One-shot
Isabelle
by Eilime

Hermione was sitting on a dark wooden chair outside the office, waiting patiently to be called inside. She was dressed in a cream-coloured suit and high heels with her hair up in a knot, as she sat cross-legged, her right foot swinging slightly.

It was typical, she thought, that he was late. Lack of commitment, lack of respect, lack of general concern. Yes, how typical.

Their meeting was to start in four minutes and he had better to turn up on time. Or, well, as Hermione thought about it, if he didn’t show up on time, it would just serve to heighten her own position.

Hermione was content with this conclusion and she looked around the large empty hall.

She couldn’t believe she was here, though, in the first place. It was very typical of him to want to claim what was rightfully his, or whatever nonsense he had thrown her way the other day when he had contacted her. His sense of pride, possession and monopoly astounded her.

And over a human being, at that?

Hermione sighed as she reached out for her purse, opened it and pulled out her wallet from which she produced a small photograph taken of her and Isabelle just a week after her birth. It had been taken by her parents with their Muggle camera so the picture didn’t move, but her Isabelle exuded every positive feeling, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she sat there, alone in the waiting hall. That she may have to part with her daughter, if only part time, was devastating.

Hermione kissed the photograph and wished for the best as she put the picture back in her wallet and looked at the large clock on the opposite wall to see that it was time.

The door to her left opened and out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a black suit and a sweet smile.

“Miss Granger,” she said politely, stepping out into the hall and indicating towards her office for Hermione to enter.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Graham,” Hermione replied kindly and stepped into the office. “I don’t know where Mr Malfoy is, I’m afraid,” she explained nonchalantly. “He apparently had somewhere better to b--”

“Miss Granger,” a male voice broke her off, and Hermione looked to one of the chairs facing Mrs Graham’s office table. Draco Malfoy had just arisen and walked over to her, his hand outstretched.

Hermione cleared her throat and forced herself to acknowledge his presence with a prim, “Mr Malfoy.”

“Please sit down, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy,” Mrs Graham said politely and headed around her desk.

“Did you have a meeting with Mrs Graham alone?” Hermione asked Draco incredulously. “Isn’t that a bit dishonest?”

“I can assure you, Miss Granger,” Mrs Graham interrupted her softly, “that it has in no way decreased your part in the case.”

“Oh, so it was another case altogether?” Hermione asked as she turned to Draco again. “More innocent children to take, Malfoy?”

“Miss Granger,” Mrs Graham interrupted hastily. “I think we should proceed with the meeting.”

Hermione straightened up in her chair and looked pointedly at the woman opposite her.

“As I see,” Mrs Graham started, looking at the papers laid out on her desk, “you both seek custody of the child. Well…” she took off her reading glasses, folded the side bars and put them neatly on her table. “The best interest of the children is frequent and continuing contact with both parents. Before we go into anything else, have you ever considered staying together for the child’s sake?”

Hermione couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Draco, however, managed to say courtly, “We were never really together, so ‘staying together’ would mean ‘start a relationship’ for us, which is, I feel free to say, quite preposterous.”

Mrs Graham seemed to eye them for a moment before continuing, “The family court’s current emphasis on custodial parenting is not only detrimental to the welfare of the children in most cases, but actually unconstitutional. I would wish you to be completely certain when applying for either sole or joint custody.” She paused as she lent across the table, her hands folded together on the dark wooden table. “I only asked if you had considered staying together for the child’s sake because there is a lot to be done if you wish to proceed; legal custody, physical custody. Additionally, there’s the choice of temporary or permanent custody, the latter of which means your agreement is final, and henceforth it will be very difficult to modify custody. So, it’s important that I have your confirmations of the proceedings.”

Up until now, Hermione hadn’t thought twice about talking to Draco before going to a lawyer. But after Mrs Graham’s speech about all there was to be done and how long and tiring this could be, Hermione found herself thinking twice �“ and was completely appalled by the thought. But Mrs Graham did have a point, and Draco was apparently contemplating their precipitated decisions, too, because neither Hermione nor Draco were replying to Mrs Graham’s speech, and Hermione found out that that meant that they had both been considering the possibilities.

But how could they even consider it? They had only succumbed to each other once, and it was ten months ago, and that Hermione just had to become pregnant was not anticipated nor welcomed by either of them at the time.

