He hated her in the beginning, absolutely fucking abhorred her. He was taught to, her and her kind, but her righteous, all-knowing attitude contributed to his hate in the course of the following years. She wasn't just a Mudblood, someone who didn't belong in his world, but she thought she was better than him. She turned her nose up at him, eyes judging him like she knew exactly what he was about. But that wasn't the worst of it—the pity in her eyes only made him loath her more. She gazed at him like he was a lost cause, like he was a wounded soldier dragging himself through the battlefield.

That hate remained the same until she was dragged into his manor on a night when everything changed. There was so much going on in his life during those miserable days; thoughts plagued his mind, demanding answers for questions he never thought of asking before. His entire life crumbled and everything he knew as being right was taken from him. His parents created that platform of truth and when it was destroyed they couldn't make him another. The same wrongness that he felt reflected off their eyes. His father, someone he used to admire, a man who was high in power, who made people tremble and obey, had withered. He became a disgraced drunk; a man imprisoned in his own home. His mother, a once elegant woman, someone proud to be associated with the elite, dark circles, now drowned in regret. She was a woman haunted with failure; her arrogance and trust in her husband only brought upon destruction to her family.

Surrounded by death, torture, and madmen only served to make Draco ponder if his past beliefs were wrong. The answer ultimately became clear when his Aunt Bellatrix tortured Hermione Granger in front of him. There was an incredible pleasure and unwavering insanity in Bellatrix's eyes that the muggle-born's cries and pleads never halted her. Not once did his aunt shiver, not once did she look remorseful, and not once did she pause to focus on the damage she was doing.

The letters Bellatrix had brutally carved onto Granger's arm bled red. Red. She, the mudblood, bled red like purebloods. There was no difference, which meant there never had been a difference before. Everything was a lie.

Draco hated Granger with all his being before, but then and there, as her screams dug their way into his eardrums, traumatizing him, scarring him, he knew that he was wrong. Everything was so fucking wrong with who he was and what the world had become. He couldn't move with the realization, but also because the image of Granger being tortured was something that was going to haunt his dreams at night...

The war came to an end not long after that horrible night. He was arrested, as it was to be expected, and a part of him resigned to it. He was so tortured by everything he'd seen during the war, by everything that he'd done during the war, that he knew he needed punishment. Or maybe he hoped that the lonely, cold cell in Azkaban would give him the escape he was too much of a coward to take from Death. Pieces of him longed for freedom—freedom from Malfoy Manor, his parents, and the aftermath of war. But especially he needed to hide from his parents, and then maybe he'd stop hating them.

Because he hated them no matter how much he loved them. They were responsible for the lies that made him king in his own eyes, that allowed him to mistreat and hate, that made him want blood supremacy, that made him serve a madman with a lust for blood and power. His own parents, the two people on the surface of the planet that were supposed to protect him above all else led him straight to hell.

He was only in Azkaban for two days before he was pulled out and a trial for his defense started down in the court rooms. He almost choked on his own oxygen when he found the damn Golden Trio ready to testify for his release.

All the time that the trial went on he couldn't look any of them in the eye, especially not Granger. Even more so when she took the stand and told the Wizengamot that she believed he was just an ignorant boy who was misguided, who had done all those awful things by the Dark Lord's manipulation and threat. When the verdict was made, when he was sentenced to a year of probation and lifelong sessions of Legilimens, he had an urge to find Granger and ask for forgiveness. It was odd, strange to want it, but he felt like he needed to do it. The motive was majorly selfish: he desperately believed that if he did apologize that he'd stop seeing her in his nightmares.

She was no longer there when he found some will to look up. The only one who stayed behind was Potter. Potter who was not afraid to march up to him, look him dead in the eye, and say, 'I hope you find your way now, Malfoy.'

Despite his mother's wishes, Draco went back to Hogwarts to finish his education. He was always someone who enjoyed school, though not the people around him in past years, and it was important for him to end his time there. So he went back, keeping his head down and working hard. He finished second in his year, not surprised at all that it was Granger in the lead.

He was eighteen and with a lot of time on his hands when he decided to go in for Auror training. Again, his mother protested against it, she didn't want him around danger (the irony), even his father who was serving three years in Azkaban wanted him to handle the family business, but Draco followed his own choice. He was learning to forgive his parents, but he was done obeying them. He wanted to be an Auror, to right the wrongs he'd done and rid the world of demented fucks.

