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Hermione lets out a long-suffering sigh and flops dramatically across the scrawled-over parchment.
“At this point,” she mutters from underneath her wayward hair, “we may as well call her something utterly ridiculous like—like Buttercup.”
“Well,” Draco muses as he gently lifts some of her curls away from her face. “That is a flower name, so mother would be happy.”
Hermione swats lightly at his hand. “You know damn well what I mean,” she grumbles. The temporarily-named Buttercup seems to stretch her little fingers right between Hermione’s ribs and squeezes. Hermione winces and straightens back up.
“I know,” Draco murmurs as he gets to his feet. He stands behind Hermione's chair and gently rubs at her tense shoulders. “What name do you want?”
“I don’t even know anymore,” Hermione mutters, leaning into his touch. “But if we don’t pick something then Buttercup is going to stick.”
“Alright.” Draco leans down and presses a kiss to her hair. “Forget all the flowers and stars and mythologies. What names do you like?”
“Something easier to pronounce than Hermione.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Something like—I don’t know—your family will think it’s too plain.” She shifts against the pillowed chair and wishes there was just a little more space between her ribs.
“It’s not their baby to name,” Draco points out as he presses his thumb into a stubborn knot. “It’s ours.”
“Well,” Hermione hedges as she opens her eyes and picks up the quill. “Something simple like Jane or Emily?”
“Emily Granger-Malfoy would certainly be a name.” Draco’s voice is slightly strangled, and Hermione can’t help smiling.
She glances down at the list again—the stars and flowers—so many names that feel frankly too pretentious for any newborn—and chews at her lip.
“Cassandra is kind of like Cassiopeia,” she says slowly. “That’d be a star name. Sort of. And there’s some kind of Cassia tree, isn’t there? If it has flowers, then that’d appease your mother.”
“You don’t have to appease anyone, you know.” Draco squeezes her shoulder.
“I know.” Hermione tilts her head to smile up at him. “But it’s a nice name, right?”
“It’s a perfect name.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. “As expected of my brilliant wife.”
Hermione rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the parchment. “Alright,” she says determinedly. “Now what about her middle name?”
Draco groans as he flops into the chair beside her. “Does she even need one?”
“But Draco,” Hermione teases, “it’s tradition.”
He flicks a piece of lint at her with a playful grin. “I thought we were bucking those?”
“Not all of them,” Hermione says primly. “But if you don’t have any ideas—”
“I have lots of ideas,” Draco retorts. “Just not right now.”
Hermione laughs and fiddles with the quill. “Cassandra Buttercup—”
Draco groans. “Absolutely not.”
“Then suggest something better.” Hermione taps the end of the quill against his nose. “While we’ve still got time to figure it out.”