I hurtled down the corridor, a flash of blonde hair and luxurious midnight blue robes, before swooping into the assigned room, hoping to find my newborn child in the arms of his mother, whom with some optimism, would be wearing a happy but tired smile as she took me in. I just might've saved myself the trauma of having to watch a woman give birth.

No such luck.

Instead of that delightful scene, I found myself facing a glowering Hermione Granger upon the bed, devoid of a bundle of blankets in her arms, a bump still inhabiting the place where her normally trim stomach was and looking royally pissed off. To the side of the bed, a middle aged female healer was quietly taking down the notes.

"Took you long enough," Hermione snarled the moment I'd entered and I ignored her, choosing not to oblige her anger. "I could've had ten babies by then."

"You haven't even had one," I rebuked scathingly as I neared the bed. Precisely half an hour ago, my secretary had come to call me out of an important meeting stating rather bluntly in front of my associates 'Miss Granger has gone into labour, Mr Malfoy. She requests your immediate presence at St Mungo's." To which my colleagues had sniggered mercilessly as I quickly wrapped up the meeting and excused myself before making a mad dash for the nearest fireplace.

"I thought you'd gone into labour."

"False alarm; your bloody kid has your malicious streak and decided it would be fun to have his mummy rushing to St Mungo's half naked." At her words I fully inspected her attire and forced back a snort as I took in the white bathrobe she was wearing and the fluffy slippers at her feet. Her hair also bore unmistakable signs of wetness. Clearly, she'd been having a bath.

"This is grand," I muttered darkly. "You dragged me out of a meeting for this?"

Her eyes darkened viciously. "Stick your meeting," she said. "I'm not giving birth to your baby whilst you're sat ogling a pair of trollops across a conference table."

She had little idea that that pair of trollops were fat Nigel and bald Gary.

I rolled my eyes. I had to. For the past few months she'd become quite unbearable; even more edgy than was usual, her stomach unfailingly protruding more and more with each day and her language impressively more vulgar. Pregnancy suited her however; she'd become more radiant with every day. I couldn't pinpoint the exact change in her beauty but she was unexplainably lovelier. But the correlation between her beauty and her graces was not a parallel one; it seemed as she became more beautiful, her graces got uglier. She did try to watch out for herself when she could but I suspected that with all the chaotic hormones whizzing about her system she could never quite get a hold of her emotions. The last four months had been torture; her mood would shift so suddenly, I'd begun to suspect she had a multiple personality disorder.

"I hope the baby doesn't inherit your attitude; I might have to disown him."

"I hope he doesn't look like you; I might throw him out the window," she said cuttingly and the healer stared at is as if she couldn't believe we were having a child together. Personally, I don't blame her. You'd have to get stoned in the company of Trelawney, an ogre and a flobberworm to even think of the possibility of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger having a baby together. We're the two biggest misfits to have had sex together.

I'd bumped into her roughly over a year ago at some function or another and surprisingly, despite our rather hostile history, the lust between the two of us was an overwhelming if albeit pleasant surprise. And then blame it on the alcohol or whatever you want (or really just blame it on my blatant idiosyncrasy of just not being able to say no thank you) but when the human anatomy could no longer be ignored we slept together a few times. But once the lust was sated, the bickering just became annoying and we decided to part on mutual cordiality… or so I'd thought until she came to my office three weeks later and announced she was pregnant. And guess who was the daddy? If you say Weasley, you'll have a contract killer at your doorstep tomorrow. Besides, that was horrendous imagery. Hermione's face, Weasley's hair…I shudder at the thought. It was me, the one and only Draco Malfoy.

I'd wanted an abortion –Lucius would harbour a penchant for homicidal urges when he found out- but she vehemently refused. Ever the sanctimonious little witch that she is, she didn't feel it right to end a foetus' life. And so I was stuck with a muggleborn carrying my child….Oh, the shame. Not really, actually. The pureblooded upper classes were almost teeming with wayward idiots to have knocked up some half blood or another, so it wasn't that much of a surprise that I, the Malfoys' once-bigoted son should jump on the bandwagon soon enough. Still, Lucius went through the roof when he found out… I'd tainted the Malfoy lineage. My child would be the first halfblooded Malfoy. Not failing to disappoint my suspicions, he threatened murder. Not surprising really. He didn't mean it, of course; I was his only son and he doted too much on me but the lengthy cold shoulder he'd dealt me had been thoroughly unpleasant.

