narcissa pressed on as if the room existed solely to receive her monologue. "Do you know the kind of pressure I am under?" she asked, her voice rising with the urgency of someone truly suffering. One hand floated to her chest as though the sheer weight of her societal burden might cause her to faint right there on the rug. "Do either of you truly understand what it means to be not only the most adored but also the most elegant grandmother in my circle?"
Draco groaned and dropped his face into his hands.
Hermione, despite herself, let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, yes, how dreadful it would be if someone else were to out-grandmother you."
Narcissa scoffed, clearly scandalized by the very suggestion. "Do not joke about such things, darling, you do not understand what I am up against."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"And speaking of expectations," Narcissa continued, as if her son had not just expressed his exhaustion with every fiber of his being, "I have been meaning to discuss something of dire importance with you, Hermione."
Hermione's eyebrows lifted slightly, already dreading what could possibly follow that statement. "…Oh?"
Narcissa inhaled deeply, as if preparing for an inevitable argument. "I simply cannot—and will not—be called grandma. The very thought of it is both degrading and horrific."
Draco groaned audibly. Hermione gaped.
"You—what?" she asked, certain she had misheard.
"Grandma," Narcissa repeated with the kind of disdain that was usually reserved for criminals and fashion atrocities. "It's atrocious, ghastly, even. It ages a person. It is common, and I refuse to be common."
Hermione pressed her lips together, trying to contain her amusement. "So… what exactly would you like to be called?"
Narcissa straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin upward in a way that suggested she had already spent considerable time contemplating this. "Something elegant. Sophisticated. Perhaps something French."
Draco, now thoroughly exasperated, let out a long-suffering sigh. "Mother, no."
Narcissa ignored him entirely. "I was thinking… 'Grand-Mère or Mèmè'."
Draco let out a pained noise. Hermione cackled.
"Oh no," Draco groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "She's serious."
Narcissa turned to him with a glare so sharp it could have cut through steel. "Of course I'm serious, Draco! Do you have any idea how long I have waited for a grandchild? If I am going to be a grandmother, then I shall do it on my terms."
Hermione, still laughing, wiped at her eyes and nodded. "Well, I have to admit, it does suit you, Narcissa."
Narcissa beamed. "Of course it does, darling." She turned back toward the mountain of gifts, her expression already thoughtful. "Now, about that gold-plated pram—"
"Absolutely not," Hermione and Draco chorused in unison.
Narcissa merely sighed, shaking her head as if they were the unreasonable ones. "Oh, you two," she murmured, reaching out to smooth Hermione's hair affectionately before turning toward the waiting pile of presents. "So tragically opposed to grandeur."
As she busied herself with selecting which package to open first, Draco turned toward Hermione, exhaling as he squeezed her hand.
"Well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, "welcome to motherhood."
Hermione groaned. "I don't know if I should be more afraid of childbirth or your mother."
Draco smirked. "Oh, love," he murmured, lips ghosting over her ear, "you should be afraid of both."
~~~~~~
The moment they arrived at the familiar doorstep of her childhood home, Hermione found herself fidgeting with the hem of her dress, a nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin. It wasn't as though she had any reason to be anxious, but something about this visit felt different. Perhaps it was the weight of what they were about to share, the gravity of the news she knew would change everything.
Or perhaps, despite all the years that had passed, stepping onto the threshold of her childhood home still made her feel like the little girl who once believed she had to prove herself to the world.
Sensing her nerves, Draco reached out and took her fidgeting hands in his own, his grip warm, steadying. He leaned down slightly, his voice low and soothing. "Shh, darling, it's going to be okay," he murmured, brushing his lips over the crown of her head.
She took a deep breath, nodding slightly, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart. She had spent so much of her life guarding herself, keeping parts of her world separate, but now, those lines had blurred into nothingness.
Draco was hers, her future, her family, and so were the people on the other side of this door. This wasn't a meeting of two worlds anymore. It was one.
Before she could lose herself in her thoughts, the door swung open, revealing her mother standing with a beaming smile, her arms already outstretched.
"Oh, my lovelies," Jane exclaimed, pulling them both into a warm, familiar embrace. "It's so good to see you again."
Hermione, who was still half-smothered in her mother's hug, let out a small, exasperated laugh. "Mummy, we saw you a few weeks ago," she reminded her, voice muffled against Jane's shoulder.