Apparently taking their silent demeanours as expressions of doubt, and rightfully so, Mrs Graham asked, “Do you need time to reconsider?”

Hermione glanced sideways at Draco and saw that he was looking thoughtfully down at his folded hands. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up at her, his eyes searching hers.

Hermione didn’t know what to do or say. It would be reasonable to talk with him about how they wanted to do this, or at least to decide the outcome of the custody in peaceful surroundings without lawyers or court sessions.

Still withholding the eye contact, Draco broke the silence, “Yes, I think we need some time.”

Hermione and Draco broke the eye contact simultaneously as they both looked up at Mrs Graham who nodded and gathered her papers. “I shall see you again when you’ve come to the arrangements you see fit,” she said kindly and stood up from her office chair, heading for the door. She held it open for them and bid them farewell with a handshake before closing the door behind them.

Hermione and Draco stood silent in the empty hall, the only sound being the ticking of the second hand of the large clock on the opposite wall.

Hermione fidgeted slightly with her purse but finally found the courage to talk. “So… we should find some day to discuss the matter.” She paused as she dared a look at him; he was looking intently at her and it made her uncomfortable. “When is it good for you?” she asked.

“Erm…” Draco seemed to be remembering his calendar and suddenly asked, “How about Friday? We could talk over a dinner. I mean, it’ll probably take a while to agree on everything, or anything, so a meal in between would be plausible.”

“You’re right,” Hermione admitted reluctantly. “Where, then?”

“You can come to my flat, if you want,” Draco proposed. “It’ll be more private than a restaurant.”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “Seven, then?”

“Sounds fine,” Draco consented. “Will… Will you be bringing our daughter?” he asked softly.

Hermione mentally cringed. ‘Our daughter’ wasn’t a phrase she would happily use in connection to Draco. It was all painfully clear that she could never separate Isabelle from him completely, however blindly she had thought so only half an hour before.

“I don’t think that’ll be a good idea,” she croaked. Then seeing his sad expression, she elaborated, “She would just interrupt us all the time. My parents will look after her.”

“Right…” He didn’t seem happy with the idea, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel sympathetic towards him; he had after all never seen Isabelle.

Hermione was about to say goodbye and leave, when Draco suddenly asked, “Has she been baptised?”

“Not yet,” she answered. Quite interested in what names he may have come up with on his own, or interested in knowing if he had even thought as far as that, Hermione asked, “What would you call her? Have you thought of any possible names?”

He seemed a bit taken aback by the question. Hermione thought he might be puzzled that she’d ask him this, that she may want him to take part in the decision, but she knew that when it came to it, he would not have any say in the matter. Isabelle was Isabelle; it had been her name for 25 days �“ except for the first three days after her birth where her name had been ‘Boo’.

“Well…” Draco muttered, scratching his neck with embarrassment, agitation or pensiveness. Or maybe he was just itchy, Hermione supposed.

“I actually thought about Isabelle,” he finished, looking at her.

Hermione looked intently at him. Was it a coincidence or had someone told him? No, no one had talked to him in a long time; it had to be a coincidence. And what an unpleasant one.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I’ll see you Friday.” She then turned on her heel and headed down the hall, her heals clicking on the marble floor.

ooo

It had taken Hermione quite some time to ready herself for what she was about to do. Just her outfit had proven difficult to decide since she didn’t want to dress up, nor did she want to look like being a single mother was taking its torn on her. So, a couple of hours and a lot of schizophrenic conversations later, Hermione was standing outside Draco’s flat building, wearing a light green skirt, a simple white shirt with a cardigan over it, and her most formal high-heeled shoes.

She let out a heavy breath and pressed the button next to which Draco Malfoy’s name was written. Seconds later, his voice sounded through the connection device. “Yes?”

“It’s Hermione,” Hermione replied in a small voice.

“Come on up,” were his last words after which an annoying sound erupted and Hermione was able to open the door. She walked up the stairs to the second floor where she saw his name printed on the door on the right. Before she even got to knock on the door, he opened it and said politely, “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” she replied as she was ushered inside.

“I hope you like salmon,” Draco began, walking down the hall towards what apparently was the kitchen. “I made salmon. I didn’t know if you liked salmon. But I thought, why not go for it? So, salmon it is. If you don’t like salmon, I can make something else…”

“Salmon’s fine,” Hermione replied firmly, actually emitting a small laugh at his nervous demeanour. She walked into the kitchen after him and took in the delicious smells of their impending dinner. “It smells good,” she complimented.

