The Only Constant

Draco was loath to admit it—actually, he absolutely refused to admit it anywhere but in the privacy of his own mind—but Percy Weasley was Merlin-sent.

If Draco closed his eyes to shut out the blinding ginger and distracting freckles, he could almost pretend that Percy was just another person. A very clever, very efficient person, but normal nonetheless. Unfortunately, it was impossible to get any work done with his eyes shut, so he couldn’t forget that Percy was a Weasley through and through. At least it wasn’t Ron Weasley, though. Draco did have limits; he wasn't a masochist.

Over the next few months, Hermione's morning sickness didn’t end. It abated, and she often kept her food down an entire day. For the most part, though, she stayed in her room, uncomfortable with being that far from the safety of what Draco called her 'nest.'

Without Percy, he never would have been able to be as involved in the pregnancy as he wanted. Not only did Percy do the boring, menial work, he also took over with the phone calls and even house calls. He was better than Draco at… ahem… weaselling donations from people, even though Draco had years experience doing just that for the Ministry. He had a natural talent of making people feel sorry for him, Draco supposed.

It became rote that Percy would come to the Manor around eight in the morning, set to work immediately, continue diligently until noon, take a half hour break during which he still worked, and then go consistently until four. At that time, he'd invariably ask if there was any additional work needed or if Draco would like him to bring certain projects home. For the first month, Draco had been afraid he'd actually run out of work for Percy, but the opposite was true. The more efficient the business became, the more donations poured in, and the more charities wanted to be affiliated with their company. Their list of supported companies doubled and then trebled, and their Rollerdex (or whatever Percy called the infernal thing) of clients grew exponentially.

Hermione was, as his father had predicted with a sly twist to his lips, delighted. Still, Lucius wasn’t the one who had to actually work with Percy, who was… talkative, to say the least.

Draco wasn’t unused to having people fawn over him, but that had come to an abrupt end after the war. Now people would just as soon not look at him at all; so having Percy be so obsequious was at first welcoming, even flattering, but very rapidly became unappealing. He recognised the fact that Percy didn’t seem to actually like him—Percy was just attuned to power. The more someone had, the more drawn to that person he became. Draco didn’t begrudge him that; he had his own experiences with that sort of behaviour. It just made listening to him a trial.

Draco learned that Hermione had been the one to encourage Percy to return to the family fold and accept the forgiveness that was readily offered. Percy seemed grateful for this, even though he spoke a little disparagingly about Sunday dinners at the Burrow, and Draco knew that Hermione's hand in all things Weasley hadn’t stopped even now.

Her visits to Ronald, before her pregnancy, had apparently been unwelcome at first, but she swore she was 'wearing him down' and Draco didn’t confess to just how much that fact was wearing him down. He knew that Hermione's friendships were important and he'd never begrudge her Harry (he seemed like the sort to know what was good for him, plus he had a ginger of his own; he wouldn’t dare go after Hermione), but Ronald was a different case. An unknown variant. From Percy, he heard that Ronald's main concern was actually that he was afraid of Hermione being hurt. Percy couldn’t answer as to whether his brother still carried a torch for Hermione, but since he didn’t deny it, Draco took it as an affirmative, just to be safe.

"Mr. Malfoy?" An obnoxious clearing of a freckled throat.

"What is it?"

"There's someone at your door." Percy sounded almost distraught at having to bring this fact to Draco's attention.

He had to stop getting lost in his own thoughts like that. Though that was the first time he'd thought of anything for so long without images of Hermione's belly and thoughts of the future barging in. That was a relief.

"Thank you," Draco said, rising to his feet. There was only one person who the house-elves wouldn’t show in, and that was Thello. Since his father had seen to educate the elves, they became more opinionated than either of them had thought possible. It only took Thello a few tries to terrify the little things into staying far, far away, forcing Draco to answer the door himself like a… well, like a house-elf.

"You know," he said after opening the door. "You could let yourself in."

Thello gave a sniff that Draco recognised as being a result of centuries of pure-blood breeding. His remark had surprised even him, but he knew that old traditions were falling by the wayside every day, and he had no reason to hold on, white-knuckled, while the rest of the world moved on without him.

"How is she?" Thello asked, his voice low and somewhat stilted, as always. He was infinitely more relaxed when Michael came with him, but only one could leave their apothecary at a time.