Potter was one of his trainers, the latter already with two years of Auror experience under his belt, when Draco finally decided to apply. Potter was skeptical to see him there, that much had been obvious, but Potter was as forgiving as he was a fucking git. He kept Draco at a distance, but he complimented him on his abilities and helped him expand them. For a year they trained, but once he was certified, Draco wasted no time in getting away from Britain. After solving two seemingly easy cases, Draco volunteered himself on a case to the remote islands by the Caribbean. It was an impossible one, no Auror wanted it, but then again, no one was more desperate to get away and prove himself than Draco. So at nineteen he left with a head full of determination.

Draco was twenty-one when he returned to Britain. His father was out of Azkaban, serving another three years of house-arrest and one of them without his wand before he was a complete 'free man', and Draco still refused to take over the family business for him. He marched right back to the Ministry of Magic to receive his praises for solving the impossible case and get his rightful place among the Aurors. The Head Auror, impressed by his work, welcomed him back with rewards: an office and a partner.

Potter appeared in the Head's office, still looking high on his fucking horse, according to Draco, and led him to his partner.

It was not as if he had expected for history to have been completely forgotten when he reunited with Granger, but he also wasn't expecting for her to hate with such fervor as she hated him. There was no hint of that compassionate girl everyone raved about; she was aggressive and wanted him out of her way. He retaliated, of course he did. It was expected. He was not going to let the fucking Gryffindor get away with climbing up on a pedestal and look down at him. It was impossible to work together, that was obvious, but he wasn't going to be the first one to forfeit.

In the end, neither of them quit. They were too stubborn for that. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the one who settled the animosity in the end. He demanded a pact of civility from Draco and Granger, and no one bloody well said no to the Minister of Magic.

Both reluctant partners adopted the Minister's order of civility and months of silence ensued. She no longer enticed him into their famous, infuriated arguments that would shake the walls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he no longer gave her reasons to become so righteous and angry. They did their work and hesitantly, slowly, grudgingly, they both began to accept that their partnership was actually a brilliantly matched one—brain-wise. Both were beyond capable and produced incredible results together.

By the third year of working together he began to see some changes in her. She loosened up around him, quite literally letting her hair down when they hunched over evidence in either one of their offices to the latest hours of the night. She became more of herself, showing him hints of what he imagined having her as a friend would be like. She had a fascination for biting the end of her quill when she was deep in thought, she tapped her fingers (much to his annoyance) when her patience was wearing thin, and though she was always collected and polite, her mood could change in an instant to that of an untamable lion.

She also spoke quite a lot. At first he thought she'd finally lost her mind, that she was starting to talk to herself, but she was actually talking to him. The first times he caught her droning on about a past memory, he'd scowl at her importune conversation and was ready to straightforwardly tell her to shut the fuck up, but then he noticed the sparkle in her eyes. For the first time in the three years of having to deal with each others presence she looked at him like he was worthwhile, like she could trust him. She obviously wasn't sharing her secrets, thank Salazar for that, but she shared moments of the past that made her angry, that made her sad, and that made her happy.

He noticed that her eyes were the color of the summer sun, golden and inviting. Everything about her was exactly like that: warm. She brought life to cold nights. He didn't know how he missed it before, but she was something quite magical that he had never encountered before. She captivated him and he had no fucking idea how that was possible. He didn't know when or where, but she sunk deep into his skin and he couldn't get her out. Those summer eyes replaced the memories of nightmares he had of her and everything changed.

There was nothing he could have done about those infuriating, unwanted emotions, and he tried. He frequently tried to get her out of his head, but nothing worked. No one fulfilled him. No one came close to her, and he did not even know every inch of her heart and soul. He just knew. He just knew that there was no one like Hermione Granger and he hated her for it. Because he wanted to believe and accuse her of bewitching him, but he knew the world was punishing him now for all the wrong he'd done in the past. Falling for her, wanting her as desperately as he wanted her, was the world's way of repaying him back for the evil he'd done.