“Thank you,” he replied and turned off the stove, then grabbed two potholders and proceeded with the dish in his hands towards the dining room. “Please, sit down,” he said, after which he headed back to the kitchen only to return a moment later with a bottle of wine. “Would you like some wine?” he asked her before sitting down.

“Yes, please,” Hermione answered, feeling this was exactly what she needed to calm her nerves a bit.

After pouring her a glass, Draco sat down and indicated for her to help herself.

They started off eating in silence for neither of them seemed to know how to start their inevitable conversation of Isabelle’s future.

“It’s really delicious,” Hermione told him politely, feeling that someone had to say something.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Draco replied with a genuine smile.

Hermione hadn’t seen him smile since that fateful night ten months ago. In fact, she hadn’t seen much of him during the pregnancy, but that was how she had wanted it herself. When he had found out about the pregnancy, he had come to see her. It had been Harry who had told him, the traitor. Hermione had of course told Harry and Ron who the father was, and she hadn’t even waited that long to tell them, her stomach hadn’t protruded much, and she was proud, now that she looked back on it, to see that she had been straightforward, and their response was much more understanding than if she had waited two months. Harry and Draco worked together, and Harry had apparently wanted Draco to know, so one day, Draco had turned up on Hermione’s doorstep, wanting to know if it was true and why she hadn’t told him. Why one night of passion, loneliness, and lust had to lead to pregnancy and the return of the other party, was unfair. But, of course, it was as much his child as it was hers.

She had been terribly cold towards him that day, and he hadn’t come back until she was in the ninth month of pregnancy. He had wanted to know when she was supposed to give birth, but she hadn’t wanted him to come, neither for the birth nor ever again, and she had closed the door in his face.

Hermione found that she couldn’t eat any more; her throat had gained a persistent knot, so she put down her fork and knife and instead took an unnecessary large gulp of her wine. After putting down her glass, she muttered, “I’m sorry I excluded you from the birth.”

She heard the clearing of his knife against the plate stop, and she looked up at him to see him looking intently at her. He cleared his throat and said, “I understand. I mean, we weren’t actually going through the pregnancy phase together, so it was all right.” He just lacked the hesitant ‘I guess’ in the end to make the uncertainty in his voice definite.

Silence grew again, and Draco poured Hermione another glass of wine as she looked around his flat. It was small and simple, not at all expensive and immaculate as she had expected. Then again, he wasn’t the same as he had been as a teenager. He had inherited his father’s fortune after the death of the latter, but apparently he hadn’t wanted to buy some enormous flat with more rooms than necessary.

“What’s she like?” Draco’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Hermione turned to look at him and couldn’t help but smile. “She’s a gem. She incredibly adorable, and very independent �“ well, she wants to be independent but she can’t even hold her own head up yet, so…” Hermione grinned slightly, thinking about Isabelle and how much she actually was like her parents. “She looks a bit like you,” she muttered daringly.

Draco seemed to light up a bit. “How?”

“Well, she has your nose, and your chin,” Hermione replied, picturing her daughter.

Draco flashed a genuine smile and Hermione had to take a sip from her wine glass to stop herself from smiling back. “Can I ask you something?” he asked quietly. Hermione nodded for him to go on. “Why did you keep her?”

Hermione was caught off guard by the question, but finally managed to mumble, “I… well, I guess I was… lonely.” Hermione cleared her throat and added hastily, “And I’ve always wanted children. Not that I was old and couldn’t wait �“ I was only 25 �“ but I didn’t want to get an abortion or put her out for adoption.”

Draco nodded silently and drank from his wine glass. “So, what do you call her?” he asked after a small silence.

“Erm, ‘Boo’,” Hermione replied untruthfully. “I haven’t decided on a name yet.”

Draco chuckled slightly, but then apparently decided to get on with what they were there for. “So, what do you think we should do?”

Hermione thought for a moment before answering, “Well, we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions without weighing our options first. Mrs Graham’s suggestion of staying together seems, like you said, absolutely ridiculous. There has never been anything romantic between us, only common loneliness, lust, and not to mention alcohol. We accidentally met one night, things got a little carried away and then we didn’t speak for months. It doesn’t sound like the best way to start any kind of commitment.”

“But for Boo’s sake?” Draco asked, urging her to continue.