"Better," Draco said truthfully. He'd been tearing his hair out at his own impotence in the face of Hermione's illness, but Thello had brewed something that actually had her gaining a little weight and looking less haggard. "She's eating more and keeping more down."

"Very good." Thello handed over the potion. He'd asserted that as he wasn't a Healer, he had no reason to see Hermione. Draco figured he was, as some pure-bloods were, uncomfortable around pregnant women. Draco wanted to rail against that mentality—he'd never seen anything more beautiful than his pregnant wife. "Make sure she maintains the dosage schedule and please Owl me if anything changes."

"You won't come in for some tea?"

Thello shook his head. For the first time, Draco noticed how tried he looked. "The full moon's in a few days."

"Ah," Draco said, nodding. The shop was still inundated with werewolves looking for the Wolfsbane, and though Thello and Michael had finally worked out a brewing schedule that didn’t absolutely murder them, it was still an extremely busy time. "I appreciate this all the more for your sacrifice in bringing it."

"It was nothing." Thello gave a curt nod and left the Manor, Disapparating once beyond the wards.

After checking on Percy—quite unnecessarily, of course, as he had things more than under control—Draco took the potion to Hermione. Lucius was visiting Celeste and would likely be gone a few hours. She quite liked to talk his ear off, which was why, after the first time, he and Hermione opted to stay home. She was back in the 'dating game', as she called it, and Draco's ears were much too delicate to be exposed to her exploits. How his father dealt with it, he had no idea. Lucius was a loyal friend—unfortunately for him.

Entering the room, Draco raised an eyebrow when Hermione hurriedly stuffed a book under her pillow, her face flushing. The mound of her belly—five months already and he'd never get used to the idea—was exposed and gleaming with the potion Thello had brewed that helped with stretch marks and itching.

"What are you hiding from me, wife?" Draco grinned and sat on the side of the bed. He made as if to reach for the hidden book, and she squeaked and burrowed it deeper into the bed.

"It's nothing." She cleared her throat and seemed to make a conscious effort to will her blush away.

"Are you reading something naughty?" he teased, though frankly, he'd be thrilled if he were right. He'd read that some witches became highly amorous during their pregnancies, but Hermione hadn’t exhibited that—she'd only just began to feel well enough to get any exercise at all.

"Draco!" Her cheeks glowed pink again. "Of course not."

"What is it, love?" He couldn’t help it; his curiosity was overwhelming. Even if it was just a pregnancy book, he wanted to know.

She looked at him for a long moment before sighing and withdrawing the book. She handed it to him.

At first glance, it seemed to be a normal notebook, not a novel or manual as he'd expected. Inside, he saw it was a journal. Intrigued, he flipped to the latest date, but Hermione snatched it back.

"I didn't know you were keeping a journal." For some reason, he felt almost cheated. There'd been hundreds of little instances where he could have added something, had it occurred to him.

She shrugged. "It was really boring at first. 'Vomited today. Crossed chicken from the lists of foods I could stand.' And, 'Didn't leave the bed today. Hate the ceiling. Threw up on Lucius' shoes.'"

Draco chuckled. His father had handled that much better than he might have. He didn’t do well with bodily fluids.

"And today?" he prompted, wondering why she'd taken it back so quickly.

"Today…" Suddenly, Hermione burst into a smile. Draco almost had to look away, it was so bright. He realised it had been much, much too long since he'd seen her smile so freely, so without accompanying pain. "Today I could sense the baby for the first time."

Draco's eyes grew wide. This was something he'd wondered about from the very start, but he hadn’t mentioned it for fear of giving Hermione something else to worry about. "Really? Like you can with me and Father?"

She nodded, taking his hand. "Like little lights in the back of my mind. I'd become so adapted to yours that I hardly even notice them anymore. I use them unconsciously all the time; it's quite the time-saver. But ever since I got pregnant, I tried to sense the baby and couldn’t. It… it scared me, Draco. It made me feel like something bad was going to happen. That's why…"

She didn’t need to say it. He knew from the way she'd asked Lucius not to set up the nursery just yet, how whenever they bought clothes and toys for the child her smile was weak, that she'd had something heavy on her mind. He'd even worried that she was having second thoughts… What a relief to know the truth.

"What's it like?" he whispered, inching closer. He rested his hand on her belly. He hadn’t felt the baby kick yet, but it was a day of firsts. He didn’t want to miss the chance.

"It's like… this softly glowing candlelight… kind of pulsing… It gets stronger when I'm hungry, and when I'm full and not feeling ill, it's barely there at all."