Consequently, he was painfully aware that he'd never be able to have her. Everything pointed to it from the start. When they first became partners she was in a long-term relationship with the worthless Weasel: it was something that was obviously destined as everyone had known since Hogwarts that the two would end up together. She'd waste away at his side, but she loved him for some bizarre reason, and life carried on. Then one day, when he was having lunch with Astoria, his girlfriend at the time, he saw Hermione from the corner of his eye sit away from Potter and the Weasel. He'd thought it odd, had stored it away to use against her if she got out of line later that day, but it was actually Astoria who informed him that the two had broken up (how she knew that, Draco hadn't bothered to ask because he didn't give a single fuck about it at the time). A few months after that, about the time Draco began to see her in a different light, Michael Corner came back into her life. They had a relationship that lasted almost a year. And not too long after that, the Weaslette began to pressure the brunette on the 'ever so charming' Oliver Wood. Every single bloke was a useless git, but they all had something that he would never have...

Draco had known he was going to lose a war that he had no chances of winning anyway. But then one night fate created the tiniest glimmer of a chance and he took it.

A week before her twenty-fifth birthday Draco noticed a cloud of gloom lingering above her. She was always that ray of light that he looked forward to seeing on a day to day basis, but that week she was anything but content. She tried to be, tried to hide her sadness, but she failed miserably. Once he'd caught her summer eyes misty with rain. She assured him that it was nothing, but he saw right through it. Potter and the Weasel could believe her lies, but he didn't. No one ever fooled him. In hopes to bring her a smile, something genuine that would be due all to him, Draco went in search for something that could bring her joy.

They were putting away case files the night before her birthday when he decided to give her the gift he bought her. She looked hesitant at it and a part of him grew angry that there was suspicion in her gaze. It angered him that she thought he'd give her something that would curse her, harm her in any way. Before he could snatch it back, he told her to open it with a flat voice. So she did. The wariness that'd previously been in her eyes was replaced with utter surprise. Tears appeared soon after and he hadn't a fucking clue if that was a good or bad sign. But then she hugged him.

When her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in with physical strength he wasn't aware that she had, he knew he was done for. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, to hold her as she was doing to him because a part of him was giving her the chance to pull away before his selfishness took over his senses.

And right when she began to loosen her arms and step back, he decided that he was going to have her even if for the smallest amount of time. So he kissed her passionately, pouring in all the want he'd been keeping hidden from her, and to his shock she responded back. She responded with more enthusiasm than he could have ever imagined. He took her twice against the floor of her office before they finally went their separate ways.

That entire weekend he wondered if she would regret it. He wondered when they met up on Monday morning if she wouldn't look him in the eye or if she'd pretend it never happened. What he had not expected, what caught him by surprise, was that at the end of the work day she invited him back to her flat with a promise of a repeat of what happened in her office. Hiding his eagerness, Draco followed after her.

He took everything her body had to offer because he knew that was the only way he would ever have her. Someone like her, someone who had never been corrupted by darkness, someone whose insides were swimming with light and love, could never take interest in someone like Draco Malfoy. He done so much wrong in his life, someone with Hermione's soul would never be compatible with the damaged one he carried inside. So he took her body, he marked and claimed her skin, devoured her lips and everything else she laid before him without remorse. That was the only way.

In the two years that their arrangement was taking place he found himself walking down a very unstable path. He never knew when it was all going to crumble. He never knew when she would finally tell him that enough was enough, that she no longer found any use for him. He waited anxiously for the day that a pretentious fucker came into her life and managed to steal her and her heart away from him. He knew that day would come, he'd be a downright idiot if he didn't think that one day she'd fall in love with someone equal to her.

He dated in the course of those two years just as she did. He hated her for it, but he couldn't blame her. He couldn't order her not to move on with her life, he couldn't forbid her from searching for a soulmate, and because he couldn't, he didn't want to be left behind either. He didn't want her to find someone and leave him in the dust. He dated women here and there, but none of them came close to giving him what Hermione could. No one else made him feel like he was alive. No one else had the power to heal what he thought was so beyond repair like her. No one made him believe like her.

Then the fucking dreaded moment came. He Floo'd into her flat, longing to be in her presence, desperate to have her securely in his arms after she was hexed by a demented murderer, but she refused him. For the first time in two years, she rejected him. She looked him in the eye, so fucking unaware that with that simple glance his heart was taking off as if he had wings, and she told him: 'I've been seeing someone...'