Hermione thought the name Boo sounded exceptionally strange coming from his mouth. When he had said Isabelle three days before out in the hall outside Mrs Graham’s office, it had sounded as though his voice was meant for and bound to her name.

“For Boo’s sake,” she continued, “we should come to some agreement. I don’t know what yet, though.”

“Maybe you could let me see her a bit before we decide anything major?” Draco proposed, a slight plea in his voice.

Hermione felt utterly sorry that she had excluded him from Isabelle’s first month of life, and knew she would have been completely devastated had it been the other way around.

“Yes, that seems fair.” Hermione nodded.

Draco seemed pleased with her approbation and took a sip from his glass. Hermione used the silence to look around his flat again. A television was placed in front of a large bookcase, a stereo put into on of the shelves. He had a fair amount of Muggle devices, that Hermione was surprised to see.

“It’s amazing how our paths continue to cross,” Draco said suddenly. Hermione turned to look at him again. “At Hogwarts, then eight years later we meet in a club, a baby led to us meeting again, and here we are �“ each trying to get the right to have our daughter, whom we created together and who is as much Granger as she is Malfoy.”

Hermione looked down at her hands. He was so annoyingly right is his discreet way of telling them they were utter morons for trying to split up Isabelle’s life. Why should she have to lose one parent, when it was obvious they both wanted to have her? Why couldn’t they have her together?

Because they hadn’t had a real conversation before this one. Because too much was at stake. Because she was scared.

But wasn’t she just as scared to be doomed to live her life alone, with no companion to enjoy watching Isabelle grow?

“Yes, it does seem stupid to try and gain sole custody of a child who’s as much yours as mine,” Hermione replied silently.

When Hermione had finished her wine, she stated softly, “I think I have to head home now.”

“All right…” Draco muttered.

“I want to get Isabelle at my parent’s before it gets too late,” Hermione explained, rising from her seat.

“Isabelle?” Draco asked, puzzled, as he, too, stood up from his seat. “You call her Isabelle?”

Well, the truth was out. “Talk about coincidence, huh?” Hermione replied with a crooked smile. “Boo was just a temporary name, which she only went by for three days, actually.”

“Isabelle,” Draco said to himself, as if tasting the name of his lips. “Beautiful.”

“Well, I’ll just be off,” Hermione said uncertainly and headed for the door.

“We should find another day to meet,” Draco proposed. “To talk more about what we want to do. Maybe you could bring Isabelle?”

“I don’t think it would be such a good idea to bring her so soon,” Hermione replied lamely.

“Oh… All right.” Draco seemed to accept her reply, however reluctantly, which surprised Hermione. “How about tomorrow afternoon, then?”

“All right,” Hermione answered. “Here?”

“Yeah, sure.” Draco nodded.

“See you then,” Hermione said and headed down the stairwell.

“Bye,” Draco muttered from behind her, and Hermione heard his front door close as she continued down the stairs and out into the warm August night.

ooo

Hermione walked up to the doorsteps slowly, not really knowing if she had made the right decision; Isabelle was in her arms, and she was apprehensive of bringing her along. She had told Draco the previous day that she wouldn’t bring her so soon, but after thinking it through that night over a cup of tea, she had decided she wasn’t being fair.

So, here she was, ready �“ well, not quite ready �“ to let Isabelle meet her father.

After Draco had set off the buzzing sound on the door, Hermione ascended the stairs. When she reached his door, she gingerly knocked and waited nervously for it to open. She heard the lock click on the other side and then Draco appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, Herm--” He stopped abruptly at the sight of the small girl in Hermione’s arms. “--ione.”

He stood stock still in the hallway, his eyes fixed on the child, and Hermione said softly, “Draco, this is Isabelle.”

“She’s adorable,” Draco uttered. “I can’t believe I made her.”

“I believe I took part in that, too,” Hermione replied, trying to slow her nerves.

“Oh, right, sorry �“ come in,” Draco hurriedly mumbled, making room for them to enter.

Hermione placed the large bag she had been carrying on her shoulder on the floor and turned to look at Draco, who had just closed the door again. He stood staring at Isabelle again, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile slightly as she asked, “Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” Draco asked uncertainly.

“Sure,” Hermione replied and held out Isabelle to him. She helped him hold her correctly, and then said anxiously, “Mind her head.”

