Hermione walked through the well-maintained gardens just off the patio.

How did I get here?

Someone thought it wouldn’t be hard. Someone refused to drink her potion. Someone thought it was fate. Someone was very silly.

“Gah,” she exhaled to a large oak, and sat on the bench ringing the tree’s trunk. She leaned back against the rough bark and closed her eyes. The July sun was warm, but surprisingly, not hot. A breeze ruffled the leaves

“Mrow?”

Hermione opened her eyes to find a small grey cat with bottle green eyes looking at her.

“Mrow?” The cat repeated its question.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered. “They’re just so overwhelming, and they took over. And now, I don’t have a job, or an apartment. I’m stuck here, because there’s no more Apparating.”

“Mrow-row,” the cat clambered into her lap and settled down.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

The grey moggie butted its head against her hand, which commenced stroking the cat’s lithe body. The cat’s purr rumbled in the calm garden.

“You certainly have a loud motor,” Hermione said. “I suppose it could be worse. I could be alone. They could want to have nothing to do with me.”

The cat curled its claws gently into the muscle of her leg.

“So what to you think? Should I stay? Let them take care of me?”

The cat looked up at her. The green eyes opened and closed before nudging her hand that had stopped its stroking.

“I am so tired,” Hermione yawned. “Care to take a nap?” She picked up the small cat and made her way back to the study.

 

A truce settled over Malfoy Manor.

Both Draco and Blaise thought the new addition of the cat rather funny, but it was the Wizards who found the perfect name for the cat. The grey cat had managed to find a snoozing spot high up on the library bookshelves, and while the three of them were taking tea one afternoon, he swooped down onto the settee from his high perch.

“Too bad he can’t play Quidditch,” Draco remarked after Hermione’s shriek of surprise.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione. Why does everything devolve to Quidditch? She thought and poured the cat a small amount of milk.

“With jumps like that, he’d make Wronski feints obsolete,” Draco answered.

“I do believe you’ve discovered the name of our new resident,” Blaise said. The newly named Wronski had jumped up into his lap to butt his head against the Wizard’s hand. “Demanding little thing, isn’t he?” Blaise’s hand had commenced with skritching the furry head and stroking the smooth body in his lap.

“If I remember correctly, Wronski, the person, was quite demanding after inventing his classic move,” Draco said. “Our new player is exactly like that,” he remarked to Blaise.

“Are you going to keep him?” Blaise asked.

“Of course! He has a name now,” Hermione answered.

“I don’t know. We paid a great lot of galleons for him,” Draco said.

“He came in from the garden,” Hermione said. “We didn’t pay anything for him.”

“Doubting your purchase?” Blaise asked.

“I just hope he lives up to his potential,” Draco said.

“He’s a cat,” Hermione said. “What kind of potential is he supposed to have?”

“What?” Blaise and Draco asked.

“What are you two talking about?” Hermione blinked at them.

“The player Draco just signed to the Wigtown Wanderers,” Blaise said. “What were you talking about?”

“Certainly not Quidditch,” Hermione replied. Suddenly, a yawn split her jaw.

“I do believe it’s naptime,” Draco remarked. “Come, Hermione,” he said and held out his hand to help her up. “I’ll see you up.”

 

The peppermint tea coupled with intermittent doses of the ginger-based potion worked wonders on the morning sickness, and Hermione was feeling like her old self. Her office, loath to lose such a dedicated researcher, had asked her to review the Ministry’s Potions research prior to standardization. This work kept her busy in the study pulling books and checking references. The men watched her return to normal with trepidation and amusement. They thought having the usual Hermione back was wonderful, although they were getting a bit tired of fetching this reference or that, as the requested book was usually on the top shelf of the furthest bookcase in the study. Wronski supervised activities from his spot as designated parchment-weight on the desk.

Hermione was ecstatic to have her equilibrium back. She plunged into her new research duties with enthusiasm. One side effect of the lack of morning sickness had her worried, however; her hormones now led her brain into an entirely different direction. Images from what she had insisted was only one night returned to her mind and stayed there. Whilst immersed in a narrative discussing the interactions between armadillo bile and ashwinder eggs, visions of Draco’s head between her spread thighs would skate across her vision, and her thought processes skidded to a halt while her brain relived the sensations of the blond’s tongue thoroughly teasing her clit. She’d squirm in her chair trying to relieve the ache between her legs. Then, there was Blaise and his hands and mouth that stroked and teased.

