He snorted. “She came at me with a knife the first time I arrived to check on her. Slapping is nothing.” There was a pause and a faint glint entered his eyes. “I seem to recall you slapping me once.”
Hermione stared at him for a moment and then the corner of her mouth quirked up as heat rose to the hollows of her cheeks.
She looked away, glancing around the room. “She said you set these rooms up.”
He nodded.
“They're lovely.”
He grimaced. “It's gotten cramped. I got carried away buying books.”
She smiled and gave him a sidelong glance. “That's why it's lovely.”
He laughed. She thought it might be the first genuine laugh she'd ever heard from him.
It only lasted a moment.
Hermione felt the corners of her eyes crinkle as she stared at him. “And you made me a lab.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up as he raised an eyebrow. “Well, I'm retiring you from healing. I thought it was time you pursued a branch of magic you enjoyed.”
The smile playing at her mouth faded away, and she looked down at her lap. “I–I don't hate healing. It was just — traumatic — because of the war. The science of it did interest me.”
He stared at her, his eyes skeptical. “Was healing ever a career you considered before you realised the Resistance needed healers?”
“Well,” she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, “there were only a few options available for anyone.”
“And by complete coincidence you ended up in the one that no one else wanted.” His voice was caustic.
A large tray of food appeared, with heaping platefuls of vegetables, steak and kidney pie, and mashed potatoes, and apple turnovers.
Comfort food.
Draco made a sound of dismay as he stared at the food. “Weasley's still interfering in the kitchen.”
Hermione ignored him and served them both platefuls of more food than either of them could possibly eat.
Draco kept muttering complaints under his breath while Hermione gorged herself. She couldn't remember when she had eaten so much. It was all so familiar-tasting. Food she'd eaten growing up. Dinners at the Burrow during the summers before school started.
The reminiscence nearly made her cry.
In spite of all his complaints about wasting French gourmet-trained house-elves, Draco was not inclined to skip the meal. He glanced up at her when she finally began eating more slowly. “You should lie down once you've eaten.”
Hermione shook her head. “No. I want to meet James.”
“You can meet him tomorrow. He's not going anywhere.”
“I want to meet him today. I was supposed to take care of him, but he's nearly two and I've never even met him.”
Draco stared as her while she met his eyes and obstinately forced down another mouthful of apple turnover. He gave an irritated sigh. “Fine. I'll call an elf and have it tell Ginny to bring him.”
Hermione nodded and set down her plate. “Do — are there other clothes here for me? Or — did you just bring books?”
His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “There are clothes. I'm not sure how many accommodate a pregnancy. If nothing fits, Ginny has some.”
Hermione nodded and went to explore the dresser. There was a huge quantity of clothes, much in the way there seemed to be unreasonable amounts of everything else. The dresser drawers seemed to go on and on as she pulled them out.
There were some robes, but most of the clothing was Muggle. Hermione hunted until she found a jumper and trousers that fit without needing adjustment charms.
James had dark auburn-red hair that stood on end and shockingly green eyes.
Aside from his hair, he looked exactly like Harry. Hermione stared at him and felt like she was having her heart crushed.
His emerald green eyes studied her suspiciously while he clung tightly to Ginny.
The same eyes. The same mouth. Harry. It was Harry all over again.
“James, this is your godmother, Aunt Hermione. Remember, I told you about her? She was your dad's best friend at school. She loves books, just like you, but not brooms.” Ginny spoke softly in his ear, nuzzling him affectionately with her nose. “And that's Malfoy with her. You met him back when you were crawling. Remember, this is his house that we're in. He's the one who sends the elves to come see us.”
James leaned in closer to Ginny, burying his face against his mum's throat and peeking at Hermione and Draco shyly.
“Hello, James,” Hermione said once she found her voice. “I knew you a bit before you were born. I'm so glad to finally meet you.”
James snorted and covered his face with a hand.
“He's never seen any humans in person but me and Malfoy,” Ginny said, resting her head against James'. “But — if the way he is with the elves means anything, once he gets over being shy, he'll never leave you alone again. James, can you say 'Aunt Hermione'?”
“No.” James' voice was piping and obstinate.
“Do you want to say, hello?”
“No.”
Ginny sighed and poked his ribs. “Rude boy.”
James buried his face more determinedly into Ginny's shoulder and laughed.
“It's fine,” Hermione said in a thick voice, feeling overwhelmed just staring at him. “He looks so much like Harry.”
Ginny nodded with a tight smile and pressed a kiss in James' hair. “He really does. It blindsides me sometimes. He'll make faces sometimes and it just hits me like a bludger, and for a moment I'll forget I'm staring at him because — it's Harry. Then it's James again.” She gave a laugh. “When he was born, he had brown hair and eyes and then at six months his soft baby hair all fell out and came back this red wiry mess and his eyes turned green. It didn't occur to me that he could get red hair. But Harry's mum had it too, so I guess it was enough red hair gene in the soup to make him ginger.”
James abruptly popped his head up and stared at Hermione. “Mine-y.” He pointed at her. “Mine-y.”
“Hermione,” Ginny said slowly, dragging out the consonants.
James shook his head. “Mine-y.”
“I couldn't say it when I was little either,” Hermione said with a smile.
“He's a pretty good little chap.” Ginny shifted him to her other hip. “Doesn't sleep much, and we had colic at first. But he's pretty happy now. Although, ever since he started walking, he's been a lot naughtier. Grabs everything he can reach—”
Hermione nodded automatically as she kept staring at James.
She wasn't sure how to interact with a baby. She was so used to thinking of them in the abstract. Actually meeting one who talked and had opinions about things made Hermione feel adrift.
She couldn't remember when she'd last seen or held a child. It had probably been when she'd helped transport orphans during the war.
The world Ginny existed in suddenly felt alien.
Hermione had forgotten about how expressive people could be. That she didn't need to primarily read people by the ways their eyes flickered and what they didn't say.
Babies, colic, development landmarks. If she and Draco were really free, that would be the kind of world they would be part of.
If it had worked.
If they were safe.
If Draco was free.
Hermione's chest tightened, and she nodded again at whatever Ginny was saying.