Narcissa was a little indifferent. Delighted that she was going to be a grandmother but not pleased that her grandson' mother was a muggleborn and someone her charming older sister had once tried to torture to death. She also loathed how Hermione and I refused to get married and this is actually a very good testament to the radical change in my parents' prejudice- the fact that they were willing (if grudgingly) to get me to marry a muggleborn and allow her to carry their grandson was a pretty big win over for those who still thought my family was nothing more than an old line of bigoted fuckwits. But Hermione and I declined; we could barely stay in the same room for a minute without arguing - marriage did not seem that sensible a choice.

The months went on with Hermione growing steadily more pregnant in her Oxfordshire home and me continuing the course of my life but preparing myself for fatherhood. Lucius wanted the baby to grow up in the manor but Hermione just smiled sceptically at the idea. My parents kept on insisting on marriage and her parents even insinuated it when I went to meet them for dinner once after hearing of their daughter's pregnancy.

So off we went to buy a ring and a wedding dress, tiptoeing through the tulips as we did so. Yeah right. The idea of marrying Hermione Granger was bizarre. She shared the same sentiments about me. We were never going to get married and chose not to discuss the topic, deciding instead that our child would grown in a loving environment despite his mother and father harbouring bloodthirsty thoughts about the other every once in a while.

I went by to her house a few times a week to check on her and the baby but she was always fine, either having her parents or the dynamic duo to help her out. But now she was almost two weeks past her due date and wasn't making a secret of how much she loathed that she was still waddling like a duck whilst a stubborn Malfoy foetus decided it'd rather play punch bag with her insides than embrace the world.

"Isn't there anything that can get this thing out of me?" she asked sourly, glaring at her offending stomach.

"There's not much you can actually do now that'll help, but there is one way that has proven effective in ninety five percent of cases," the healer said helpfully and Hermione's face lit up.

"What is it?"


I blanched. Hermione looked like she'd just been told Snape had won Miss Universe in a red bikini before she turned to me meaningfully and it didn't take a genius to know what her expression said.

"No, no, no," I said firmly, not even beginning to ponder the idea of having sex with a heavily pregnant woman as a bloody baby kicked between us. What if it tried to come out with my penis inside her? I wished I hadn't thought that…I'd have to obliviate myself later.

"Please, Draco," she beseeched a little sulkily, pouting. She was cute when she pouted but I wasn't giving in. I wasn't wont to surrendering to stuck out, peachy lower lips.

I shook my head and she took to glaring daggers once more, muttering under her breath fluently. The healer received a contrite grimace and a quick goodbye and thank you from me as I took a hold of her hand and apparated us to her house. The nauseous pressuring sensation took over briefly before our feet found the solid ground of her living room and Hermione's hand immediately left mine for her to collapse into the couch, eyes closed and lips pursed together in order for her not to vomit. I hoped she wouldn't; I still hadn't had lunch.

"I'm going to sue you," she said faintly after a few moments when she'd failed to throw up and opened her sparking cinnamon eyes to look at me.

I laughed and fell next to her on the couch. "What for?"

"Attempted murder. You get me pregnant and I now have devil spawn trying to kill me by impairing every inch of my insides. A ten year stint in Azkaban is the least you should get."

"You don't mean that," I said softly, knowing it to be true and my hand lightly went to rest atop her stomach, feeling the velvety surface of her robe, but just underneath that came a gentle motion against my palm.

"Did it just…?"

"Yes," Hermione answered with a light smile, her hand coming to rest ever so delicately on mine, the warmth of her fingers familiar. We remained like that for a few moments, enjoying the calming silence and occasionally feeling the little kicks our child made.

"I have to go; there's a report I have to finish," I sighed, getting up after a while despite my unwillingness. This was a rather comfy scene.

"Draco," Hermione's soft, whining voice came. I turned to her, an eyebrow raised.


"Aren't you going to help me get this thing out of me?"

"By sleeping with you?" I smirked. "I thought we'd decided that was a bad idea?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "No, it was a great idea." She got up with some difficulty, placing a hand behind her back to support her as she neared me, her bump in danger of touching my body. "Please," she beseeched.

A grimace twisted my lips into a tight line. "I'm not going to take you against the wall just because you want our baby to stop kicking in your insides. If I ever sleep with you again it'll be because you want me and I want you. And right now, I don't want you and you just want a bloody foetus to pop out your vagina."

