False Pretense

The next few weeks went by abnormally slow. Hermione took to keeping a journal to document her transition into motherhood. Ginny was a big help; meaning she had gone far off the deep end to prepare for the arrival of an infant that was probably the size of an acorn. Harry, at one point, had thought that his wife was pregnant again only to realize that it was Hermione.

Never being the one to notice these kinds of things, Ron had to have it spelled out via miming and actual picture drawing. To Luna’s benefit, she found his anger to be a little humorous. Ron, of course, had immediately sprung to the conclusion that Draco imparted on Hermione some form of lust potion or Imperio but thus far his theories were only told to Randall. Randall, on the other hand, would just spittle all over his father and giggle.

It was shocking that all of her closest friends had taken the news incredibly well. Neville began sending her various plants that would soothe her soon to be aching feet and back. She even got a set of enchanted roses from him for no apparent reason. It made her smile.

Even McGonagall, who found out via Ginny, had been spending more time helping Hermione with heavy lifting. For such an old woman, the headmistress was quite spry. Hermione had to constantly tell the other faculty members that she was not a large pumpkin, yet, and could handle lifting on her own.

Only damned Snape had objections to her predicament. When his fatherly instincts kicked in was beyond her; not to mention downright frightening.

The faculty had agreed not to tell Draco until Hermione got the bollocks to tell him. It added to the pressure of actually telling him. At one point, Hermione wrote several different speeches ranging from blatant threats to sob stories pleading with him not to leave the child alone. Each of them ended up in the rubbish bin.

She had just settled down into the thought that Draco would be there. He was responsible and good with children. Maybe there was hope after all.

That was until Mrs. Weasley ran into Narcissa Malfoy on a trip to Diagon Alley. Apparently when Mrs. Weasley made a small comment about Draco’s impending fatherhood, Mrs. Malfoy scoffed at the idea and claimed that Draco wouldn’t touch anyone unworthy of Malfoy seed.

Fred and George had to pry, literally pry, Mrs. Weasley’s fingers from around Narcissa Malfoy’s neck. The blonde merely snarled a threat and disappeared into the crowd. From then on, Hermione kept to herself. The threat of exposure wasn’t worth all of the support she had.

Sure she was mature about it, trying to act responsible, but she also didn’t want to make things more awkward when she told Draco the news. The stork wasn’t going to be happy but he will have to wait.




Hermione woke early the Saturday before the students and rest of the staff were to return. She sat at her usual seat next to Snape, who had the audacity to comment on how little food she was eating. Hermione had to inform him that the whole comment that she was eating for two was in fact a down out lie. That didn’t stop him from scooping another helping of eggs onto her plate.

She prayed he would cease acting like a worried friend and return to his brooding self, grumbling as students skipped the halls. Hell, she would be ecstatic if he patronized her position and called her a snooty know-it-all who got herself knocked up.

Why everyone had to be so damn supportive and why she hadn’t just graciously accepted all the help was beyond her. It was stifling and making her uncomfortable; to say the least.

Hermione heard a stray carriage pull up as she made her way out of the Great Hall and nearly collided with Professor Flitwick when she saw Draco step out of the compartment. He looked down right fucked off as he grasped onto one bag and pulled it from the top of the carriage, throwing it onto the ground.

A few house-elves rushed to help but cowered when he stormed past them. He paused, however, when his eyes met Hermione. Her cheeks flushed by the intensity that he was staring at her, but noticed his jaw clench and unclench.

“Granger,” he said almost seething, causing her to jump a little.

“D-Draco,” she replied quietly, darting her eyes away when they connected with his. “How was your holiday?”

“Pleasant,” he nearly snapped, “Excuse me.”

He pushed past her and stormed down the halls, cloak billowing behind him. Hermione was gently shoved to the side by the massive amount of luggage Draco had taken with him. She swore that they were moving on their own, until she heard the grunts of the house-elves beneath the luggage like ants, carrying them down the hall.

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Hermione sighed, closing her eyes.

She traced her hand over her stomach and patted it before moving down the opposite end of the corridor.





Pacing. She was pacing for the millionth time in Merlin knows how many. She exhaled and wheeled around to Draco’s quarters. Her hand rose lightly where she tapped on the door so quietly that she wasn’t sure if she even touched the door.