He never knew heartbreak until that night. Never in his life had he ever experienced such a connection with someone, never had he ever felt so cared for like in her arms, never had he felt like he belonged like when he was with her, but it all had been one-sided. She broke his heart and he allowed her to. That had been his mistake. Draco had given the fucking Gryffindor the power to destroy him and she had no fucking clue. So she smashed his heart by giving hers to someone else. He felt like falling to the floor, crying like a child, but his pride was too strong to let him. He would not crumble before her. So he left her, he left her behind as if none of it mattered.

Time progressed and every blasted day felt like a lifetime. Every day he had her so close to touch, every day he was locked up with her in an office, and every day he felt the world shatter around him. She smiled at him like it was nothing, she talked to him like she'd always done—he hated her for treating him like he was one of her fucking useless friends. And then there was that glow, that glow on her skin that made her eyes big and warm, that made her skin smooth and luminous, and every little thing about her look so bloody perfect.

He wanted to commit murder for he thought she was certainly in love.

The night of the Remembrance Ball came and he saw her with Theodore Nott. He was glued to her side, arm draped around her shoulders, around her waist, or sometimes holding her hand. Nott walked around the fucking hall like he owned her, like it was his fingerprints on her skin, like it was his name that she called when she shivered in delight. Draco had her over and over again, but Nott strutted around like there was no trace of him on Hermione.

'They are cute, aren't they?' Daphne Greengrass had joined his table with her boyfriend Blaise Zabini. Draco had been drinking heavily, but he kept his composure and elegance as he'd been taught. No one noticed that slight pink shade in his cheeks that was due to the full bottle of Firewhiskey he downed himself in order to sedate the monster inside of him (other than Pansy who observed every little fucking thing like it was her bloody job). 'Granger and Theo.'

'I'm quite surprised about that, actually,' Pansy replied to the blonde woman. 'I'm as close to Theo as I've always been, but he never even mentioned that he was still keeping touch with her. I saw him two weeks ago and, while he did look too happy for my tolerance, he never said anything about him dating Granger.'

Daphne laughed bemusedly at Pansy's direction. 'They aren't an item, Pansy. Nott has a girlfriend. Her name is Eloise and she's the daughter of the muggle Prime Minister.'

The dark-haired witch frowned unpleasantly. 'And how exactly do you know that, Daphne? You're not even friends with Theo.'

'That doesn't mean my mother isn't still best friends with his mother. Mrs. Nott let it slip; she was quite proud of her son and his connection with important muggles. Mother couldn't resist to pass on the information to me soon after.' Daphne picked up her flute of champagne, taking a graceful sip before lowering it back onto the table. 'Unless, of course, Nott was lying to his mother and he is actually dating Granger. It wouldn't come as a surprise, would it? They were quite the pair of friends during Hogwarts. None of us can be sure about what really happened in the Head Dorms that could've led to this.'

Pansy had turned to Draco at that moment as Blaise changed the conversation to get his girlfriend's attention. Pansy's eyes were filled with curiosity, but also anger. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all and she was going to drag Draco into it. And she did. She grabbed his hand and led him towards the direction of Hermione and her friends.

Draco knew then and there that Granger had lied to him. She had not been dating anyone, especially not Theodore Nott. Nott made it perfectly clear by the way he looked at his date. He might be holding her close, gently touching her, but there was nothing in his gaze nor in hers that suggested romance. If someone as fucked up as the spawn of Death Eaters loved, women and men alike, then it'd show. Light would crack through the darkness of their gaze and expose their vulnerability of loving someone. All Draco saw was mere affection in Nott's eyes for Hermione, the kind that Potter used when looking over the brunette, too.

He wanted to confront her the days following the Remembrance Ball, but he couldn't find the will to do so. He was angry, that alone was enough motive, but what exactly would he reproach her about? As much as he loved to claim her body as his, it wasn't his to claim. Nothing of hers was his. She belonged to no one. He would only look like a pathetic, perverted fool if he demanded to know why she decided to stop sleeping with him. And he would not risk that sort of humiliation no matter how angry or how desperately he needed her back in his arms.