Today was such a day. She’d had her appointment with Madame Ellsworth who’d pronounced herself quite happy with Hermione’s increased appetite and decreased nausea. The medi-witch had said that Hermione would soon start to feel movement from the baby now that she was heading into the sixth month. The last trimester would also mean random firings of magic; colored spots on her skin, glowing, or even sparks from her hair. As Hermione was Muggle-born and as the relationship was a trio, Madame Ellsworth felt the danger of dissolution, similar to miscarriage, wasn’t as much a concern if she were a pureblood. This last had produced expressions of relief and happiness on the Wizards’ faces. Hermione rolled her eyes, hoping this would mean they’d stop hovering over her.

After the exam, Hermione had retired to the study to work on the latest reports the Ministry had sent the prior evening. Both Draco and Blaise were gone; doing whatever it was they did during the day. Funny, she’d never asked what they did. Hermione chewed on her quill. Last night she’d walked in on a particularly heated scene between the two men. Draco had been stretched out on the sofa with Blaise on top of him. They’d been locked at the mouth, and their hands had clutched and stroked over the bare skin of their naked chests and backs. Just thinking about their ardent kiss caused Hermione’s blood to heat. She’d crept silently away. Lately, they’d been quite openly and physically affectionate with each other, but hadn’t carried that affection on to her.

Hermione thought about that realization and was surprised at the stab of jealousy she felt. Oh yes, they’d been polite and solicitous, but gone were the endearments and touches. They were very careful, in fact, not to touch her. Hermione frowned. She wasn’t sure she liked their withdrawal. She decided she definitely didn’t like it, but she had no idea what to do about it. No more work was done as Hermione pondered her situation. Wronski sat on the arm of the chair providing moral support. She was certain she couldn’t live without their affection, but at the same time, she shied away from their capacity for all-consuming passion.

She was still sitting, legs curled underneath her, in Draco’s chair when the Slytherins came in that evening. Furnie the elf, having lit the fire against the early autumn chill, had quietly come and gone. The logs crackled and popped, drawing Hermione from her depressed thoughts. Dinner would be served soon and she was hungry. She got up and stretched, suddenly feeling a small flutter in her middle, like something floating up against a surface. She put her hand to her still barely curved abdomen and felt it again, not against her hand, but still there, a distinct something. She was standing there, in front of the fire, hands following the movement in her belly when Draco and Blaise opened the door.

“Hermione?” asked Blaise. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you all right? Is it a problem?” Draco echoed Blaise’s anxious tone.

She shook her head. “Movement,” she whispered. She moved her hand again. “There.”

“Movement?” the two men asked.

“Here.” She walked over to them and grabbed their hands. “Feel,” she said and put their hands on her gravid stomach.

Their hands roamed all over her belly. The stroking and petting ignited her skin with arousal.

“I don’t feel anything,” Blaise said. He withdrew his hand from her body. “I’m sorry.”

Draco’s hand soon followed and departed from her belly. “Neither do I. I’m sorry, Hermione.” He bowed.

Hermione growled in frustration and stalked off to the dining room at Lozzie’s announcement that dinner was served.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Hermione ate her steak, jacket potato, required mushrooms, and vegetables without speaking. Skipping dessert, she stalked upstairs to their bedroom.

You’re sulking, she thought.

I know, she answered herself.

So what are you going to do?

Hermione shrieked with frustration. Her skin felt tight and itchy. She couldn’t sit still and paced in front of the bed where it had all started.

Why can’t you admit it? You want them.

She beat her fists against the mattress. She had tried staying awake until they came to bed, but she always fell asleep. She was certain they had laid a charm that caused her behavior, because she also always woke, alone in the big bed, after they had left. Hermione had hoped that proximity would have worked its own brand of magic. She’d woken up in their bed that morning after they’d kidnapped…er, rescued, her, and that night, they’d put her back in it. She’d stayed, they’d stayed, but no one had touched her.

So what are you going to do about it?