Hermione's expression formed into one of disappointment as I made to turn and disapparate. "Notify me if anything happens," I said before I'd turned. And then I was gone.

I was having dinner later that night with my parents in the dinning room. My mother and father sat next to each other as was customary and shared private little comments that certainly made me feel excluded at the opposite end of a pretty sizable table. It was a habit I'd gotten used to since my third year however. I imagined them to be exchanging little romantic phrases –because that was what my mother's blush was pointing to- and every now and then, I would drop into their conversation if Father's glances my way were something to go by.

On the verge of delving into my crème brulee one of the house elves apparated breathlessly to my side and addressed me. "Master Malfoy, Miss Granger just sent an owl appealing your instant acquaintance at her home. It is urgent."

Putting down my desert spoon with a sigh, I got up. "If you'll excuse me, Mother, Father," I said.

Father was merely pondering me silently, hands knotted before him and my mother perked up just a little. "Contact us if anything happens," she said and I nodded before apparating, not bothering for my cloak.

When I landed in Hermione's living room, I looked around frantically for any sign of Hermione seized by the terrible pains of labour but the room was as it had been in the afternoon; peacefully clean and organized and devoid of Hermione.

"Granger?" I called. I could never stop myself from calling her by her surname, even though she now called me by my first name. The only time I ever called her Hermione was on some rare occasion when she would be terribly nice and amusing. But apart from that it was strictly Granger; it was too much a deeply ingrained habit to quit.

"I'm in the bedroom," came her reply and I followed her voice to the room I'd only ventured into once before, many months prior in order to make her scream like the kinky whore she really is. The door was slightly ajar and I pushed it open as I stepped in, expecting everything but the sight before me.

The only source of light came from the floor which had been carpeted in a million candles and brilliantly red rose petals and above, the ceiling seemed to be under the same charm that was put on the ceiling of the Great Hall. The sky was a breathtaking mixture of midnight blue and copious glimmering silver constellations. The burgundy walls of the room only added to the mystique of the aura but the real attraction stood beside the bed.

Hermione's bump had been reduced to a small and noticeable protuberance and she was robed in a magnificent, floor-length, blood red dress which showed a generous amount of her décolletage and her hair cascaded around her shoulders in dark curls. Her eyes were flashing intently.

"What are you up to?" I asked suspiciously, abandoning the door and trying to maneuver my way through the candles towards her a little.

"Just what the healer ordered," she smiled indulgently and when I was close enough for her to reach, she'd grabbed me by the tie and pulled me towards her, my body meeting hers clumsily as she pressed her lips to mine tantalizingly, the lightest trace of sugar reaching my tongue.

Her lips acknowledged mine sweetly at first, one hand lightly resting on my upper arm and the other on my shoulder. I was in too much shock to actually respond but after a few moments when the memories of having her kiss me like this returned, I responded to her kisses with the same fervor, my lips escalating the tenderness of the kiss to a slightly burning want.

Pulling back breathlessly, I stared down at her as she breathed roughly, her eyes blinking up at me expectantly.

"Do you really want me or have you finally grown sick of pregnancy?" I asked.

She smiled innocently. "I want both. I want you to make me scream so much the neighbours will think I'm being murdered and call the police and I want to finally meet my baby."

"Prove the former," I hissed into her ear, my hand snaking around her waist, revelling in the flimsiness of her dress.

Hermione's lips curved into a small arc on my neck as she placed a hot, wet suckling kiss and trailed her lips up to brush against my earlobe – I could swear all the cartilage in my knees melted then- as her hands deftly pulled my tie loose and took to undoing the buttons of my shirt.

Since she was only wearing one piece of attire I could not have the pleasure of undressing her (yet) and allowed my hands to remember the contours of her body, tracing every little dent and bump with my fingers before my hands went to knead her breasts through the material of the dress as my lips devoured hers. Her quiet moan of pleasure caused the blood to rush from my brain down to my groin where I was becoming harder by the minute faster than you could say erection.

"Is that your broom between your pants or are you just really pleased to have come?" she whispered with a smirk as she pulled my shirt off my arms. So she'd noticed.

"Why don't you find out?" I challenged as my fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress and began to pull down ever so slowly.

"I have every intention of doing so," she breathed sultrily and pushed me gently back onto the bed as her dress pooled at her feet, leaving with an awful lot of staring and awful lot of kissing to do. This would be fantastic and I couldn't wait to get started.