The choice, then, was made: he would let her go. There was no future for them, he'd known that even before he stole a kiss from her. Nothing could ever happen because he was dark and she was light, he was the dead of winter and she was the life that came in the spring and summer. That was the truth that would keep them apart, just as in the past when pureblood and mudblood labels forbade interaction. Things were not filled with hate as they were then, but the consequences of that prejudice was the destroyer of his desires. That past made something absolutely true, something that killed a piece of him to say—he was not good enough for her.

He was still in the process of figuring out if he wanted to fully remove her from his life or if he would let his pride weigh down his feet and keep him returning everyday to be her partner. He mentioned the idea of wanting to go back to the Caribbean to the few people in his life, casually speaking of how he missed the sun there, so that if he decided to leave it would not cause suspicions of the real reason why...

Draco was pondering that idea again as he marched to his partner's office. He put it in the back of his mind, pulling on that infamous mask that made everyone wonder what he was truly thinking about, as he used a bit of wandless magic to open Granger's office door.

He found her laying on the floor, arms spread horizontally, her curls acting as a pillow beneath her head, looking more than exhausted. He briefly thought of the numerous times he left her that way on her mattress.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" he asked as his hands tightened around the files he was carrying.

She turned to face him and the brown in her eyes reminded him of the warmth that was missing in his life. "I'm tired and nauseous," she responded with a low, tired groan.

"You should go home, then. You've been looking terrible lately, Granger."

She frowned at him. "That's lovely."

"Just saying it how it is." She was absolutely beautiful to him every single second of the day, but he also knew her body more than she knew it. He saw the changes that were taking her over little by little. Her skin might be glowing, but underneath her eyes dark shades of sleepless purple were taking over. She became quite pale and dizzy doing the simplest things, not to mention he noticed her pushing away the foods that she always gladly took. Everything seemed to be making her sick.

"Look," he added, "it's almost seven, go home now. You can afford to get off a few minutes early."

She opened her mouth to be stubborn, he could tell, but then a look of disgust crossed her eyes. "What is that ghastly smell, Malfoy?"

"That'd be the files." Draco raised the archives in his hold. "They were Weaselbee's sandwich holder before I retrieved them. Thought I might leave the smell so Potter can sniff them out tomorrow and then properly reprimand his sidekick."

Hermione became instantly pale and pain etched across her features. "Oh, God, please get rid of it," she almost cried. "Please."

Draco eyed her suspiciously and also with heavy annoyance. If the bloody bint was sick she should go home, just as he suggested, but she always did as she bloody pleased. He was almost tempted to enhance the smell so it would drive her home, but he imagined that by doing so he would only cause her to vomit, or by the looks of it, faint. He didn't want to be responsible for that.

He vanished the foul odor the idiot Weasel left on their files and Hermione muttered a thanks. A quick moment after that she asked for the files he was holding, as if not to let silence settle between them, something he found that she was doing quite often in the past eight weeks; like she was afraid that he'd take the opportunity to engage her in conversations they had shared in the past. It aggravated him to think that she no longer found use in him even for that.

"...Katia Romanoff must be mental or seriously damaged by her time as Ivan Romanoff's wife to have such an adoration for him. But, then again, victims with prolonged exposure to abuse confuse love with their mistreatment. It's sad, really."

Her summer eyes found his stormy ones and he realized that she had continued talking about the case just as he had allowed his mind to torment itself because of her. Honestly, he was finding that he hated her just as much as he loved her.

"About that," Draco cleared his throat, "Potter wants you to write a profile on Katia Romanoff based on his interrogation with her." He reached into the pocket of his black trousers to take out the muggle device that Potter used to capture his interrogation with the wife of the demented Metamorphmagus.

"Naturally," mumbled Hermione. "The cycle of trauma would have broken if Ivan Romanoff has been gone for that long. No abuse, no horrific crimes to cover up—she would have began to see her husband as the psychopath that he is. But if she's speaking praises about him, it's likely that he's found his way into Russia."

He watched as she struggled to sit up. Sickness took up her face once more, but she seemed to ignore it when she extended her hand out to him to ask for the muggle device. He wanted to give her his hand instead, to have her yank him down so that he was pressed into her, as she'd done so many times in the past two years, but he knew that wouldn't happen. She was done. And because she was, he had to be, too.

He walked close enough to give her the device and was cautious enough not to touch any part of her smooth skin in the process. It was like a drug. He was now eight weeks clean of it, if he had just a little access to it, he'd fall back down.