Draco rocked Isabelle slowly in his arms, then lifted up an index finger and prodded her small nose, which made her look blankly up at him. “I thought you weren’t going to bring her?” he said, still looking at the small frame in his arms.

“I wasn’t being fair,” Hermione muttered. “You deserve to see her.”

Draco looked up at her and, for the first time that day, really looked at her. He smiled. “Thank you.”

Hermione nodded, as Draco continued to prod Isabelle’s nose lightly and stroke her cheeks. She made a grab for his finger and held it tight with her whole hand.

“She’s so tiny,” Draco whispered. He slowly walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. “Hi, Isabelle,” he said. “I’m your dad. Yeah, that’s me; daddy.”

Hermione watched him from the doorway and couldn’t help but think that this was how it should look; having the father in the picture, and not her being the only one to love Isabelle. She should feel lucky, Hermione thought, that the father of the child wanted anything to do with their daughter. When it was the outcome of a one-night stand, that she didn’t have to be alone with the child was lucky, definitely.

Of course, Hermione had not wanted to tell him in the first place, had wanted to deal with it herself and make it her life to care for this child, but now maybe having Draco to help her wasn’t such a bad thing.

Of course, any kind of family situation would be out of the question; there was nothing romantic between them, there never had been, and Hermione didn’t want Isabelle’s ‘family’ to be founded with lies.

Of course, seeing him there with her �“ with their daughter, Hermione couldn’t help but find him somewhat cute, tickling Isabelle, talking in baby language and saying “I’m your dad, yes, I am” over and over again.

“She is too cute,” Draco exclaimed, interrupting Hermione’s train of thoughts.

Hermione grinned and walked over to them.

“Here, sit down,” Draco proffered, scooting over on the sofa to make room for her. Hermione sat down tentatively. “See, there’s mum,” Draco said, as he moved Isabelle around so she faced Hermione. “She looks just like you.”

Hermione didn’t know whether he was talking to her or Isabelle, but just decided to remain silent.

“She does have my chin,” Draco pointed out proudly. “And look at her eyebrows; they’re blond but more brownish than mine.”

“Yeah.” Hermione smiled. “She’s a good mixture.”

“Yeah…” Draco replied, completely in his own world. He lifted Isabelle up to his shoulder and padded her back softly. “She said something! Hermione, she said something!” he suddenly exclaimed.

“Draco, she burped,” Hermione explained with a chuckle.

“Aww, how cute is that,” he replied adoringly and put Isabelle down again, so he could stare at her.

“Very,” Hermione said, amused.

Draco kept staring at Isabelle, poking her lightly and speaking nonsense to her, but after fifteen minutes, she started whimpering.

“Oh, no, what’s happening?” Draco asked, panicked.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione calmed him. “She just needs to be fed.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered. “Erm, here.” He handed Isabelle to Hermione, who got off the sofa and headed for the large armchair in the corner. She sat down and began to unbutton her shirt, and Draco quickly looked away.

After having positioned Isabelle, Hermione said to Draco, “It’s okay now.”

Draco hesitantly turned around and gave her a crooked smile. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, a slight pink touch to his cheeks, as he watched Hermione breastfeed their daughter. “Who wouldn’t want to be a baby? You sleep, you burp, and every once in a while someone sticks a breast in your mouth.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked up at Draco, who had a mischievous look on his face.

Apparently noticing her scandalised expression, Draco assured her, “Don’t worry; I didn’t come up with it. I saw it on some Muggle show on TV once.”

Hermione chose not to answer and focused her attention on Isabelle instead.

The rest of the afternoon went by fairly quickly. There were only a few uncomfortable silences, but mostly you could catch Draco making strange faces at Isabelle, talking pure nonsense to her, or just generally being completely un-Malfoyish, like laughing at Muggle jokes that Hermione had no idea he would have understood in the first place, suggesting they take a walk in the park, wanting to change Isabelle’s nappy.

Needless to say, Hermione was completely dumbfounded when she returned home late that afternoon.

She fed Isabelle and got her to sleep quite easily. Positioning herself comfortably in a plush armchair, Hermione picked up her newspaper.

The next day she was going to London to run some errands and she was to leave Isabelle with her parents. It would be the first time she had had a day to herself since her daughter was born. Not that she was complaining, not at all, but it had been her mother’s idea. She had said Hermione needed to pamper herself a bit, buy some clothes, get a manicure, and relax with a cup of coffee in a nice café. Of course, Hermione didn’t intend to do any of that; there was a new bookstore that she had been dying to check out.