Draco bit his lip. It was the first time it'd really occurred to him that this baby was a real thing, a person just like him and his father. His child would grow up and go to Hogwarts and have relationships and get a job and maybe even have children of his or her own one day.

"Wow," he said, succinctly.

"And guess what…"

"What?" he asked, blinking rapidly. The room was quite warm, but he supposed Hermione liked it that way. Dusty, too. He sniffed.

"I know the sex." She grinned but looked uncertain.

"What!" he cried, followed quickly by, "Don't tell me!"

"I wasn’t going to," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Distracted, Draco eyed her rounded breasts through her nightshirt. It'd been quite some time… "That's why I didn’t want you reading the last page. I wrote it there."

"How do you know?"

"I can just… feel it. It's there, in the light. And… the baby," she said carefully, "is healthy. And strong, magically. I can feel all that, I swear."

"I believe you." He caressed her belly, tracing the slightly darkened line that ran below her navel. "I'm so glad." He kissed the dip of her belly button, wondering if it would turn outwards like he knew some did.

When he finally looked back up, Hermione's eyes were closed. The journal lay abandoned on the bed beside her. The baby's sex was right there. It would be the work of a moment to find out.

On the other hand… there were so few real surprises in life. This was one he wanted to savour.

He got up carefully and tucked her in, kissing her stomach once more.

"Draco?" came her sleepy voice just as he'd been about to slip out.

"Yes, love?

"Could you ask Lucius to come see me when he gets back?"

Draco froze. "You're going to tell him the sex." It wasn’t a question.

Hermione's eyes opened and she gave a small frown. "Only if he really wants to know. I just want to make sure Celeste is okay and to tell him the news."

Draco felt chagrined, but for some reason, it rankled that Hermione knew and he didn’t. He didn’t blame her, of course—she had no control over it. He knew he could find out; she'd tell him if he asked. That Lucius would also know bothered him, but he knew that wouldn’t spoil it for him. He smiled. "Of course. Sorry, I just—"

"I know, Draco. Oh, hey—do you think you could ask the house-elves to bring me something to eat?"

"Of course. Some toast?" She'd practically been subsisting on toast these days. Which reminded him. He placed Thello's potion on the nightstand. "Same instructions as before, all right? Now, what would you like?"

"Toast," she said predictably. "With mustard on it. Actually, one piece with mustard and one with cinnamon. And another with peanut butter. No, honey. Okay, just honey on bread, not toast. And peanut butter with a spoon. And… a pickle. Two pickles. A jar of pickles."

"O… kay." Feeling like he might have caught Hermione's morning sickness himself, he relayed the menu to the house-elves after he left, and they made the food without batting an eye.

His baby was healthy and strong. Who cared if it was half pickle?

*

Even though Hermione was feeling better than she had during her entire pregnancy, she still preferred to sleep alone in her bed. Draco hated to think of her in there, by herself, with no one to curl up against the way she loved to do.

Now he knew exactly how she felt—he was in bed by himself for the first time in ages. After he'd sent Percy home, Lucius had come back from Celeste's, and after hearing a few dry anecdotes about her wellbeing, Draco had relayed the message that Hermione wanted to see him. They'd been in her room all evening, probably talking about the baby's sex and all that entailed. Draco tried to tell himself he wasn’t bitter, but it smarted that it wouldn’t be a surprise for all of them. He knew that he'd been forcing them to remain uninformed and maybe that hadn’t been entirely fair of him, but… this was his first time becoming a parent. It was just important to him.

Now he was lying in bed waiting for his father. He wasn’t accustomed to sleeping alone and hadn’t been able to drop off without Lucius with him. He wished that Hermione could have been there as well, the way it was supposed to be, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. Hermione was more than halfway through her pregnancy—and maybe she'd even come back before it was over.

The moment Lucius walked into the room, he knew that not only did Lucius know the sex, but he'd…

Bastard.

"You had sex with her," he accused. Then he frowned at himself. It wasn’t jealousy, not really… But why was he upset? Lucius and Hermione had had sex countless times without him.

Lucius' eyebrow twitched like it very much wanted to lift but didn’t because Draco looked so very serious. "I did," he said, hiding a smile.

Draco's arms crossed over his chest. "Is that safe?" he demanded snottily.

"She's perfectly fine, if that's what you're asking." Lucius undressed with the easy calm Draco always associated with his father.

"And the baby?"