“What can I do?” she answered herself, and groaned. “Wonderful, just wonderful, I’m talking to myself. Besides, they don’t seem interested in me any longer.”

They’re respecting your wishes, her head told her. They’re giving you control.

“But I don’t want control,” she groused.

“Hermione?” Draco asked. “To whom are you speaking?”

Startled, she whirled around toward the door of the bedroom.

“Yes, to whom?” Blaise asked.

“No one,” she squeaked. “I was just, just…” She sputtered to a stop and stared at the two men. Draco was slightly shorter than Blaise. Both were dressed in black. Draco’s silver eyes warmed her blood as they met her gaze. Blaise’s lips quirked, seeing her hands resting nervously on her belly. “Why don’t you want me anymore?” she wailed, and then turned around so she would not have to face them. Her shoulders shook with the effort of repressing her tears. Damn hormones!

Arms circled her shoulders and lips kissed her temples.

“Shhhhh,” the two male voices whispered.

Hermione turned and buried her face into a male chest, Draco’s, it seemed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His hands stroked soothingly along her back.

“Yes, Hermione, what’s wrong?” Blaise asked. He pushed Hermione’s hair away from her neck to nibble on its taut, tense skin.

“You don’t want me anymore,” she whimpered. “Last night, you two were…and you don’t … not with me… and…” She had started to hiccup.

Draco and Blaise shared a look before moving their sniffling Witch to the big bed in the middle of the room. They maneuvered her onto the mattress and in between their two bodies. Hermione tried to wrap herself around and bury herself in the two male bodies that warmed her front and back. Male hands stroked and soothed until Hermione had stopped crying and lay quietly.

Draco titled her face up so she had no choice but to look at him.

“Now then,” he asked. “What was that all about?”

“Youdonwanmeanymore,” mumbled Hermione.

“I think she said that we don’t want her anymore,” said Blaise. “Why, Hermione, do you think that?”

“I saw you last night,” Hermione accused. “Both of you...and you don’t touch me anymore. You don’t call me names, and you’re never here.”

“We thought that was what you wanted,” Blaise answered.

“Yes,” agreed Draco. “You kept reminding us that it was only one night.”

Hermione’s expression crumpled and her lips quivered.

“I take it, you’ve changed you mind?” asked Draco with a quick kiss to her mouth.

“I...I...I,” she stuttered. She rolled over, trying to avoid Draco’s piercing grey eyes, only to encounter the same regard from Blaise’s deep-blue gaze. She flushed. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?” asked Blaise.

“I changed my mind,” Hermione answered.

“Why?” asked Draco.

Hermione growled in frustration. Their hands had been randomly stroking her body, igniting nerve endings already driven to distraction by hormones. She decided they’d had enough conversation and not enough sex. In response to Draco’s question, Hermione snaked her hand up and around his neck. She pulled his head down and met his lips with her own.

“Does it matter why?” she asked before turning to her other side to capture Blaise’s lips.

“It does matter,” replied Draco. He caught Hermione’s chin in his hand. “You see, love, we don’t want to find you gone again.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded her head.

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling,” whispered Blaise. His finger traced from her temple down her cheek to follow the line of her neck. “Will you stay?”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. She turned to kiss Blaise. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

Blaise’s mouth followed the path his finger had taken. His lips nipped their way down her throat. Hermione moaned. She was sandwiched between Blaise whose mouth nipped a line of fire on her skin, while Draco’s hands were busy with the buttons of her tunic top. Hermione gasped at the intense sensation of Draco’s palm covering her breast – the thin lace of her bra no barrier to the heat and roughness of his palm. He cupped the sensitive flesh and softly brushed his thumb over the peaking nipple.

Hermione squirmed against Draco’s hand on her breast and Blaise’s mouth tracing down her throat. The stroking of her nipple coupled with the nips against her pulse were sending shots of pure sensation straight to fire an empty ache between her legs. She wrapped a leg up and around Blaise’s hips. In response, Blaise bucked his thigh gently against the juncture of Hermione’s legs, as she ground down.

Hermione was panting hard. Blaise turned his attention to Hermione’s other breast and Draco’s other hand snaked down and under Hermione’s skirt to run up her thigh.

“Oh yes, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear. “Hot and wet, just what we like.”

Hermione growled.