"Was it always that good or have I just forgotten?" Hermione pondered softly as I held her many hours later in the afterglow, my fingers trailing delicate paths up her body to her shoulders where I would place feather light kisses every now and then.

"It was always good; we just forgot."

"Why did we stop then?"

That was very good question.

"Because the sex was good but the bickering during the afterglow wasn't."

"We didn't bicker," she argued gently.

"Yes we did."

"No we didn't!"

"Look, we're bickering now."

She pouted. I loved it when she pouted. "I think we should start again," she declared boldly and turned to face me. Surreptitiously, I took a peek down at her breasts as she did so. They tasted so good; I wanted to lick her horny again. Hermione either didn't notice or pretended she had noticed. I suppose it would be easy to ignore something as trivial as a glance at her chest when we'd done far dirtier things little than a while ago.

"What? Start sleeping together again?" I asked abandoning all thoughts of breasts and horniness.

"Why not?"

"And have you up the duff again?"

"Would you rather get married first?"

I simply stared at her, aghast. Was she really suggesting we should get married just for the sex? "You want to get married? To me?"

"You are the father of my child and heaven knows our parents insinuated the thought enough," she shrugged, looking very much amused by my reaction, a smile tugging at her lips despite her gamely efforts to fight back a laugh.

"Did you just propose to me?"

She had to laugh at that and reached up to rumple my hair playfully. "Maybe."

"Does this mean I don't have to get you a ring?" I asked slyly, teasingly.

Before Hermione could reply with something as equally witty, her amused countenance had crumbled into one of pain and she coiled in on herself, her hands flying to her stomach. A sense of foreboding gripped my chest.

"What is it?"

But she'd sealed her lips together in an effort not to scream and had her eyes shut tightly, small tears forming at the ends, her breath coming out roughly through her nose. I had a very good hunch what was happening but remained staring at her hopelessly for a few more moments before she managed to open her mouth and yell at me.

"Why the hell aren't you doing anything? Your kid is where your dick was moments ago."

See what I mean by the vulgar language?

Scrambling off the bed, I jumped into my slacks and shirt buttoning it carelessly as I did so. "Are you sure it's the baby?" I asked as I rushed to help her off the bed and get her into her dress.

"Either that or you've shoved a quaffle up my vagina," she rebuked angrily as I zipped her up, her exasperation marred by her pain.

I knew then that this was it. I was about to become a father.

I don't know why Hermione insisted on a natural birth, devoid of any anaesthetic charms. I heard the mediwitch ask her politely whether she would like her to cast a sedating charm on her crotch to which Hermione had graciously replied, "No I fucking don't!"

Clearly a masochist; must be a Gryffindor trait.

I'd watched, horrified as they set Hermione down on a bed, told her to stretch her legs and then push. Was that how I had come into this world? With my mother's legs spread wider than a Knockturn alley prostitute? Of course I knew that this was how most babies came to be but I had assumed the scene to be at the very least, a little quainter. But no, Hermione had her dress shoved up about her waist, her legs spread wide, panting heavily, sweating profusely and cursing every now and then.

Personally, I found it strangely erotic. Now feel free to catalogue me as a certified pervert.

When her screams began however, I found I had to leave the room. I knew she'd curse me for it later and I could vividly imagine her tirade. 'Why on Earth did you leave? Absent and unable to witness your child take its first birth? Where did you even go?'

I guess I wasn't prepared to see a baby's head pop out the place I like my male anatomy to be in the most. It'd probably give me sex phobia; I did not need that, especially having rediscovered the pleasures of having Hermione Granger writhing beneath you. And I certainly planned to keep her writhing beneath for me for a long time to come.

Hermione didn't notice as I slipped out.

Having nothing else to do in the corridor, I paced nervously, trying to ignore Hermione's escalating screams and in an attempt to distract myself began thinking of baby names, realising that in the past eight months or so I'd never given a thought to choose a name for my child.

Speaking on behalf of my preferences, I favoured Chiquita for a girl and Philbert for a boy.

Almost an hour went by with Hermione's continued screams ringing through the hospital added with some rather colourful profanities (naturally, all aimed at men and where they could shove their knobs – she didn't seem to be complaining where I shoved my knob a few hours ago, but just saying). And then, the god sent sound of quiet but distinct baby crying.

That's when I left the hospital.

Gently, I pushed the door of the room open and stepped in, unfamiliar with the wave of relief and content that flooded over me as I took in the sight before me; Hermione, looking generally worse for wear, sleeping blissfully on the bed and a small cot beside her. Careful of any sound I might make, I loped quietly towards the cot and stared down at the little bundle of blankets; I could only just discern a small pink face sleeping happily.