She stared oddly at him and he was almost afraid that she saw his struggle.

"Can you bring me the case of profiles I've written for the other Romanoff family members?" Granger asked instead. "It's on my desk. Oh, and my quill, too, please."

Usually, he would never take an order from her, even if what she asked for was a favor, Draco didn't do favors, but he needed a moment to be out of her vision. He needed to settle his urges for her.

He heard her laugh as he went to her desk. He looked back for a moment as flashes of memory entered his mind, reminding him of the times that he made her laugh without meaning to. It was always music to his ears. It pleased his darkened heart to know that someone like him, someone who had only caused her pain and humiliation, could make her produce laughter that came from places deep within her. He longed for that again.

"Granger," he called past his gritted teeth as that nostalgia woke his frustration, "there's a mess on your desk. Where is it?"

"Just look," Hermione replied distractedly as her attention was on that blasted muggle device.

Draco could hear Potter's voice come out of the device as he stared at the scatter of files and sheets of parchment the brunette had on her desk. She was usually organized, but even that had been changing in the past weeks as well (he thought it reflected her mind). He was about to Accio the files she asked for, but he noticed a bouquet of deep, red roses that was sat on the corner of her desk. They weren't her doing, Draco knew that much of her; she hated roses. She told him once that they reminded her of her parents' funeral. That only meant that someone gave them to her.

He knew he shouldn't care, that he should stay out of Granger's life, and if the roses meant something to her then it wasn't his fucking problem, but what self-respected Slytherin did not snoop? He was quick to find the disregarded letter that came with the bouquet.

Dearest Hermione,

Thank you for being a magnificent friend yesterday night. Eloise was beyond enamored with you. She was ready to meet my magical friends and I knew there was no one more perfect than you for her to meet. You truly are filled with grace and intellect, something she was raving about after you left. Now she has to meet the others, but that's currently postponed. Not that I mind helping you, but I'd like to fully introduce her to my world. I honestly think Eloise might be the one.

As for tomorrow morning, I am free to go with you to St. Mungo's. Though, I still think you should tell Ginny. I love you with all my heart, Hermione, but something like this should be shared with her and not me.

Be brave, little Gryffindor, and tell the truth. Do it before it all gets to be too much.

With love,

Theo.

Draco stared at Nott's letter with confusion. What the hell was he talking about? What was Granger hiding? What did she need to be brave about? And why the fuck was Nott going with her to St. Mungo's?

He blinked back to Granger and he found her fully focused on the taped interrogation. He used the opportunity to move away some files in order to find her mail. If Granger had an appointment at the hospital tomorrow then there had to be a reminder that was owled to her that morning. It was the Ministry's policy seeing as Aurors often forgot about their appointments and, as they were constantly wounded or around dark magic, they needed St. Mungo's to hunt them down with any means to get them to attend.

It didn't take long to find a letter marked with the St. Mungo's seal. What he expected to find was the reminder, but he got more than he could have ever imagined when he read the letter.

At four months pregnant, the patient Hermione Granger is showing signs of perfect health. Morning sickness is normal among pregnant women, and it is still quite common for women to suffer these symptoms until the 18th week of pregnancy. Though these symptoms should not interfere with her work or her attention regarding her investigations, it is recommended that Miss Granger go on maternity leave at five months rather than the legal seven months given her—

Granger was pregnant. Granger was four months pregnant. It'd been eight fucking weeks since he last slept with her. She had not been dating anyone in that time. She had lied to him. She had fucking lied and now she was pregnant? Four months ago. Four fucking months.

"What the fuck is this, Granger?!" He was instantly at her side, crossing to her in a blur of fury. He'd taken the muggle device from her hands and she looked up in utter confusion. She had been about to protest, but he silenced her when he threw her the St. Mungo's letter he found. "What is this?!"

Just as quick as he'd gone to confront her, he was just as fast to grab her by her arms and roughly yank her onto her feet. She was still surprised and unaware of what was going on, but sparing one look at the blasted letter and the pink beneath her cheeks faded. She was mortified when she looked back up at him.

"M-Malfoy, I—"

His hands tightened around her arms and he felt his nails dig into her skin. "Four fucking months pregnant?! Four?!"

She winced but he was not distracted. He wasn't sure what the tears in her eyes were for, but he knew there was guilt behind them. She was drowning in remorse more than she was in fear.