Draco had asked what she was doing the next day, and when she answered that she was leaving Isabelle at her parents’ to have a day off, he had proffered to watch out for Isabelle instead. Hermione had told him that she had already made the arrangements with her parents and that he was very kind for suggesting it, but there was no need.

Yeah, she had crushed his hopes once again. Brilliantly done, Hermione. Why was she so determined to keep him away from Isabelle? Well, he had spent an entire afternoon with Isabelle that day, and Hermione was sure he would indeed take care of Isabelle as he said he could, but…

Well, no matter. Isabelle was to stay with her parents.

Hermione had told her parents who the father was. They had never actually seen Draco, but they had certainly heard of him from Hermione’s school days, and to say they had been shocked when Hermione had said he was the father of her unborn child would be an understatement. Of course, Hermione had told them Draco had changed sides and all that, but to think that she was expecting a child with the man who had verbally tortured their little daughter for many years was outrageous.

They had now somehow accepted the fact, but they had still never met him. All the better, Hermione thought. They probably wouldn’t get along anyway, what with Draco being… well, Draco, and her parents being Muggles.

Hermione put down her newspaper when her eyes started drooping and she prepared for bed. She was actually quite looking forward to her free time the next day, and fell asleep with the trace of a smile on her face.

ooo

After leaving Isabelle with her parents, Hermione headed for London and walked straight into the new bookstore where she bought a couple of books, and afterwards, she actually bought some clothing, too. She didn’t follow her mother’s manicure suggestion; she had a month-old child for God’s sake. It would be a waste of money.

She arrived back at her parents’ house later that afternoon and opened the front door with her elbow, her hands being occupied by several bags.

“Mum, dad, I’m back!” she yelled. She kicked the door shut with her foot and turned around to face an empty house. Putting down her bags, she walked through the hall, into the kitchen, into the living room, and then saw that the veranda doors were open. She walked through them and into the garden, finally hearing her parents’ voices. Hermione was about to say hi when she heard another voice laugh along with her parents.

Hermione rounded a bush and blinked at the sight before her.

There was Draco chatting amicably with Mr and Mrs Granger with Isabelle firmly placed in his arms.

“Erm… Hi,” Hermione said weakly.

“Oh, hello, pumpkin!” her father greeted her cheerily. “Draco here’s just been telling us about the time you smacked him on the face back in school.”

Hermione looked sceptically from her father to Draco, who was waving Isabelle’s arm at her.

“Erm, yeah, good times, good times,” Hermione muttered walking up to them. “Draco, can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked with a forced smile.

“Sure,” he replied, and they walked a bit away from Hermione’s parents. “What’s up?”

Before answering, Hermione reached out for Isabelle and took her in her arms, kissing her forehead. “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked.

“What? I thought it quite natural that I should meet your parents,” Draco replied, his eyebrows furrowed.

“But behind my back?” Hermione pressed on.

“Well, it’s not exactly like we’re a couple and you need to introduce me,” he replied, a slight edge to his tone that Hermione couldn’t decipher.

“Well… No… But--”

“I can’t see what the matter is,” Draco interrupted. “We were getting along fine.”

“And that’s exactly what’s wrong. You shouldn’t be getting along with my parents. We’re on different sides in the child custody case, and you’re messing it up!”

“By being friendly?” Draco asked. “And by the way, the point of these meetings we’ve been having was to decide what to do about the case, because we both thought it was ludicrous to both seek sole custody. We were supposed to find some other solution.”

“And what do you suggest then?” Hermione asked indignantly.

“I… Well, can’t we just try to make things work?” he asked.

“Make what work?”

“This!” He gestured wildly between the two of them and Isabelle in Hermione’s arms.

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting that.”

“I just… I just don’t want to lose you--her,” Draco replied quickly.

“Oh, Draco, you’re not going to lose Isabelle,” Hermione reassured him. “I’ll let you see her.”

“But it’s not the same as seeing her every day,” he replied. “We can’t do this to each other, trying to take Isabelle away from the other parent.”

“You’re right, but what do you suggest?” Hermione asked desperately, though Draco had already spoken his mind about their possibilities.

“Let’s take the fucking step!” he answered impatiently.

