Ending The Sacred Twenty-Eight (Dramione)

Regaining Control

Hogsmeade

The clock on the wall of Hermione’s kitchen let her know it was past midnight, but she didn’t care – she had woken up starving and craving a very cheesy grilled-cheese.

Yeah, craving.

She had begun to just need certain foods, it felt like she wouldn’t be satisfied until she had whatever it was that she salivated for.

Her friends found it hilarious and helped her with all her crazy cravings.

Pickled beets at two in the afternoon? Charlie got some from the Burrow and took to her at the Ministry.

Edible flowers in the morning? Pansy had a basket sent to her office.

Her favourite cocktail: Sex on the Beach? Ginny knew how to make a non-alcoholic version of that – apparently called Virgins on the Beach.

The stupidly expensive gianduja bonbons Hermione used to steal from Draco’s stash? Blaise knew where they were from and gifted her a huge box.

But despite all the support, growing two babies was taking its toll on Hermione’s energy levels. She felt constantly tired and hungry – hence the need for a grilled cheese at midnight.

Narcissa had mentioned she had had the strangest cravings while pregnant.

So, whenever her cravings hit, Hermione thought of Draco – not that she needed any more reasons to think of his stupid face. She had his children inside of her, for fuck's sake, and went daily through a long path of hating him, resenting him, missing him, and loving him only to hate him all over again.

She sighed, touching her rounded belly and thinking about the events of the end of that week.

In four days, the Charity gala Narcissa and she had been organizing together was going to happen and Draco – Lord Malfoy – would certainly be attending with his fiancée.

Hermione barely knew Astoria, but she recalled the witch always looking gorgeous, even in a school uniform.

Meanwhile, I’ll have to have my dress fixed again. She thought, looking at her midsection. At thirteen weeks, Hermione had started to notice most of her jeans and skirts no longer fastened at the waist.

Her friends, dear-souls that they were, told her she looked beautiful, but Hermione found it hard to feel good when she walked around in a constant state of nausea most days.

You two are growing too fast. She said fondly, wondering, as of late, how they’d look like.

Would they have blond curls? Brown straight hair?

Honey eyes? – or would they have grey eyes and remind her every day of the man she loved and had lost to his own prejudiced views and lack of grit?

Before she could thing of an answer to her musings, Hermione was jolted back to reality by an alarm ringing into her house and letting her know something had crossed her frontyard shields.

As safe as Hogsmeade was, Hermione still worried about her safety – especially now that she had two little ones growing inside of her. And there were still people prejudiced against muggleborns out there and many had disagreed with her taking the stands to defend the Malfoys; suffice it to say she received enough hatemail weekly to keep her on alert.

Therefore, Hermione grabbed her wand before walking to the front window, trying to see what had entered her yard – last time it had been a harmless baby thestral.

“Draco?” She gasped as she saw the tall blond man pacing her front porch.

He seemed to be talking to himself, muttering nervously, going back and forth near the door, until he made a decision and knocked.