"You don't understand," she cried. "I-I...I'm sorry, okay! I messed up! I was—"

"You fucking lied to me, Granger!" he hissed at her, interrupting her excuses. "What the hell were you going to fucking say about this? Were you just hoping that I bloody didn't put two and two together?! I'm not fucking daft, Granger!"

Tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "I didn't want you to hate me," she answered through breathy, panicked puffs. "I was wrong. I was wrong. I...I-I forgot the Contraceptive Spell and...and—I got scared! What was I else was I supposed to do, Malfoy? It was an accident! It was an accident, I'm sorry!"

His fury was still blazing underneath his skin, making his hands shake as he clutched on to her, as he stared at her and hoped that his gaze burned down every bit of her lies into ashes. He felt the fury bring upon the darkness in his soul that made him do and say the worst things imaginable, but he somehow halted himself. He saw the fear in her eyes now and it made him sick to realize that she was afraid of him.

His fingers loosened and he stepped away from her as gently as he could. He couldn't settle on an emotion; everything was a maddening whirlwind. He was angry, frustrated, scared, surprised, confused, miserable, and—

"You don't have to do anything about it, Malfoy," she broke his chain of thoughts when she added more to the tornado in his mind. He glanced back at her, focusing on her brown eyes only to find that she was still crying, but there was a sincerity in that glossy gaze when she spoke. "It was my mistake. I'll handle it. I'll—"

"DO YOU FUCKING THINK—" he paused when his yelling made her jump and added more fear to her expression. He had to find reason in the darkest, smallest places in his mind that would allow him to level his voice. "Who do you take me for, Granger? Do you think I'd just abandoned you with something like this? You're pregnant with my child!"

Salazar, he processed that last bit, she was pregnant with his child. His child. In her womb, in that very moment, right at that second, just like in the past eight weeks, she was carrying his child. They were going to have a child together. Them. She and him. Draco and Hermione. They created a child together.

Hermione seemed stumped. He saw her fear reduce in small numbers and confusion now etched across her face. "Y-You wouldn't...? Malfoy, I-I..." She covered her face with her palms and he could hear her crying from behind them.

It was automatic when he saw her cry to feel like he needed to gather her in his arms and hold her tight. He'd been the reason so many times in the past for her tears, all because of his taunts and his cowardliness, but when he fell for her he vowed to himself to never be the cause of it again. He vowed to protect her as he should've done that night in his manor so many years ago.

"Don't!" But she backed away from him as soon as he decided to take a step towards her. She put up her palms as a means to block him, to forbid him from approaching. "I didn't want this to happen! I didn't want you to know and—I didn't want this! I didn't! It was an accident! I didn't want this!"

She fell to her knees and covered her face once more with her hands. Her tears turned to sobs, sobs that made her shake and that echoed around the walls of her office. He watched her. He felt her. The hate she was radiating with every hysterical cry only proved what he knew all along: she could never love him. Someone like her could never want anything with someone like him. For fuck sakes, she'd been scared of him. She never told him about it because she knew he'd stay with her. She called it an accident, a mistake.

She didn't want anything of his.

The painful fall his heart took at the sight of her, at her words still ringing in his ears, was not given the proper time to be dealt with when the door to her office was slammed open. In came two flashes of reminder that Draco Malfoy was nothing but a cancerous disease.

Potter was instantly kneeling beside Hermione, arms wrapped around her shoulders and pressing her into his chest. She melted into him. Her body reacted in his arms. She was crying and shaking, but somehow she seemed protected and safe.

The idiot Weasel was fumbling in his pockets for his wand, his freckled, disgusting face red to the ears with his own share of hate, mistrust, and anger he always felt for Draco.

"Tell him to leave, Harry!" Hermione cried into his chest. "Tell him to go!"

Draco didn't wait for Saint Potter or Weaselbee to tell him to fuck off. Draco went straight for the door and didn't look back. He could hear her crying, the sound cutting him as it followed him to the doors of the lift.

He didn't know where he was going, but he needed to go. He didn't know how to deal with a broken heart, but he knew he would not handle it like everyone else. He needed to get faraway, faraway from her, faraway from people, or he'd break. Not only himself, but everything around him.

She was done with him and he had to be done with her.