“I’m sure,” murmured Blaise against her breast. “But she’s wearing too many clothes, don’t you think?”

“Yes, she is,” replied Draco with a smile.

“So are you two,” Hermione moaned. “Please,” she breathed. “I want to feel your skin.” Her eyes were glazed with lust.

“How could we refuse such a request?” Blaise asked. He and Draco shared a grin. “Shall we?”

But Hermione was quicker. She turned toward Blaise and attacked the buttons on his shirt, before finally losing patience and ripping it open. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his chest and smooth olive skin. She licked her lips and bent to nibble on Blaise’s collarbone.

Blaise groaned at the sharp pleasure of Hermione’s teeth nipping at his skin.

“Good?” asked Draco. He’d pulled his own jacket and shirt off. His hands were working on the ties of Hermione’s tunic. She groaned in response to Draco’s hands brushing against her over sensitive breasts. Her nipples peaked against the soft silk of her blouse.

Hermione, driven mad by the touch of Draco’s hands, turned away from Blaise and pulled the blond’s head down to her own. She fastened her mouth to Draco’s lips, aggressively attacking his mouth with her own.

Blaise’s hands shoved at the waistband of her skirt and knickers. “Lift your hips, darling,” he whispered. Hermione complied and tore her mouth from Draco’s in a groan when Blaise’s thigh pressed up against her aching, swollen flesh.

Hands stroked up and down her body. They cupped breasts and circled nipples. Mouths tongued and nipped at tender skin. Hermione writhed under the sensual onslaught.

“Please,” she moaned. Her legs fell open and her hips bucked against stroking and probing fingers that spread her slick moisture against plump aching flesh. A finger, or was it two, circled her clit and sent shocks running up her spine to explode in her brain.

Hands urged her up to straddle masculine thighs, she stared down into molten grey eyes before sinking down on a hard cock, her eyes closing to savor the friction of flesh against flesh that filled and tormented the ache of her empty channel.

“That’s it, love,” Draco whispered. His hands guided her hips in a gentle up and down motion that intensified the ache inside Hermione as his cock brushed against that spot that he knew sent her into insanity.

Hermione whimpered as fingers brushed between her buttocks. A whispered charm later and those same fingers slid into her tight opening stretching the muscle.

“Lean forward,” Blaise whispered.

Hermione complied and moaned when her motion drove Draco’s cock even tighter against her over-charged inner nerves. She moaned loudly moments later with fulfillment as the remembered feeling of fullness and completion became real.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Please, oh, please.” Her begging sparked a combination of movements from the men beneath and behind her. She panted as sensation assaulted her brain. Push, pull, push, pull, the tension mounted until Hermione’s mouth opened in a keen while her body shuddered. Her eyes rolled back into her head before closing while a slow smile of satisfaction curved her lips. Masculine grunts and groans signaled her partners’ completion and the trio curled into each other in a haze of sensual aftershocks.

Draco’s hands traced the hard, slight curve of her belly. Blaise laid kisses along her temple and cheek.

“You’ll be staying for breakfast, won’t you?” he whispered.

“We’ll order you a mushroom omelet,” Draco murmured into her ear, his teeth worrying the lobe.

Hermione’s stomach rumbled audibly. She smiled, and asked, “Do we have to wait until breakfast?”

The men chuckled. Draco rose and clapped his hands. He gave the order for Hermione’s food to Lozzie.

Blaise wrapped his arms around their Witch. He buried his nose in this disarray of her hair. “Ah, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made us.” He raised his head and kissed her.

“Yes, Hermione, love,” Draco echoed Blaise. He also kissed her.

Hermione smiled and snuggled into the pillows.

The House-Elf popped back into the bedroom carrying a tray laden with food. Hermione inhaled the savory aroma of butter-sautéed mushroom. Her stomach rumbled again.

Draco waved his wand and a large tray-table appeared over her legs.

“Breakfast in bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “Please.”

Draco placed the food onto the bed. Blaise cut a piece of omelet.

“Open up,” he said and brought the fork up towards Hermione.

“I can feed myself, Blaise,” she said.

“I know, darling, but you should be pampered,” he replied. Hermione took the bite, rolling her eyes.

