Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, just the story line. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them and pretend they’re my own.
A/N: Hello, again. Just to let you all know, the updates for this story will probably come at a much slower pace in the beginning, because I’m having some troubles in real life at the moment, so if I seem to disappear for a little while, that’s why. Please R&R, and on with the story!
***
“We’re going to be late!” Draco called from the kitchen as he waited for Hermione to emerge from the bedroom.
“No we won’t! I’m almost ready!” came the response, and Draco sighed, leaning back against the countertop and glancing at the clock impatiently. It was already half past twelve, which was when they were expected at Harry and Ginny’s. Just as he was about to call out to her again, Hermione came in, running her hand through her long brown curls.
They were both dressed simply in muggle clothing, Hermione in a pair of black shorts with a red shirt and Draco in dark jeans and a white t-shirt which clung to his chest. He held out his hand to Hermione once she had grabbed the bowl of pasta salad they were taking to the lunch, and the two of them stepped into the fireplace.
“12 Grimauld Place!” Hermione cried out as Draco dropped a handful of Floo powder, and they disappeared in a flash of green flames.
They stepped out onto the dark hardwood floors of Harry and Ginny’s house, brushing off the ash which clung to their clothes, and Draco heard people approaching from the kitchen.
12 Grimauld Place had changed a lot in the last four years; once he had left school, Harry had moved in and gone about doing renovations throughout the house. Harry had, with the help of Kreacher who had the power to remove Permanent Sticking Charms, had removed the portraits of Sirius’ ancestors and repainted the walls a dark red, reminiscent of his days at Hogwarts. All the furnishings had also been updated, and were now comfortable and not at all moth-eaten like the old furniture.
“Hermione!” Ginny shrieked, waddling into the room, her large stomach preceding her through the doorway. Draco took the pasta salad from Hermione as she jumped from the fireplace to envelope her pregnant friend in a long but awkward looking hug. “How are you?” the redhead asked once they had broken apart, leading Hermione and Draco to the kitchen.
“We’re wonderful. How are you and the baby?” Hermione asked, sitting down at the dining table beside Ginny, and the two launched into baby talk.
Draco spotted Harry watching the two women talk, and decided to join him.
“Hey, mate. How are you?” Harry asked once Draco had made his presence known, and they shook hands firmly.
“I’m good. Are we the first ones here?” Draco questioned, wondering why the house was so quiet.
“Yeah, but the others should be here soon,” Harry said, and they heard a loud roar coming from the living room as someone else arrived by Floo powder. “Shall we?” Harry indicated that they go and greet the guests. Hermione and Ginny looked around at the sound but didn’t move from the table where Ginny was discussing decorating the nursery. Nodding at Harry, Draco followed his friend into the living room where Ron was stepping out of the fireplace, dusting himself off.
“Hey, guys,” he grinned, shaking his red hair and causing ash to fall everywhere.
“Thanks for that, mate,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and giving Ron a shove.
“Thought you’d like it,” the redhead said with a wink. “George’ll be here in a minute with Angelina and Fred.”
“So considerate of you,” Harry laughed, and the fireplace filled with dancing green flames as Angelina Weasley, nee Johnson, stepped out holding hands with George who was holding hands with a little boy with flaming red hair who could pass for a younger George. The only difference between the boy and his father was that the child had Angelina’s brown eyes compared to George’s blue.
“Hello, all!” George said cheerily as he helped Angelina from the grate and scooped the little boy into his arms. “Fred, say hello.”
“Hullo,” said the boy with a faint lisp, and George grinned. “Mum!” the boy yelled, and George handed the boy to Angelina and planted a kiss on both their heads.
“The girls are in the kitchen,” Harry said and Angelina gave him a grateful smile and walked out of the room. “Shall we sit?”
The men all nodded enthusiastically and sat in the comfortable chairs, and the Quidditch talk began, all of them contributing to the conversation eagerly as they discussed the injuries that the Chudley Cannons’ Seeker had gained during a practice, where a Bludger had managed to knock him off his broom, knocking him out for several days in the process.
“He’s not going to be fit to play this weekend then, is he?” Draco said, pleased with the injury to the Seeker; he wasn’t a supporter of the Cannons.
“Nah, doubt it,” Harry shrugged, and Ron scowled.
There was another roar of the flames and Bill stepped out of the fireplace, arm around Fleur’s waist, holding hands with a girl who resembled Fleur so much, and who was no older than three. Fleur glided out of Bill’s support and Harry stood as she placed two kisses on his cheeks.
“’Arry, eet iz so good to see you!” she said in her throaty voice, with her accent which had improved in the last four years.
“It’s wonderful to see you too, Fleur,” Harry said with a smile, stepping back from the woman who turned to greet the other men in the room. “The women are in the kitchen,” he added, and she swept from the room.
“Harry, Mum and Dad said they’d be here soon with Teddy,” Bill said, shaking Harry’s hand firmly with his free hand. The little girl looked up at Harry expectantly, and the dark-haired wizard stooped down and scooped her into his arms.
“Harry!” she cried out happily as he swung her around before placing the child on George’s lap.
“Victoire’s getting big,” Harry remarked, resuming his seat as Bill made himself comfortable.
“And fussy,” Bill added with a laugh, and there were two loud cracks as Molly and Arthur Weasley appeared, Molly holding hands with Teddy Lupin, Harry’s godson.
