Disclaimer: I do not own or am taking any royalties from JK Rowling (characters) or the Life Savers and Sweet Tarts companies. (I just thought the title was cute.)


So, to sum up how we get to this point of time:

It's after Hogwarts, Hermione and Draco are married. However, Hermione has saved Draco from a life of enslavement with Voldemort. At one point he was having second thoughts, and then Hermione pronounced her love for him, he has felt the same way since 7th year, and she takes him to the muggle world, changing his life forever. But when she does this, more than one person hates the idea and thinks she's just a no-good mudblood who shouldn't have taken Draco. This means that Hermione has a couple enemies. Now it's been two years since the saving, they have tried for a while to conceive, but one day Hermione comes back from the doctor with bad news.


'How was it?' he asked as I walked through the back door into our kitchen.

I shrugged. 'Could have been better.'

He turned around, spoon dripping tomato sauce on the floor as he looked at me.

'What do you mean?'

I sighed. I knew I had to tell him sooner or later. I knew he'd be crushed, knew that I would cry, knew that it would all soon be over. I didn't want to ruin today, so I shook my head.

'Not now,' I say, knowing by the look on his face that he was worried. 'What are you making?'

He smiled that smile. The one that I fell for in our last year. He knew it made me weak, too.

'Your favourite,' he said simply, and, still smiling, turned back to the stove.

I walked up behind him quietly, wrapping my arms around his waist. 'It smells wonderful,' I say, thankful that something has gone right today.

'Doesn't it always?' he asks indignantly, gently stirring it. It's amazing the homemaker he's become in captivity. My captivity. With Voldemort after him, we all think it's best for Draco to stay inside, much to his dismay. He only plays quidditch with Harry, who, thankfully, has made amends with Draco for my sake.

I let go of him, taking out the two plates for our dinner and setting the table.

'How much longer?' I ask, sounding more like a whining six year old than a grown twenty-one year old.

'Five minutes,' he replies patiently, used to this game I play.

'But I can't wait that long,' I say, putting the 'so-hungry-it's-painful' look on my face. He turns around, still stirring the sauce, to look at me with sad eyes. Or at least, they are supposed to be sad eyes.

'I'm sorry, Hermy, but it only cooks so fast.'

I pout, knowing that he'll put the spoon down and wrap me in a hug like all the times before.

He does, but this time he whispers in my ear.

'I love you.'

'I love you too,' I whisper back for what seems like the thousandth time. It never gets old though, and for that, I'm grateful.

'You know what?' he whispers.

'What?'

'The spaghetti's ready.'

'YES!'

And laughing, we eat it, right out of the pot, something we haven't done since our honey moon. The night seems to be filled only with the spaghetti, laughing, and kissing. It's something I never thought I would be doing with Draco Malfoy. But everything changes, sometimes for the better.

But also, sometimes for the worse.

As we sit on the couch, listening to my favourite jazz CD, he asks the question I've been dreading to hear.

'What did the doctor tell you?'

I sigh heavily, looking into his warm, loving, happy grey eyes, knowing that my next words would change them.

'It's not good news.'

'What isn't?' he asks, and I can clearly hear the worried tone of his voice, no matter how he tries to hide it, to be strong.

'I won't ever conceive,' I say quietly, looking away from him. I don't think I would be able to stand to see the disappointment in his eyes.

'So, we'll adopt then,' he says, trying to be optimistic, but I know it hurts him.

'That's not all,' I say, quieter still.

He stays quiet, so I just go ahead and say it.

'I only have six months left.'

'Until?'

I look up at him, and he reads the answer in my eyes. As he does, his own fill with tears.

'Oh, Hermione,' he whispers, pulling me close.

The tears finally fall from my own eyes, and we sit there like that until we both fall asleep.