“Truly love,” Draco started. “Let us take care of you.” He leaned back and tucked his arm around her. “That’s our job. Wizards take care of their Witches when they are,” he paused to rub Hermione’s belly, “in a delicate condition.”

Hermione glared at him.

“Please, sweet,” Blaise continued the cajoling. “Your magic will continue to become even more unstable, also there is a risk…”

“Madame Ellsworth thought I’d be safe from miscarriage since I’m Muggle born,” Hermione interrupted. “And we’re all three in this together.”

“Still,” Draco said and fed Hermione another bite. “We don’t want to take any chances.”

“If you insist.” Hermione acquiesced.

“We do,” the Wizards replied.

 

Hermione was irritated with Pinkbones. She was certain he had completely missed the prime qualities of willow bark and hippogryff claws, two of the chief ingredients in a headache potion. She needed Fernhall’s Medicinal and Palliative Potions for Common Ailments, but the only copy in the library was up the ladder on the 12th shelf, and the boys were nowhere to be found.

Wronski opened his eyes and stared at Hermione.

“What?” she asked the cat. “They aren’t around. I need that book.”

“Mrow?”

“Alright, I’ll try my wand, but I’m telling you it won’t work.” The cat closed its eyes.

She tried to Accio the book, but all that came out of her wand was a swarm of orange and black comma butterflies that flew merrily toward the conservatory. The book stayed resolutely on the shelf.

“See?” She asked Wronksi. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

Wronski opened one eye.

Under the cat’s chiding gaze, Hermione got up from the desk and went over to the ladder. She saw the bright yellow cover up on its shelf. The boys would have fits if they knew she refused to bother the House-Elves and climbed the ladder herself. Although, climbing a ladder with a quaffle that had a bludger’s temperament in one’s belly was a challenging proposition.

She’d climbed as far as she was able and was stretching to grab Fernhall’s book when the study door opened. At the same time, Hermione felt a sharp kick to the front of her stomach.

“No dear, he’s not in the study,” Lucius Malfoy’s voice carried to where Hermione was perched on the ladder.

She gasped and the hand that had been reaching for the book dropped to her belly, which was kicked again. Her gasp drew the elder Malfoy’s attention.

“There is, however, a young lady on the library ladder,” he said. “She might account for the quantity of butterflies in the conservatory.” Lucius moved toward Hermione. “Somehow, my dear, I doubt you should be climbing ladders.”

Narcissa Malfoy followed her husband into the library.

“My word! Whatever are you doing up there?” she asked Hermione. “Lucius, get her down from there. This instant!”

“Come now, you heard milady.” Lucius set his stick and gloves by the settee and moved rapidly over to the ladder to assist Hermione’s descent. She rested her head against the rungs, wondering where Draco and Blaise were. She certainly wasn’t up to dealing with Malfoy’s parents. Yes, the Malfoys had changed sides during the war. And yes, Hermione had buried the hatchet as was wont to happen when you’d dragged each other off a bloody battlefield. Of course, Draco literally beating sense into his father had produced the greatest change. Still, Draco’s parents with their perfect pureblood image had always intimidated Hermione.

“Come down, please,” Lucius said. “I am certain that Draco would not want you up on ladders.”

“No he would not!” came Draco’s strident voice from the study door. “Hermione! What are you doing?! Get down from there!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Hermione matched him tone for tone. She forgot herself and tried to turn to glare at him, but overcompensated and lost her footing. With a shriek, she and the ladder parted company.

Draco, followed swiftly by Blaise, leapt across the room to assist Lucius.

“Oof!” Hermione exhaled while landing in three pairs of arms with three very male glares staring down at her.

“Is she injured?” asked Narcissa. “Here, Draco, Blaise, set her here on the chaise.”

“She is fine,” Hermione answered. “Put me down!”

“What were you thinking?!” Draco ground out. “You could have hurt yourself!”

“I was fine, until YOU YELLED at me!” Hermione shouted at him.

“You are not to climb ladders!” Draco yelled back.

“Yes, darling, you should have called for Lozzie,” Blaise’s voice interposed.

“The House-Elves have enough to do without…” Hermione was interrupted.

