“Granger, you ready?”

It’s their second wedding anniversary and his mother has all but bankrupted his father putting on a celebratory banquet; he’s spent a whole week preparing his stupid speech; and Granger’s refused to show him what she’ll be wearing.

He is stressed.

“GRANGER!”

She walks into his dressing room wearing her new robes—but they’re not robes, they’re a Muggle evening gown of the softest cream velvet, cut to hug all of her curves and with a neckline that’s been cleverly designed—obviously by a Muggle man—to look as though it’s unbuttoned and falling open, affording him tantalising glimpses of the ivory silk bustier cupping her breasts...

“Bloody hell, Granger,” he mutters, pulling her down onto his lap, “there’s no way I’m letting you out of this room dressed like...” He frowns. “You have make-up on your tits.”

“It’s supposed to give a deep cleavage effect—is it too much?”

“Too much? Not if you’re happy for every man at the banquet to die of a hard-on.” He grimaces. “Obviously, not my father, or Potter, or Old Weasley—well, maybe Old Weasley, but not—”

“Don’t, Malfoy,”—she grabs his hand—“you’ll smudge it!”

She kisses his fingers and, keeping his hand at her mouth, she looks at him, speculatively.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m wondering whether to give you your anniversary present now.”

Yes, he mouths.

“Merlin, Malfoy, you’re such a kid! All right, wait here a minute.”

“I’ve no intention of going anywhere...”

He turns to the mirror, and works on his hair until she comes running back and, seating herself on his lap again, hands him a parcel wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a dark blue ribbon.

It’s obviously a book, but tucked under the ribbon there’s something else.

He pulls it out and looks at it—it’s white, about the length of a Muggle fountain pen but thicker, and it has a small hole, like a window, in its side. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says, smiling. “I’ve already done it.”

“Done what?”

“Peed on it.”

“Granger!” He drops it into her lap.

“I’ve washed it since, silly.” She hands it back. “Do you see the two blue lines?”

“Of course. What are they?”

“Your son,” she says, proudly. “Well, evidence of your son.”

He stares at her, open-mouthed, and she laughs and wraps her arms around his neck. “It’s a Muggle pregnancy test, Malfoy. I’m pregnant.” She hugs him tightly.

“You mean,” he murmurs against her cheek, “you mean I’m going to be a father?”

“Well, technically, you are a father.” She leans back, and takes his hand, and places it on her stomach.

“Oh, Granger... Oh, Granger, Granger.” He suddenly pulls his hand away, panicking. “But I... We shouldn’t have... Granger, you should have told me before. Before I—”

She presses her finger to his lips. “It’s all right. Really. Open your other present.”

“What?”

“This.” She pulls the parcel from where it’s slipped down between them, and hands it to him. “Open it.”

“I know it’s a book,” he says, tearing off the paper. “A Muggle book...” He turns it over and reads its title. “Love-making during Pregnancy.”

“It takes you through each trimester, gives you lots of advice, and illustrates special positions...” She presses her lips to his ear. “Because I don’t want you finding alternative accommodation whilst I’m pregnant, Malfoy.”

“Granger!” He’s genuinely hurt—almost angry with her. “What do you think I am? I’d never—”

“That’s not what you said to me when we signed the Marriage Law contract,” she says. “If you won’t have sex with me, I’ll have to find someone else who will—that’s what you said.”

“I was an idiot when I said that! I didn’t know you when I said that—didn’t love you!” He grasps her hands, trying to make her understand. “I would never betray you, Granger, or little Scorpius. Never! I’d charm my own balls off before I did that.”

It takes her a moment to react. “Scorpius?”

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”

“No.”

“I’ve given this a lot of thought, Granger—”

“It’s ridiculous.”

He says nothing—but he lets his determination show on his face.

She looks at him through narrowed eyes. “I’ve no choice, have I? You’d Confund me until it was too late to stop you.”

“I’d use an Imperius on you,” he says, “and make you smile throughout the naming ceremony.”

There’s an uneasy pause, because they both know that he just might. Then, “Well,” she says, “I suppose it’s no sillier than Draco Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Since I seem to be winning at the moment,” he says, “I’ll let that pass.”

“Remember it’s not my fault, Scorpius,” she says, patting her stomach, “when all the other kids make fun of you. Blame your father.”

He puts his hand over hers. “No one will make fun of a Malfoy, Granger.”

“Keep dreaming, Draco.”

She’s irresistible. He leans in to kiss her nose.

“Did you mean it?” she asks, cupping his face in her hands.

“Mean what?”

“That you’d hex your balls off?”

“Nah.” He smirks. “But I wouldn’t need to. You’ve got me so whipped, Granger, I don’t think it would work with anyone else.”

“Will it work with me, when I’m the size of a Muggle house?”

“Granger...” He imagines her, all warm and rounded, carrying his son, and immediately feels the answer. “It will work even better,” he says. Then he grins, holding up the book. “Do you want to try a bit of Muggle-style shagging,”—she scowls—“I mean, love-making?”

“We’d be late,” she reminds him. “And I’d be blamed, and your father would feel the need to read out our pre-nuptial agreement. Again.”

He leans in slowly, proudly, possessively. “Not this time, Granger,” he murmurs, nuzzling her neck and resting his hand on her stomach. “This time, you’ve got him. From now on, Hermione Granger, you’re a proper Malfoy.”

THE END