Turning away from the cot after some time, I made my way over to sit on the chair on the right of her bed. I stared at her gently sleeping features and couldn't help the thought that overwhelmed me. I love you, you daft cow.

My fingers gingerly slipped onto the bed and tiptoed slowly towards her own slack fingers beside her before I laced them together, revelling in the warm softness of her hand. Her fingers twitched within mine and I looked up to find her slowly stirring, her eyelids fluttering a bit before her eyes rested on me and then flickered to our entwined fingers. A tired smile tugged at her lips.

She made to sit up and I was quick to jump out of my seat and push her back down against the pillows but she resisted my hand on her shoulder and sat up, leaning towards me. I then comprehended what she wanted. Leaning towards her, I caught her lips with mine in a soft kiss, wanting to be rough and passionate but knowing she'd suffered enough roughness tonight. Her lips trailed mine, her tongue just lightly flickering out to tease my lower lip before she pulled back lightly, her nose bumping mine and whispering with an elated and proud tone in her voice, "We have a baby boy."

"We do," I agreed and tenderly claimed her lips once more thinking that I could get thoroughly used to this. We pulled back after many moments both breathing heavily. Hermione smiled at me briefly before she turned to stare at the cot.

"Do you want to hold him?" she asked hoarsely, her voice almost gone on account of all the screaming she'd done.

I nodded and went to gently pick him up taken aback at how light he was. I think that this was the first time in all my life that I'd ever held a baby; it was a strange sensation, almost like picking up a fat watermelon and afraid of dropping it. Yes, I did just compare my son to a fat watermelon, despite him being, you know, not fat, obviously. Going back, I sat on the edge of Hermione's bed next to her and she helpfully pulled up the pillows a bit as we stared down at the pale face. I could only just recognize the shape of Hermione's eyes in his own eyes but the precise angle of his nose was mine, as was the set of his mouth. And just at the top of his head… a small fluff of palest blonde hair.

"He looks like me," I said, knowing full well that we looked nothing alike just yet.

"I suppose I'll have to throw him out the window," she said with a mock sigh and took him from my arms, settling him more comfortably in her own. "I have a name for him," she turned to look at me enquiringly.


"Harry Potter Malfoy."

I was scandalized. How dare she even suggest such a name for my son? "You just tainted my surname."

Hermione broke out into a smirk and as punishment for her highly un-amusing joke, pinched her arm. Her smirk turned to a scowl and I grinned. "What did you want to call him then?"

"Salazar Grindelwald Voldemort Lucius Malfoy," I responded primly and she snorted in the most unladylike way I've ever seen and I wondered why the hell I let her suck me off with such rude reactions to my dignified opinions.

"His name is Samuel Amadeus Malfoy," she said with finality and to my surprise I liked it.

"Do you know what I think?" I mused as Hermione rested her head on my shoulder allowing me to play with her hair and continued to stare down at our son. "I think we should make another one; a little brother for Samuel to play with."

Hermione's reaction was not the one I had expected. Instead of being all surprised and uncertain, she replied calmly, "I want a girl next. Do you want to be the daddy?"

"Yes, but marry me first," I muttered and pulled out the little black box that had been resting in my pocket for the past few hours. Hermione ogled the box in my hand with unflattering disbelief and as she didn't seem in a particular hurry to open it, I opened it and slipped out the glimmering ring before taking her free hand and sliding it down her ring finger. It looked perfect on her slender finger, as if it didn't belong anywhere but there.

"Is that where you went when you left?" she choked out as she admired the glistening platinum and diamond. As she rightly should; that rock cost a fucking fortune.

"Yes," I replied and placed a small kiss on her temple. "So, Hermione Granger… will you do me the honour of giving me your hand in holy matrimony?"

She tilted her head to look closely at me, her warm eyes blinking at me before a smile lifted her lips up and she said softly enough for me to almost not hear, "Yes."

And then I was kissing her like I'd never done before. I was kissing Hermione Granger… my little whore, the mother of my son and my soon-to-be wife.

Everything was fine in the world.

A/N: I've never done a Draco/Hermione quite like this one and some slight ooc-ness, yes, I'll admit. Would Draco simply accept that he's having a bastard with Hermione Granger? If he got struck by lightening multiple times, maybe, but choose to overlook that little fact and enjoy the story. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.