“Hermione! That’s what they are here for, to fetch things for Witches and Wizards.” Draco rubbed his face in exasperation. “Love, you are more than even months…”

“I know!” Hermione yelled. She stepped nose to nose with Draco. “You keep reminding me of that fact! It’s all I ever hear about! You won’t let me go out! And you won’t take me anywhere! I am going crazy!”

They stood glaring at each other, panting hard.

“I do believe this match has ended in a draw,” Lucius drawled. “She equals you, Cissie, in volume level.”

“I am certain you are mistaken,” replied Narcissa. Lucius smiled and kissed her hand.

“Perhaps we could all sit down for tea?” asked Blaise. He clapped his hands and requested tea from Lozzie. “Come now, sit down.”

Hermione turned to sit only to find her choice was either next to Lucius or Draco. She chewed her lip, annoyed at anything Malfoy or male. Narcissa came to her rescue.

“Come with me, my dear,” her soft voice called. “Let’s leave the boys to their fun and have tea in the conservatory.”

Hermione glared at all the men before waddling out of the library.

Scant seconds later, Hermione relaxed on a whicker chaise longue while Narcissa poured.

“Here you are,” Narcissa handed a cup and saucer to Hermione. “May I ask how far along you are?”

“Almost eight months,” Hermione replied. “I’m due around Christmas.”

“Ah, that’s why Draco wanted us to come home for the Holiday season,” Narcissa commented.

“Oh.”

Hermione felt very antsy under the gaze Draco’s mother, who seemed – Hermione didn’t know how she seemed. As a Hogwarts student, Narcissa Malfoy had given the impression of being cold and untouchable, but here and now, she seemed hesitant and unsure.

“I suppose there’s no helping it,” the blonde Witch said. “This is going to be horribly blunt, but who are you and how do you know my son?”

Hermione flushed, and stammered, “I, well, um, it’s…”

“Why don’t you start with your name?” Narcissa suggested with a small smile.

“Hermione Granger.” She waited from some sign of recognition from Narcissa.

“Muggle-born?” asked Narcissa.

Hermione nodded.

“Then there shouldn’t be any complications in the last month.” Narcissa sipped her tea. “I had several false starts before Draco.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione replied.

“And speaking of Draco,” Narcissa smiled encouragingly, “how do you know him?”

“We were in school together,” Hermione replied. “And our paths crossed again as adults.” Hermione hoped the vague answer would satisfy the older Witch and held her breath under Narcissa’s sharp gaze.

“It’s good that times change,” she said. “Also, it’s good that I have a son who’s more stubborn than his father. But, my dear, I thought you were with Harry Potter and his friend—one of the Weasley boys, wasn’t it?”

“I realize many people have thought that,” Hermione answered. “But they were more like brothers than…”

“Say no more,” Narcissa said. “Well, I’m very glad to meet you.”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled and relaxed further into the chaise’s cushions.

“I am also very pleased that Draco has found someone to stand up to him,” Narcissa commented with a smirk. “Don’t misunderstand me. Blaise is a dear, but he spoils my son,” Narcissa took a biscuit and munched thoughtfully. “Lucius was correct: you do match me in volume.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose, but her face mirrored the blonde’s mischievous grin.

“Yes, my dear, you can’t let them get away with anything,” Narcissa asserted.

“You cannot be speaking of me, Madam,” the senior Malfoy’s tones slid across their small tea party.

“Nor me?” Draco asked. He picked up Hermione’s hand and kissed it. He sat down beside her on the chaise.

“You yelled at me,” she groused and poked him in the chest.

“He was very worried,” Blaise said. He re-captured her hand for another kiss.

“And you just encourage him,” Hermione accused and withdrew her hand. She felt a tingle of electricity across her skin, and knowing what that meant, she closed her eyes and waited. “What color?” she asked.

“Green,” all three Wizards replied cheerfully. Narcissa laughed.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at her skin; it was dotted with bright green spots. She sighed in resignation and sipped her tea, ignoring the two grinning Wizards at her side.

 

Hermione loved Diagon Alley at Christmas time. Garlands adorned the windows. Fairy lights sparkled against ornaments on the trees. Wood smoke and spices perfumed the air. Even though Blaise and Draco had been against her coming with them, Hermione had whinged and wheedled until she driven them mad enough to say yes just to get her to be quiet. Narcissa had winked at her when the Wizards had relented. Lucius had been required to leave the room least he break down in wholly undignified chortling. It had all been worth it just to browse the shelves at Flourish & Blotts.