No answer.

“Well, he’s busy,” Hermione told herself quietly, “Let’s try again…later.”

She whirled around to leave but heard the door click open. Closing her eyes again, she turned around and parted her lips, ready to just spill everything.

“Draco, before you say anything. I am….” she paused when the occupant of the room was not Draco, not Draco at all.

“Oh, excuze me,” came the tiny voice of a petite blonde woman, “Can I help you?”

Can you help me? CAN YOU HELP ME? How about getting lost?!

“Erhm,” Hermione’s eyes darted around the form of the girl, who was scantily clad in one of Draco’s dark bed spreads. “Is Professor Malfoy in?”

The bint giggled as a hand wrapped around her stomach, “Who is it, Gabrielle?”

“Iz He’mione,” she squeaked as lips pressed against her throat.

Hermione’s voice died as Draco made his appearance. Hair mussed up, shirtless with small scratches across his abdomen. His cobalt eyes met hers and he instantly dropped his hands from the girl.

“Go inside,” he commanded, giving Gabrielle a small shove into the room, “Granger, sorry you had to see that…”

That BASTARD!

To be honest, Hermione did turn him down. He is just sowing his oats.

Hey, which side are you on!?

The logical side

“Granger?” Draco’s voice broke the bickering in her mind, causing her to stumble over her words.

“Four times twelve,” she muttered, causing him to quirk a brow.

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking around, “Is there something you wanted, or can I return to my guest?”

Tell him now before it’s too late!

“Patrols,” she quickly said, “I need to discuss patrols with you…”

Idiot.

Draco frowned and looked into the halls before stepping out. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, muscles flexing ever so slightly.

“What about them?” he asked, breath full of firewhiskey and honey.

“Uh,” Hermione thought quickly, “I’m going to be patrolling the green houses with Professor Flitwick from now on and…”

“This could’ve waited until tomorrow,” he said annoyed, “What are you really doing here?”

She dug her hands into her pockets and froze, feeling the soft dragon hide gloves he had given her during their first patrol. She pulled them out and held them out for him.

“Your gloves,” she said quietly, “Here. I don’t want them.”

Draco frowned again and pulled the gloves from her grasp, moving so that half of him was inside his quarters. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” she quickly said, stepping back, “Sorry to have bothered your…uh…”

“Right,” he nodded, “Apology accepted. Good night…”

“Night,” she whispered as Draco disappeared into his room, closing the door quickly.

Hermione exhaled and closed her eyes. Oh gods. She was royally fucked.






Slowly, her initial reaction of being a complete idiot for not just telling him, half naked girl on his arm or not, grew to self hatred and blossomed into hatred for the opposite party. Namely, Draco. Only a few weeks ago he had told her he was head over heels for her and now he was literally sowing his oats into the plastic Barbie!

Hermione sat on her bed, legs crossed, frowning like Kreacher had eaten a lollipop on his birthday. Her fingers tapped on her knees as the small clock to her side buzzed; signaling it was time for her to take her prenatal potion. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, frowning some more.

You sure did fuck this up, didn’t you?

“Yes,” she mumbled to herself, “He’s shagging another girl, right now, and I’m sitting here taking a prenatal potion because Snape would shove it down my throat if I didn’t.”

You should still tell him. He might come around.

“Because that’s what every girl wants; a guy who comes back after discovering his mistake.”

Technically it was your mistake as well. I don’t see why you don’t suck your pride up for a third time and just tell him.

“Why don’t you tell him if you’re so sodding brave?”

I’m in your mind, that’s why. Your logical side as it is.

“Just shut up and leave me alone,” Hermione snatched onto a pillow and pulled it between her legs, hugging the top portion to her chest.

Don’t forget your potion. It’s not his fault that he was created.

“How would you know if it’s a boy or girl? Poppy said we have to wait a few more months,” Hermione reached out and grasped a light pink colored vial, pulling the cork off.

She quickly drowned in it and tossed the vial onto her night stand as her mind spoke to her.

It’s just a feeling. Like the one you have for Draco.

“Whatever,” Hermione closed her eyes and drifted off into a small slumber.