"My mother is speaking to me again."

Nothing.

He cleared his throat. "She sent a note yesterday asking how I was."

Hermione was still staring absent-mindedly out of the window.

"I wrote back—and she asked if I'd come to dinner this Tuesday."

Still nothing.

"I intend to decline unless she extends the invitation to you as well."

The hollow at the base of her throat dipped, and she looked at him suddenly. "You should go."

He stared at her. "Really?

She nodded. "Yes. You should go. They're your parents."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Right. They've also refused to speak to me since I informed them that we're dating. Which seems like a pertinent issue."

She studied at him. The tines of her fork tapped lightly at the edge of her plate. "Where—where do you see us in a year or so?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably at the change of subject. Hermione had very specific ideas about the pace of relationships; they should progress with grave intentionality. He'd only just managed to convince her to let him have a drawer in her flat.

"I don't know. If it keeps going well, maybe l'll have two drawers by then."

She didn't appear to notice the joke. She gave a short nod and looked down at the peas on her plate as her fork chased them from one side to the other.

"Is everything alright at work?" He eyed her carefully, trying to pin down exactly what seemed off about her. She nodded without meeting his eyes.

She was bothered about something, but as far as he could tell, it didn't seem directed specifically towards him.

Was he forgetting an important date? Not her birthday. They'd been "officially" in a relationship for one month and three weeks and two days. Prior to that, they'd dated for five months and some odd days, which he didn't think was traditionally celebrated. No major events in November for either of them insofar as he was aware.

She didn't generally make him guess if he'd done something to upset her. He'd been an excellent boyfriend lately—if he did say so himself. He hadn't even done anything to get back at Weasley for turning him into a giant canary at the excruciatingly uncomfortable 'Weasley Dinner' that he'd attended with Hermione last Friday evening.

She was still chasing her peas around her plate.

"What's wrong?"

Her fork stilled, but she didn't look at him immediately. The tip of her tongue darted out, and she wetted her lips before looking up.

"I—" she started, then she froze, her mouth still ajar. She swallowed and set her fork down before squaring her shoulders.

She was going to break up with him, he realised with shriveling horror.

No wonder she thought he should go have dinner with his parents.

She didn't want him anymore. He had too much to make up for, and their relationship was interfering with and creating too many difficulties throughout her life.

He felt his throat close as the blood drained from his head.

"I'm—pregnant."

"What?" The question escaped him before he'd even processed that he was forming words. He felt as though he'd been bracing himself to be stabbed in the heart then instead been clocked in the head. His entire mind came to a screeching halt. "What?"

"I'm pregnant." Her brown eyes met his bewildered gaze for a moment before she looked back down at her plate. "I found out earlier today."

Draco abruptly had approximately five hundred thousand questions.

Pregnant? How was she pregnant? She was definitely, borderline religiously, taking contraceptive potions.

Draco had never thought about fatherhood beyond the abstract conclusion that he was not planning to be interested in it for a good long time.

Hermione was pregnant.

He stared at her dazedly. "H-h-How?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Contraceptive potion has an efficacy of about ninety-nine point two percent. Which means there's still a point eight percent chance of getting pregnant. So if there are a hundred witches using it for a year, there can still be the possibility of a pregnancy occurring."

"And that's you..." he said slowly.

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. "That's me." The base of her throat dipped and she looked down at her lap and was silent for several seconds. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet. They gave me a prescription for a potion."

Draco swallowed and resisted the urge to reach out and drain his wine glass. Despite his daze, he had a very clear sense that he'd never be able to take back whatever he said next.

As petrified as he was at the very concept of fatherhood, he was even more terrified that he was going to misstep and break the very fragile trust he had managed to build between them.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He wanted to loosen his collar, but her eyes were wide and locked on him. She sat carefully watching him.

She reminded him of a frightened wild rabbit. When he was growing up, there had been hundreds of them on the estate. They'd freeze and watch him with their dark eyes, barely moving, ready to sprint away and vanish in an instant if threatened.

He inhaled and leaned forward, extending his hand. Her hands were in her lap, so he rested his fingers on the table near her.

Her dark, intelligent eyes grew wider as they darted between his hand and his face.

He exhaled slowly.

He'd already been done for long before he'd managed to get her to agree to even have a drink with him. Just a drink had required weeks of deliberation on her part.

She'd had a very long list of rules and requirements specifically engineered to keep their relationship's progress slow, and it had worked aggravatingly well during the initial few months.

Things had accelerated somewhat when they'd agreed to tell people that they were in a relationship. Draco's parents had been incensed, and his father had threatened to disown him. The Weasleys and Potter has been about as pleased as one would expect and were unveiled in their displeasure and skepticism.

The first month had not been pleasant. However, the upside of Hermione refusing to speak to Potter and Weasley for being "complete idiots" and Draco openly toeing the line of becoming a blood traitor and following in the footsteps of his aunt Andromeda, was that their social life was largely non-existent.

Which—now as he thought about it, probably had something to do with the situation at hand.

"What are you thinking of doing?" he asked.

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, and he could see the tips of her teeth gnawing at it.

She always had a plan for things. Post-war, the life of Hermione Granger was meticulously plotted out.

Her colour-coded calendar had evenings marked for company, for projects, for reading. They were currently having lunch on the one lunch break each week that she was available to have lunch with him. She volunteered during three out of her five of them, and another day was marked and reserved for maintaining collegial relationships with friends and coworkers.

She had a one year plan, a five year plan, a ten year plan. Possibly others.

She always knew exactly what to do.

"I don't know. I feel like I should just know what I should do—but I don't—" She drew a sharp breath. "We—" her voice wavered and faded.

The corners of her mouth twitched, and her eyes moved away from his face. She was quiet for a moment. He watched her shoulders tense, and her whole body appeared to contract.

She was going to keep the pregnancy. He was almost positive. She wouldn't have been so uncertain if she was instinctively leaning towards termination. She probably would have already picked up the potion.

She was going to keep it, and she knew that the choice would annihilate half her plans and most of her calendar, and obliterate her intention of having their relationship indefinitely progress at the temperate speed of a sloth.

Her fingertips appeared at the edge of the table and slowly turned white as she gripped it.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet—but—"she swallowed visibly, and her voice become tight and businesslike,"—obviously this wasn't in either of our plans. Our relationship is very new, and we don't have any idea of what could have happened in the long run if things hadn't been derailed like this. I wanted you to know about the pregnancy, but I don't expect or want you to think that this makes you obligated or committed in any way."

Draco's hand twitched. "What?"

Her eyes flashed with stubborn determination. "I'm perfectly capable of having a child on my own—if I decide to. I don't want you—staying involved with me because you have some antiquated sense of obligation and believe that you have to make honest witch of me now. I just—" her voice wobbled as she inhaled, "I would rather know right off if you don't want to be involved—it would—be easier for me if we could conclude things amicably in that case."

Draco stood up abruptly, walked around the table, and then stole a chair from a nearby table. He sat and took her by the shoulders, turning her so that he could look into her eyes.

"Hermione—" he said, his hands running down her tense arms.

"Hermione..." he said again, his hands reaching up and shaking somewhat as he captured her face. His fingertips traced her cheekbones and along her jaw.

"Hermione, I am in love with you," he finally said. "I was in love with you before anyone knew we were dating. I was in love with you before we slept together. I was already pretty nearly in love with you before you agreed to get a drink with me. If you keep this pregnancy, I will still be in love with you. Whatever you do—for the rest of your life—I'm in for. Wherever you are—and whatever you're doing, that's the only place I want to be. Alright?"