She’d reached for a new tome on Arithmancy when she felt eyes on her form. Turning, Hermione came face to face with the two people she had hoped to not see until after the birth of her child. The two people who couldn’t get over their childish dislike of her lovers. They hadn’t liked Draco and Blaise as schoolmates, and that now irrational dislike, coupled with jealousy, had continued into their adult lives. They’d exchanged a series of ever increasingly strident owls after Blaise and Draco had banned them from the Manor. Hermione had never disputed their decision, as she knew her hormones wouldn’t have let her deal with Ron or Harry without copious tears.

“Hermione!” Ron Weasely exclaimed. “What? Your jailers let you out? ”

“Where are they?” Harry Potter ground out.

Hermione covered her belly with a protective hand. She tossed her head and stared at the two Wizards. “What’s done is done,” she said. “I…I love them,” she continued. “We’re having a child.”

“I can see that,” Harry said. “But them? I don’t like them.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Hermione asked. “You aren’t my keeper.”

“Maybe I should have been,” Harry returned. “You should have been with us.”

“Where are they?” Ron asked. “See? Even now, they can’t be trusted. They’ve left you alone, this far gone. We’d never have left you alone like this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione snapped. “You two have never liked Draco or Blaise. You’ve never even tried to get to know them. And, you know, as I have told you repeatedly, that we,” she waved her hand in an inclusive gesture, “would never work.”

“They’re pure-blood snobs,” Ron said. He and Harry had moved closer to Hermione, pushing her against the bookshelves. “They’ve never confirmed they weren’t working for You-Know-Who. And Harry’s right, you should have been with us.”

“Ron, it’s been ten years,” Hermione said wearily. “Let it go.” Her back was starting to ache. “And how many times do I have to tell you. I love you both…like brothers. That’s all. Nothing more. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry said. “They’re not good enough for you.”

Hermione closed her eyes. Both hands went behind her to rub at her lower back. She really wished her childish friends would go away. She really wished her back would stop aching.

“Ah, there you are,” Lucius Malfoy’s voice cut across the tension. “Draco and Blaise have are waiting for you at Gringott’s.” He looked closely at the Witch and her two companions. “My dear, you look pale. Have these,” he sneered, “boys been bothering you?”

“No, Lucius,” Hermione sighed with relief. “They were just…” A warm rush of fluid ran down Hermione’s legs and a pain gripped her belly. She sagged against the bookshelves and moaned. “Oh my…” Her body glowed with a purple aura.

Lucius Malfoy thrust the two other Wizards aside and wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist. She looked up with pain filled eyes. “No need to speak,” he said quietly. “Madame Ellsworth, correct?” Hermione nodded. “Excellent. She delivered Draco. Hold on.”

They Disapparated.

++++

Christmas Day, Malfoy Manor

A shrill cry broke the silence of the bedroom.

Three people and a cat groaned and turned over in the bed.

“She has her mother’s temper,” Draco commented.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs as she sat up to open the buttons of her nightgown. Blaise sat up to put more pillows behind her, while Draco retrieved the squalling infant from her bassinette.

“Come now, Juliana,” Draco said. “It can’t be that terrible.” His daughter stared up at him with myopic grey eyes and made sucking motions with her lips. “Here you are, Mummy.” He handed the infant over to Hermione, who put the child to her breast.

Juliana Major Elle Zabini Malfoy latched on with a suction that made her mother wince.

“See,” Draco remarked again. “Her mother’s temper.”

“Just as long as she didn’t get your face, ferret,” Hermione said cheerfully.

Blaise snorted and gently ran his hand over the tight curls of his daughter’s black hair. The two men gazed adoringly at mother and child.

“It’s been a week,” Blaise said. “I believe we can make an appearance for Christmas downstairs.”

“Thank goodness,” Hermione said. “I’m going stir crazy.”

“Hermione,” Draco scolded. “You know what Madame Ellsworth said.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yes, love,” Blaise chided. “You shouldn’t do too much.”

Juliana’s birth had been hard for Hermione. Her magic had been drained and Juliana, in a precursor of days to come, had been difficult to coax into the world. Draco was quite correct; Juliana had her mother’s temper.