Jane pulled back, unfazed, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she cupped Hermione's face briefly before turning to Draco and giving his cheek an affectionate pat. "Which is precisely why your father and I are always excited when you come by," she said matter-of-factly, her expression daring Hermione to challenge her logic.
Draco chuckled under his breath, stepping aside just in time to avoid another overzealous hug from Jane. The warmth in her welcome was something he would never take for granted. There had been a time when he had thought he might never be welcomed anywhere. He had expected the cold stares, the whispered words, the polite distance.
But this? This was real. It was unguarded. And it made something in his chest tighten in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to.
But something had shifted between them all in recent years, something that went beyond the surface-level pleasantries of polite acceptance. Everything had changed. He had changed. And the Grangers, much to his continued astonishment, had let him in, not just as Hermione's husband, not just as an in-law, but as something more.
After what happened to Hermione, that horrifying night when she had been attacked, when everything could have ended, their bond had solidified into something unbreakable. It had rewritten the very foundation of what family meant. Draco had never known the Granger's love until that moment, until Jane had sat at Hermione's bedside for days on end, until David had stood silently beside him, his presence steady, unyielding.
That was when he knew this wasn't a temporary arrangement, a reluctant acceptance of their daughter's choices. No, this was family, the kind that endured. And if he had thought for even a second that Jane and David would ever let him slip through their grasp, he had been sorely mistaken.
Draco had barely taken a step inside when David appeared, moving toward him with an ease that would have once shocked him.
"Ah, my dear boy," David said as he stepped forward, clasping Draco's shoulder with the kind of fatherly familiarity that sent a small ripple of warmth through him. "I hope you're doing better. Truly."
There was something in the way David looked at him, something that carried the weight of genuine concern, not just polite inquiry, not just a father making conversation with his daughter's husband. It was deeper than that.
Draco nodded, his throat suddenly dry as he fought the instinct to downplay things. But this was David, and if Draco had learned anything in the past few years, it was that lying, or deflecting, was entirely pointless when it came to Hermione's father.
"Thank you, Mr. Granger," Draco said, his voice measured but sincere. "Finally everything is going smoothly."
David gave a small nod, a hint of something unreadable flickering across his face before he spoke again.
"Well, that's good," he said, his voice light, but there was a certain weight behind it that had Draco instinctively bracing himself. And then, with the same calm, casual ease that only a father could manage while delivering a very particular kind of threat, David added, "Although, if you ever break my daughter's heart again, we will have words."
Draco, who had faced down actual murderers and survived a war, somehow found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
"...Yes—yes, of course, Mr. Granger," he stammered, nodding far too quickly for his own liking.
Jane let out an exasperated sigh, giving her husband a look before smacking his arm lightly. "David, honestly."
David shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "What? I meant it."
Hermione groaned, rubbing her temples. "Dad, please don't scare him today."
"Oh, I don't scare easily," Draco muttered under his breath, though the way David looked at him told him that perhaps today wasn't the best day to test that theory.
Jane merely smiled, shaking her head as she looped an arm around Hermione's. "Ignore him, darling. He's just feeling particularly fatherly today."
Draco still hadn't quite figured out how to respond when David patted his shoulder again, giving him a look that was far too pleased with itself.
"Oh, don't look so terrified, son," David said with a chuckle, his voice full of dry amusement. "I like you. That doesn't mean I won't kill you if necessary, but I do like you."
Draco blinked. "I—thank you?"
Hermione sighed dramatically, taking Draco's hand and tugging him toward the sitting room, effectively ending the exchange before her father could offer any additional threats. "Come on, love," she said, shaking her head. "Let's sit before Dad tries to intimidate you again."
David smirked, calling after them as they walked away. "It's not intimidation, Hermione. It's fatherhood."
As they finally settled into the familiar comfort of the sitting room, Hermione took a steadying breath, trying, and failing, to calm the erratic pounding of her heart. She was usually composed, level-headed, even when facing the most daunting of situations, but this was different.
This wasn't a calculated debate, an impassioned speech at the Ministry, or an impossible puzzle she could solve with logic alone. This was her family, and the weight of what she was about to tell them had her fingers tightening involuntarily around Draco's hand.
Sensing her nerves, Draco gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb tracing small, calming circles against her skin. It was a silent message 'I'm here. You're not alone in this.' And for that, she was endlessly grateful.