“Teddy!” Harry said happily once they boy, who was sporting messy turquoise blue hair, spotted him. Teddy ran over and hugged his godfather tightly. “Fred’s in the kitchen, why don’t you go and play with him?”
Teddy raced out of the room as all the men stood up, stretching.
“Boys, lunch is ready!” Ginny called from the kitchen and they all trooped towards the food, Victoire still in George’s arms. The dining table had been set for fourteen, and there were piles of food in the middle.
Draco, spotting Hermione near the end of the table, went over and took the vacant seat beside her. She turned as he sat down, giving him a relieved smile; there was only so much baby-talk she could take before she looked for a more stimulating topic.
George and Angelina sat across from Hermione and Draco, Fred scrambling to get into his father’s lap.
“Dig in!” Ginny said happily once everyone was seated, and for a few minutes the only sound that could be heard was that of cutlery against crockery and appreciative sounds as people ate.
“So,” George began once conversations had sprung up all along the table. “Are you two planning on making it official any time soon?”
“I would have thought that after four years together we were already somewhat official,” Draco remarked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.
“Well yeah, you are official, but not official-official. Are you ever going to tie the knot?” Angelina asked, looking pointedly at Hermione.
“Um, well, yeah, I’m sure we’ll get around to it eventually, or something,” Hermione spluttered.
“It would be wonderful if you two did get married! Your kids would be so adorable,” Ginny said, her eyes glazing over as she thought.
“So, why couldn’t Percy and Penelope come today?” Draco asked loudly, changing the topic as he saw Hermione grow uncomfortable. She grabbed his hand beneath the table and squeezed it gratefully, and he flashed her a quick smile as conversation turned to Percy’s work as assistant to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic.
***
“You know, in our four years together, we’ve never once talked about having kids,” Hermione remarked, climbing between the crisp white sheets of their bed that night.
Draco stood in front of the wardrobe, hanging up his shirt and turned around to face her. “I never thought it was something we needed to think about,” he shrugged, now dropping his trousers and hanging them up beside the shirt.
“Well no, neither did I. But, I mean, everyone’s settling down and having kids, and here we are, unmarried with no plans for a family,” Hermione leant back into the pillows, watching Draco as he climbed into bed beside her.
“Ron’s not even in a relationship,” he said pointedly, and she rolled her eyes. “No, I do see where you’re coming from. I would never have pegged you as the maternal type, though.”
“Oh no, I’m not the maternal type. I don’t really like kids. Then again, people always say that until they have their own, at which point they fall in love with the idea of children. Just look at Harry with Teddy. But even if I don’t like kids, I do like having plans. What do you think about the idea of a family?” Hermione asked, snuggling into Draco’s chest.
“Hm, kids. Sticky hands and diapers. Not exactly my cup of tea,” he said, holding her close to him. “But we’ll see what happens. If we did have kids, I’d prefer to wait until we’re married. Not because I think having kids outside of wedlock is wrong, but because it just makes things a lot less complicated.”
“Always strategic,” Hermione smiled, and he laughed. “If we ever do get married, then I don’t want a big fuss. I know Molly and Ginny will want a huge celebration, but I would be much happier if you and I went to the Ministry with just Harry or someone as a witness and we just got married like that.”
“Your wish is my command,” Draco murmured, kissing the top of her head. “We should probably get some sleep,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“Mm, I agree,” Hermione said, sleep clouding her voice. Draco turned off the light and pulled Hermione close to his body, drifting off to sleep.
***
“Have you found out anything about Goyle?” Harry asked, pacing the floor of his large office.
“No, he’s gained a few brain cells and has discovered how to keep a low profile,” Draco said dryly.
“Do you have any other contacts that might have information on his whereabouts?”
“ Not that are alive,” frowned Draco, and Harry gave a huge sigh, collapsing in his chair.
“There is someone who I’m sure would know something, but I feel you would be reluctant to talk to them.”
“Who?” Draco asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on Harry’s magnificent oak desk.
“Your father,” Harry said simply, but a crease of worry had formed between his eyebrows.
“Lucius? I haven’t talked to the man since I was seventeen. What makes you think he’d talk to me?” Draco asked, evidently somewhat repulsed at the idea of meeting his father again.
“He has nothing to lose by talking to you, and if he does then there is some hope, albeit a very small amount of it, that his sentence in Azkaban will be reduced,” Harry shrugged, leaning back. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”
“Can you arrange a meeting with him for me?” Draco asked after a minute’s silence.
“I’m sure that as head of law enforcement I could pull some strings for you,” Harry said wryly, and Draco rolled his eyes at his friend. “Anyway, I better get back to work. Say hello to Hermione, would you?”
“No problem, Harry. Talk to you later,” Draco said, leaving with a wave over his shoulder and the feeling of apprehension at the upcoming meeting with his estranged father.
***
Hermione was slumped in the chair in her office, trying not to let the tears fall.
Even though she knew should couldn’t save everyone, it always hit hard when she lost a patient, and losing Stephan Muster was no exception. Wiping away a stray tear and trying to quell her emotions, she pulled the patient’s folder towards her, checking over next of kin. With her eyes blurred from tears, she read that he had a wife and a daughter, and the thought of the child growing up fatherless set Hermione off again.
She pushed the folder away and buried her face in her hands, trying to calm herself.
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