“I think I can handle the stairs,” Hermione said. She understood the medi-witch’s proscriptions, but she really hated being bed-ridden.

“No, sweetheart,” Blaise said. “If you go downstairs, you will be carried.”

Hermione sighed, but relented, secretly loving their attentiveness.

Juliana released her breast and allowed her Mother to pat her on the back, before falling back to sleep.

“A few more hours of rest,” sighed Draco. He let Blaise return their daughter to her small bed. “Then we’ll go down.”

Hermione smiled and snuggled down next to him, while Blaise snuggled against her back.

 

Blaise carried Hermione into the library. She gasped at the sight of the large tree, decorated in fairy lights and sparkling glass balls.

“I believe Potter and Weasley have sent an apology,” Blaise said.

“What?” asked Hermione.

“The large lioness, there.” He jerked his chin to indicate the large plush toy beside the tree.

“Put her there on the chaise,” Narcissa commanded. Blaise smiled and did as he was bid.

“Where is my girl?” asked Lucius. To the amazement of all, he had taken to his granddaughter and she to him. He loved carrying her and divining spinning balls for her to watch. He’d give Juliana up reluctantly only to Hermione when it was time for the baby to eat. “You’re not trying to do too much, are you?” he asked Hermione when she was settled.

“No, Lucius, your son won’t allow it,” she replied.

“He’s a good boy,” he answered back, sharing a look with Blaise. “Now where is she?”

“Here she is, Father,” said Draco. “Keep your robes on.”

Lucius took his granddaughter from her father’s arms. He sat down in a chair across from Hermione and proceeded to coo and jabber at the baby, while the rest of the family looked on in amusement. Very soon, they knew, he would have a series of glowing and rotating orbs dancing for her pleasure.

“Hermione,” said Narcissa. “I’ll say it again, it’s very good that times have changed.”

Hermione smiled in agreement.

“There is, however, one thing that doesn’t change,” the blonde Witch continued, to the groans of Draco. “The Malfoy family has a traditional gift that is passed down to the mother of the new heir.”

Hermione schooled her features. Draco had warned her about this traditional gift.

“It is my great honor to present you with this,” Narcissa solemnly went on. She gave Hermione a box wrapped in green and silver paper.

“Thank you,” intoned Hermione just as seriously. She opened the box to find a pair of candlesticks – wrought silver in the shape of striking cobras with hollows in their heads for the candles.

“Nero Malfoy used his first galleons to buy those for his wife,” Narcissa said. “They’ve been passed down to every Malfoy bride on the birth of her first child.”

“I see,” replied Hermione. “Thank you.” Hermione felt it impolitic to point out that she wasn’t yet married.

“Yes, yes,” Narcissa sighed. “I know. They’re ugly and horrid. But traditions must be maintained,” she said. “Lucius, why do we have to keep these candlesticks?”

Lucius Malfoy looked up from his granddaughter. “Because the Manor will fall to ruin or some such equally horrid event,” he replied. “Look, she’s blowing bubbles,” he crowed, his attention returning to the baby in his arms.

Hermione looked at Narcissa. Both women tried to maintain a serious mien, but failed and the Witches broke down in laughter. Draco and Blaise had joined their father oohing and ahing over the baby.

“Well, we’ve carried on the tradition,” Narcissa said, wiping her eyes. “Let’s put those hideous things back in the cupboard for another 30 years.” She passed the box to a waiting House-Elf. “Draco, Blaise, do tear yourself away from your daughter to pass out presents, please.”

Draco and Blaise looked up at Narcissa’s command.

“We do have another traditional gift,” Blaise said. He brought out a small box from the pocket of his dressing gown.

“Yes, we do,” Draco said. He carried a like box.

“We want,” said Blaise.

“You to marry,” said Draco.

“Us,” they said together.

Both men opened their ring boxes to show Hermione the matching diamond and iolite-studded bands. The purple iolites matched the combined glow of their magic.

Hermione stared at them in shock. They had truly surprised her.

“You can even invite Potter and Weasley to the wedding,” Draco said.

“Only if they behave,” Hermione replied and held out her arms. “Yes!”

FINIS

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