With a deep breath, she reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a carefully wrapped package, its delicate gold paper glinting in the soft afternoon light.
She had spent hours agonizing over how to tell them. How to make this moment special, how to find a way to put into words just how much this meant to her. And in the end, she had settled on something small, something simple, something that would speak for itself.
Hermione's fingers trembled as she handed the gift to her parents, her breath catching in her throat as she watched them accept it with puzzled expressions. She wanted to say something, to fill the air with words that could somehow prepare them for what they were about to discover, but all she could do was hold Draco's hand tighter, clinging to him like a lifeline.
Jane and David shared a look before carefully peeling away the wrapping, their movements slow and deliberate, as if they sensed the significance of whatever was inside. The silence stretched between them, thick with anticipation, until the last bit of paper was torn away, revealing what lay within.
Two tiny, impossibly small baby shoes.
The room seemed to still, the very air shifting as the weight of understanding dawned upon them.
Jane was the first to react, her breath hitching sharply as her fingers flew to her lips. Her eyes, wide with shock, darted from the delicate shoes in her hands to Hermione's face, searching, needing confirmation.
"Oh my god…" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Beside her, David sat frozen for a long, breathless second, his normally composed demeanor utterly shattered. He stared down at the tiny shoes in his hands, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands, usually so steady, trembled as he held the delicate fabric, his mind struggling to catch up with what his heart already knew.
Then, finally, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "Baby girl…"
And that was all it took for Hermione's composure to break.
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them, and she let out a breathless, shaky laugh, nodding rapidly, unable to do anything else. "Yes," she managed, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, it's exactly what you think."
There was a beat, a split second of silence where everything seemed suspended in time, and then, chaos.
Both of her parents shot up from the sofa so suddenly that the tea set on the coffee table nearly went crashing to the floor, the cups teetering precariously on their saucers. But neither of them noticed. They were already moving, already reaching for her, before the porcelain had even stopped rattling.
Jane was the first to reach her, pulling Hermione into a hug so fierce, so overwhelming, that it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. But Hermione didn't mind. She melted into it, into the warmth of her mother's arms, into the scent of vanilla and chamomile that had comforted her since childhood.
"My baby," Jane sobbed against her hair, her voice breaking with pure, unfiltered joy. "Oh, my sweet girl, you're having a baby—you're having a baby."
David wasn't far behind, his arms wrapping around both of them in a protective, all-encompassing embrace, his grip almost desperate, as if anchoring himself to the moment. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Hermione's head, his own voice thick with emotion as he murmured, "Oh, sweetheart… This is—this is the best news."
Draco stood back for a moment, watching the scene unfold, something warm and unfamiliar curling in his chest. He had always known Hermione's parents were different, that they loved her in a way that was wholly foreign to him, in a way that was unconditional, unwavering but witnessing it now, seeing the raw, unguarded joy in their faces, made something tighten in his throat.
And then, before he could blink, Jane rounded on him.
Draco barely had time to brace himself before she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug that rivaled even Pansy's most suffocating embraces. His body went stiff for half a second before he forced himself to relax, allowing himself to be enveloped in her warmth.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Thank you for making my daughter so happy."
Draco swallowed hard, unsure how to respond, but he didn't have to. Because a second later, David clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm but not threatening. "Looks like I'm going to have to rethink my intimidation tactics now," he joked gruffly, though his eyes shone with unmistakable pride. "Wouldn't want to stress out my future grandchild's father, would I?"
Draco let out a breathless chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'd… appreciate that, Mr. Granger."
"Oh, please, call me David," he insisted, his voice warm, genuine. "You're about to make me a grandfather, after all."
Hermione wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, laughing between sniffles. "Oh gods, you're going to be Papa David."
David looked scandalized. "Absolutely not. That makes me sound old."
Jane rolled her eyes, still beaming as she linked her arm with Hermione's. "You are old, darling."
"Rude," he muttered, but his grin was undeniable.
As the laughter settled, Jane cupped Hermione's face in her hands, her expression softening with something more tender, more serious. "Are you happy, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice gentle but weighted with meaning.
Hermione didn't hesitate.
"Yes," she whispered, her fingers finding Draco's once more. "I'm so happy."
And as Jane pulled her into another embrace, as David wiped at his suspiciously misty eyes, as Draco squeezed her hand just a little tighter, Hermione knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was it.
This was happiness.