“Draco!” Hermione exclaimed, clapping a hand on Isabelle’s innocent ear.

“Sorry,” he said hurriedly.

“Look…” Hermione sighed. “I couldn’t live like that. I mean, our ‘family’ would be based on lies and platonic relations… right?”

Deep down, Hermione really wanted to know. She couldn’t really imagine what living with Draco would be like, but if he had some idea of what it could be like, or what it could develop into, she would like to know if he saw such potential.

“Right…” Draco replied half-heartedly with a sigh.

It wasn’t the response Hermione had foreseen, and she couldn’t quite decide what to make of it.

“See you in court then,” Draco replied before Hermione could say anything. Draco leaned down and kissed Isabelle on the forehead before walking away from Hermione to say goodbye to her parents.

Hermione watched as Draco shook hands with her father, watched her mother smile sweetly at Draco before giving him a peck on the cheek. Mr Granger walked Draco back into the house to lead him to the front door, as Hermione watched her mother approach her.

“That was nicely done, dear,” her mother said without preamble, but with a large about of sarcasm in her voice, “Scaring off the first eligible man in your life.”

“He’s not the first man in my life, mum.” Hermione replied, not really contradicting her mother.

“No, but certainly the one with the most charm and potential.”

“Drop it, mum.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Mrs Granger lifted her hands in defence. “I just don’t see why you would let such a handsome man walk away from you when he clearly loves Isabelle as much as you do.”

Why couldn’t the woman just mind her own business?

“Well, I’m just not inclined to live my life with a man who doesn’t love me, thus weakening my options of finding the love of my life.”

“You know what they say about the love of your life…” her mother began.

“Yes, there is more than one for each.”

“No, they’re often right under your nose,” Mrs Granger corrected with a twinkle in her eye.

“Mum, stop pestering me about this. Draco and I aren’t meant to be!” Hermione exclaimed. “I mean, just look at us.”

“I am,” her mother replied, “and you look so cute.”

“Mother, that doesn’t suffice!” Hermione responded irritably.

“Well, it’s not just that,” Mrs Granger began. “It was the way he talked about you before you came back from your day off, and how he looked at you when you stepped out into the garden.”

“Mother…” Hermione mumbled warningly.

“I’ve lived in the world for much longer than you, dear, and I think I can recognise it when a man is infatuated by someone.”

“Mother, just drop it,” Hermione said firmly.

Mrs Granger shrugged her shoulders and Hermione walked passed her and into the house.

ooo

The next day, Hermione was in a bad mood. Her mother’s pestering had made her think, and it was insufferable. To think that she was even considering trying to find out if her mother had been right. What did her mother know about love anyway? Just because she had been happily married for 30 years didn’t make her an expert.

And when did Hermione’s thoughts start using the term ‘love’? Her mother had talked about infatuation, not love. Not even ‘to be in love’, or ‘to fancy’…

Oh, when did life become so complicated?

See you in court.

That sentence reiterated in her mind. Draco had sounded despondent, annoyed and somewhat hurt. No! Hurt? Impossible.

Maybe she should call him? Just as she reached out for the phone, it rang. It was her mother calling, asking her to dinner. Hermione accepted only with a slight reluctance.

She arrived at her parents’ house with Isabelle in a carrycot and rang the doorbell. Her father opened the door with a bright smile, enthusiastically assuring her that the outside grill was getting warmed up, before taking Isabelle out of the carrycot and walking out on the terrace.

“Hermione, dear,” her mother greeted her, drying her hands on her apron as she came out from the kitchen. Hermione embraced her mother in a hug and together they went through the dining room towards the terrace. However, Hermione, catching a glimpse of the dinner table, noticed four plates, not three.

“Erm, mum, who else will be joining us?” Hermione asked, dreading the answer.

“Well, do you remember Lucas, the Bartletts’ youngest son, who Mrs Bartlett and I have been trying to set you up with for ages, but nothing seems to fit in our plans, and you and Lucas always had different plans on the night you were supposed to meet and you never actually met him, but we were still counting on setting the two of you up?”

The doorbell rang just as Hermione gave a hesitant “Yes…?” to her mother. She walked over to the front door and opened it.

“Well,” her mother continued. “He is now married, so I asked Draco instead.”

Outside the front door stood Draco, a half smile visible his face. Hermione’s mother’s evasive answer had indeed misled Hermione not to think that Draco would be the fourth at the dinner table, but, really, she should know her mother better.