Lucius sighed. "Draco, do you honestly believe Hermione and I would do anything to harm our child?" When Draco didn’t answer—a pout didn’t count—he continued. "The Healer said it was perfectly safe. Hermione is in no danger of miscarrying. Sex during pregnancy is perfectly natural and healthy."

Draco pulled back the covers, stilling considering his outburst. "How was it?"

The look on his father's face was the closest it had even been to dreamy. "Lovely."

"Tell me," he demanded, suddenly realising just how much he missed sex with Hermione. It just didn’t seem… right, somehow. Especially knowing she could sense the baby. Hermione had said the baby's light was almost nonexistent when it was content—what if the light shone brighter for Draco, indicating that it liked Lucius better? Oh, Merlin, what if the baby always hated Draco?

Sliding into the bed with the languid grace of someone who'd just had an orgasm, Lucius smiled indulgently and pulled Draco against him. "Why is my dragon roaring so?" he teased, alluding, no doubt, to the story he'd told about Draco as a baby. Draco didn’t really believe that story, anyway. Not at all.

"I just want to hear about it, all right?" He pursed his lips. "Fine, don't tell me." When he made to roll over in a huff, Lucius yanked him back and before he even knew what was happening, there was a hot, firm hand on his rather surprisingly erect prick.

"What's this, then?" Lucius stroked him, bringing him much too quickly to a state of full arousal. "Seems like you're very interested in hearing about my time with Hermione."

Draco shrugged, then gasped, then tried to push Lucius away by the shoulders but ended up just holding him. "So what?"

After a long kiss, Lucius pulled back, his hand moving steadily. "We were talking about Celeste at first, then about the baby. She asked if I wanted to know the sex. I said yes. She showed me the journal. I read much of it. Then… she invited me into her bed."

"Has that happened before?" Draco asked, breathless. He pushed his hips against his father's to test for hardness there, but Lucius hadn’t recovered yet. He lay back and let himself be greedy, thrusting into Lucius' almost taunting jerks.

"No. Not like that."

"What does that mean?" Draco demanded.

"It means I've given her pleasure on multiple occasions since she became pregnant. Especially after the baby started to grow so much. It's more difficult for her and she tires easily."

"So you… finger her? Use your mouth?"

"Or both."

Draco groaned, arching into the touch. He could have done that. He'd been so caught up in his concerns about sex with her that it hadn’t really occurred to him what else he could do. Poor Hermione, going so long without any satisfaction—or not, as evidently Lucius had taken up the slack where Draco had faltered. The thought made him a little ashamed.

Picking up on it, Lucius said, "Don't worry. She understands your concerns."

Draco stilled. "But they aren’t your concerns?"

"You forget, I've been through this before. Women might seem fragile in this state, but I promise they are stronger than you or I could imagine."

The words brought up the knowledge that Lucius had—obviously—had sex with his mother. That was awkward. "Tell me how you fucked Hermione," he asked to get that mental image of Lucius and his mother from his mind.

"I didn't fuck her," Lucius retorted, squeezing a little harshly in time with the raw word. "We made love. She was on top. She was beautiful. Her head was thrown back, her chest and neck red with that flush she gets whenever she knows we're looking at her… her legs tight at my sides as she moved over my cock…"

Draco flung one of his legs over Lucius' hips, squirming closer and thrusting more urgently into the tight grip. Lucius' voice poured over him, searing him like steel as he imagined how Hermione must have looked. "Did you bring her off?"

"Twice," Lucius said with a smirk. "The first time only a moment after she sank down onto me. Again toward the end. She's beautiful, as you know, in release. I had to see it again."

"What else?" Draco was so close. He wanted to come, he was desperate to—

"When she came the second time, she was exhausted. She made this weak little cry, the most amazing sound. Her wet pussy clamped down all around me and I tried not to shout as I climaxed…"

Draco wasn’t so thoughtful—he shouted with all his worth as Lucius' hand twisted just so over the crown of his cock. In his mind's eye, Lucius helped Hermione off him, lying her down beside him and stroking the dampened hair from her forehead. In reality, Lucius did much the same with him, turning him onto his back and kissing him as light fingers caressed his cheek.

"No more roaring from you, little dragon," Lucius said softly, pulling the dishevelled blanket back over them.

Draco rolled his eyes and buried his smile in the pillow. He wondered if his child would roar, too.

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All my love to my betas, Krystle Lynne and my anonymous friend!