Chapter Text
Medieval Torture and a Constellation.
Years after they had started their odd toe to toe, dashing between romantic partners and colleagues, years after their first touches, their first kisses, their first time making love.
Years after and Hermione was lying in a hospital gown, tired beyond her time and aching like she had just had a medieval torture device pulled out from her cunt, but overall, she was happier than she had ever been.
Hermione had spent 2 days in labour, and only 8 months were spent with her child inside of her.
When her contractions had started in the middle of game night at the Potter’s, she thought it was a fluke, a Braxton Hicks situation.
And then the pain really started coming.
Draco had never looked scared for Hermione, a simple kiss to her palm was not going to ease this pain.
She had screamed. A lot.
Almost as much as when she had been lying on the floor of Malfoy Manor.
Hermione was sure Draco was having war-flashbacks, literally.
When they finally managed to get her through the floo to St Mungos, the whole family had been crowded around her in the wheelchair; Harry, Ginny, Blaise, Ron, Luna, little James, Teddy who was growing up so fast, Victorie, Bill, Fleur and lastly Draco, all surrounding Hermione.
Her screaming hadn’t ceased.
A grisly mediwitch had spotted her when they were wheeling her in and directed the others away, leaving Harry, Draco and Ron.
When the boys began arguing over this and that as Hermione was taken to the room, she relented in her groaning and crying to throw her slipper at one of their heads. It hit Ron, that made her smile.
To this day, she could not remember what she had said when yelling at them, but they all shut up and Ron and Harry left.
Draco, father of her soon to be born child was left in the room, and stayed there all the way through.
When Hermione had let out the last push and the sound of crying hadn’t reached her ears, she panicked, her hand gripping her husband’s with all her might.
And then she heard it.
Oh his little voice was so strong.
The mediwitch at hand grabbed a blanket and began to swaddle him in preparation for cleaning, but Hermione wouldn’t have any of it.
She demanded thoroughly that she wished to hold her son for at least five minutes before he was taken away to be checked for the all clear, he was a month early after all.
She had him for an hour.
He was perfectly fine in her arms, albeit very small.
The tiniest hand curled around her finger and all she could think of was how this was hers. Hers and the beautiful man next to her.
When they had taken him to be cleaned, Draco hopped onto the hospital bed next to her and held her while she rested.
Hermione slept for 17 hours.
When her eyes had cracked open, her first view was of the love of her life holding their infant son, now thoroughly wrapped and decked with a little (green) beanie.
That sight was almost good enough for her to forget the pain of the previous nights in an instant and immediately want Draco to give her a second child.
She must have shifted too loudly, because Draco stirred, eyes dragging away to look up at her.
He gave her a soft smile.
Despite all the pain she was still in, she smiled back.
Draco passed their son over to her, wrapped in his little grey blanket.
After she fed her son for the first time, the couple looked at each other with more love than anyone else would be able to comprehend.
“Scorpius?” Draco had suggested meekly. “I know it’s weird to continue a family tradition after they did… that, but it’s a family tradition and it would connect him to me more-”
“Scorpius Theo Granger-Malfoy.” Hermione had smiled, placing her hand gently on her husband’s cheek.
“Scorpius Theo,” Draco whispered back. “I like that.”
Hermione kissed him gently on the lips, and Draco pulled her hair back into a ponytail for her, getting it out of her face.
Only then, did Hermione realise how she had stopped counting every “important” time he touched her.
Each of them mattered the exact same.
Every single one, big or small.
It mattered.