Chapter Text
The room at St. Mungos had gone quiet in that strange, stretched way that only happened after hours of noise.
Hermione Granger, no - Hermione Malfoy now, she reminded herself faintly - was curled slightly on her side, damp curls plastered to her temples, fingers clenched in the linen sheets as another contraction built. The pain came in waves now - deep, consuming, and unapologetic.
She had stopped trying to track the hours sometime ago. Ten? Twelve? It no longer mattered. Time had reduced itself to contractions and breath, to the tight grip of Draco’s hand and the sound of her own voice (and his) as she fought through each surge.
Her body felt ancient, stretched thin and trembling with effort. Every muscle burned, and every thought fractured under the weight of exhaustion.
Another contraction built suddenly, fiercely, stealing the air from her lungs.
“Oh Merlin…” Hermione gasped, fingers clawing at the sheets.
“I’ve got you,” Draco said instantly, moving closer, one arm firm behind her shoulders, the other hand clasped tightly in hers. His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so, but she could feel the tension beneath it, the way his muscles were locked tight, the way he leaned into her pain as though he could share it. “Breathe with me. In..slow. That’s it. You’re doing it.”
As she exhaled, she let out a strained laugh that ended in a hiss. “You…you said that an hour ago.”
“And I was right then, too,” he replied solemnly, though his eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion and worry. “Consistency is a virtue.”
Hermione rolled her eyes weakly, then inhaled sharply as the contraction peaked and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, teeth clenched as the pain crested. Her nails dug into his sleeve and she squeezed his hand like she meant to crush bone. He didn’t flinch or pull away.
“I can’t—” she whispered hoarsely. “Draco, I’m so tired.”
“Breathe,” he said softly, counting under his breath. “With me. That’s it. Merlin, you’re incredible.”
“I don’t….urghh…feel incredible,” she ground out.
“I know. But you are.”
The Healer hovered nearby, discreet but watchful, giving Draco an approving nod that did nothing to settle his nerves. He’d read every book Hermione had shoved into his hands over the past nine months. He’d memorized breathing patterns, pain scales, warning signs. None of it had prepared him for this - the raw, relentless effort it demanded of her, or the helplessness of watching someone you loved to endure it.
As the contraction eased, and Hermione sagged back against the pillows, chest heaving.
“Almost twelve hours,” she muttered. “Draco, if this goes on any longer, I’m renaming her out of spite.”
He smiled despite himself, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I absolutely would. Something dreadful. Euphemia. Or Mildred.”
He gasped theatrically. “You wouldn’t curse my daughter like that.”
“Our daughter,” Hermione corrected automatically, then softened. “And you’ll survive.”
“My ancestors are spinning in their graves already,” he said lightly. “First, a muggle-born wife. Now a daughter. The Malfoy family tapestry is having a crisis.”
That earned him a tired but genuine smile.
Another hour passed in increments of breath and whispered encouragement. Draco offered water, murmured praise, made ridiculous comments when she needed distraction and fell silent when she didn’t. When Hermione cried, he held her. When she snapped at him, he took it without complaint. When she doubted herself, he reminded her, again and again, that she was not alone.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered at one point, voice breaking as exhaustion threatened to swallow her whole.
Draco pressed his forehead to hers. “You already are,” he said. “Every second. And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He brushed the damp curls away from her face.
The Healer’s voice cut gently through the haze. “You are progressing well, Hermione. I will not lie; it has been a long labour. But you are strong, and your body knows what to do.”
Hermione laughed weakly. “My body,” she panted, “is a liar.”
Draco huffed out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “We’ll discuss its betrayal later.”
Another contraction hit before she could recover. Hermione cried out this time, raw and unguarded, and Draco felt something twist violently in his chest. He hated this, hated that he could not take the pain from her, hated that all he could do was bear witness and hold her together while she fought.
Hours blurred into each other. Draco counted breaths, offered water, whispered nonsense when distraction helped and fell silent when it did not. When Hermione snapped at him, he accepted it without comment. When she cried, he held her. When her resolve wavered, he lent her his.
At some point, Hermione slumped back against the pillows, utterly spent.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I really can’t.”
“You are incredible,” he murmured fiercely, lips brushing her temple. “Do you hear me? You are doing something extraordinary.”
She shook her head faintly. “I don’t feel—“
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’ll feel it for both of us.”
The Healer stepped forward, her tone shifting, focused and steady. “Hermione. The next contraction, you need to push.”
Fear flickered through Hermione’s exhaustion. Draco gently squeezed her hand, grounding her.
“Look at me,” he said softly. She did, tears slipping free.
“You trust me?” he asked. Hermione nodded in agreement.
“Good. Then trust that I will not let you fall.”
The contraction came like a tidal wave. Hermione bore down with a cry torn from somewhere deep and primal, her body shaking with the effort. Draco spoke constantly, voice rough, emotional but unwavering.
The Healer continued to coach and guide. “That’s it. Yes. You’re doing it well, Hermione. Just like that. One more…one more and she’s here.”
Time narrowed to breath and pain and the desperate need to finish what she had begun.
Then suddenly…
A sound cut through the room. Sharp. New. Alive.
Hermione collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing with relief and disbelief as the Healer lifted a tiny, squirming bundle into view.
The baby was small and perfect and red-faced, fists clenched as she announced herself to the world. The Healer smiled warmly. “A healthy girl.”
Draco froze, breath stolen clean from his lungs. In that moment, he literally forgot to breathe.
A girl. He thought, more like could not believe it.
“Oh my…,” he whispered, voice breaking entirely.
Draco laughed, a broken, breathless sound, as tears spilled freely down his cheeks. “Did you hear that?” he said to Hermione, voice shaking. “A girl. We made a girl.”
Hermione laughed weakly through her tears. “You sound surprised.” They both laughed. “Draco,” she said weakly. “We did it.” He kissed her gently.
The baby’s cry softened as she was placed gently into Hermione’s arms. She was warm. Real. Her weight settled into Hermione’s chest like an anchor, grounding her completely.
“Hello,” Hermione whispered, tears slipping freely. “Hello, my love. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Draco stepped closer, reverent now, afraid to disturb the fragile miracle between them. He reached out tentatively, touching one impossibly small hand. Her fingers curled around his instinctively.
Something inside him gave way.
“First Malfoy girl in… centuries,” he murmured “Do you realize the chaos you’ve just unleashed, my beautiful girl?”
The baby yawned. Hermione smiled up at him, eyes shining. “I think she’ll handle it.”
He laughed, a breathless, broken sound, and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, unashamed. “She’s perfect,” he said. “Merlin, she’s perfect.”
Hermione smiled up at him, exhausted and radiant. “She has your hair.” Draco scoffed softly. “Tragic.”
Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione’s forehead, then to their daughter’s blonde curls, holding them both as though he might never let go.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. “For her. For us.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, the ache still there but softened now by something stronger. “Worth it,” she said.
Draco laughed softly, brushing his thumb over his daughter’s tiny knuckles. “Ask me again in twelve years.”
Together, they sat in the quiet aftermath. Utterly exhausted, overwhelmed, and absolutely in love, as the newest Malfoy slept peacefully between them, rewriting history without even trying.