“Where are our manners?” Mrs Granger exclaimed, rushing forward to usher Draco inside. “Come in, come in. Did you get here fine? Oh, but you probably Appiserated here.”

“Apparated, mother,” Hermione corrected with a smile.

“You say potato, I say this young man needs a drink,” her mother chatted on amiably.

“Erm, thank you,” Draco replied as Mrs Granger disappeared into the kitchen.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a short while, but Hermione ended it with a nervous, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“S’all right,” Draco dismissed it. “But let’s just use this opportunity to find a date that fits us both for our meeting with Mrs Graham.”

“Right…” Hermione replied weakly.

“Drinks are outside, dears!” they heard Hermione’s mother exclaim.

They walked through the house and outside in silence. Mr Granger was sitting with Isabelle in his lap, a scotch and rattle situated within reaching distance on the table.

“Ah, Draco, welcome,” he greeted him pleasantly and stood up to shake his hand, after which he handed Isabelle to her father.

Draco accepted her gladly and whispered softly in her ear as he headed down into the garden. Hermione and her father watched him walk around the garden talking to Isabelle.

“Such a pleasant fellow,” Mr Granger interrupted the silence with his deep voice.

Hermione sighed irritably and accepted the white wine her father was handing her. She sat down in a garden chair and surveyed her father.

“Dad…?”

“Pumpkin…?”

“What’s the real purpose of this dinner?”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked. “Can’t your parents invite their daughter and the father of their first grandchild over for the first time?”

“Yes…”

“Well, then I’d better take a look at the steaks.” Mr Granger rose from his seat and headed for the grill, casting Hermione a glance over his shoulder, saying, “Why don’t you go join him?”

There was no need to ask whom he was talking about; Hermione had unconsciously been looking out into the garden, and Mr Granger had apparently noticed.

Hermione got up rather slowly and walked down the terrace into the garden. Draco was wandering around in the corner, still talking to Isabelle.

“Hey…” Hermione muttered.

“Is dinner ready?” Draco asked.

“No, not yet. That’s not why I came,” she replied. “Draco… Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why do you have to be so persistent?”

“I was born a pain in the arse, Granger, surely you must have realised that by now.”

Hermione gave him a crooked smile and stroked Isabelle’s cheek. “Look… I don’t know why I’ve been so resistant, well, I do know; there are some things that are just hard to forget. But I guess it does make sense in some infinitesimal way to try and make things work, but the fact remains that everyone will just end up dead or driven to insanity because neither party ever truly wanted it. At least, that’s what I presume. But, of course, I can’t really speak more than my own thoughts, and I know that I haven’t even really spoken them, but you must understand, it takes a lot for me to just do something like that, and I don’t understand how you can so lightly let everything drop. Apparently there’s something behind it, but--”

“Hermione,” Draco interrupted firmly. “You’re babbling.”

“Yeah, well, I understood what I was saying,” she replied with a shrug.

“I think I did, too,” he responded, and Hermione could have sworn he moved just a bit closer. While she was trying to convince herself that it had been an illusion, he moved still closer, and Hermione now found it hard to convince herself that she was hallucinating, what with him standing mere inches from her now, and it was very hard to deny the fact that he was, quite frankly, leaning in, and in all the frenzy and the deafening sound of the wings of the butterflies now flying around inside her, she still managed to close her eyes split-seconds before they would meet.

But he never came. Hermione popped one eye open to see him retreating slowly, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Erm, just a moment,” he said distractedly and quickly strode through the garden, up the terrace, and into the house, Isabelle still in his arms.

Hermione stood stock still in the garden, wondering what on earth just happened. He had been about to kiss her, right? Why had he stopped and run into the house?

Only moments later, Draco came back out of the house and moved quickly down the garden to Hermione. Hermione was about to ask where he had left Isabelle, when he reached her side and pulled her to him. He kissed her passionately before she could even register it, but she quickly overcame the shock and joined in. The tension that had shrouded their lives evaporated and they remained in the delightful moment of utter bliss, until the inevitable came…

“The steaks are ready, dear!” Mr Granger cried to his wife, interrupting the two.

Hermione and Draco unglued themselves and stood panting, looking at each other. They were silent for a while, until Draco took her hand.

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“Mmh…”

“Yeah.”

“Well…”

“You?”

“Same.”