So Lucky

PART THREE: BATHING IS HEALTHFUL

Stupid with sleep, I peer up at Draco. My husband. Lord Malfoy. Master of my heart. I'm the deer in the headlights now. Two distinct trains of thought chug through my mind: (1) I'm so lucky. I feel so happy I could die. (2) Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

"Darling, it's so good to see you." I'm shocked to hear my own voice. An adoring murmur. A daft smile is spreading across my face.

"Sweetheart." Draco kneels beside the bed, still taking in the odd sight of a pile of Malfoys. His face remains tender.

"Did you have a long day?"

He sighs, as if to say, You have to ask? "Slumber party?" His voice is as low as mine, but something seems off. Then I realize: there isn't the slightest coolness in his voice. No sneering, no irony, no sarcasm. This discomfits me. It's abnormal.

A shadow of worry falls over Draco's face. "My love?"

"The spare's kicking," I lie smoothly.

Mock shock from the spare: Oh, Mother. For shame!

"Knock it off!" I snap without thinking. Then I have to laugh. Yes, I was lying something dreadful. I fondly pat my belly in the rough vicinity of the spare's head, below one of Florence's arms. Her head rests on my shoulder.

Draco grins. A rare, happy grin. "May I?" He holds his hand over my belly.

Guess I'll have to put on a show.

The spare is as good as his word. "Oh!" I gasp as he kicks up a storm.

Sorry. That better?

"Yes," I say. "Here," I tell Draco, and place his hand on the spot where the spare is now kicking somewhat less vigorously.

"Oh," Draco exclaims, barely an exhaled breath. His face is taut with concentration, almost radiant as he feels the baby's feet drum under his palm. "I think we've another athlete on our hands." I think his smile is just as foolish as mine. But on him, it's beautiful.

"They get it from you." Florence stirs and murmurs. Her hair is perilously close to strawberry blonde. In summer it bleaches almost white in the sun. She loves the sun, and the outdoors, and running races. It's okay to run if there's a start and finish line. That makes it structured and dignified. I remember cheering her on, Draco sitting stoic beside me.

"Yes." Something in Draco's voice has changed. "Well." Edging toward formality, almost coolness.

"I have to pee." The rare, happy mood is coming to an end. It makes me... desperate. I want to burst the bubble before Draco does. I don't want to look at his face. I watch his hand on my belly.

"I'll get the elf." The hand is abruptly gone, and Draco with it. I want to weep. Get hold of yourself, Hermione! Do something productive!

Slowly I start the awkward process of extricating my legs from beneath Gabriel without awakening him. This is complicated by Florence getting clingy. "Mummy," she moans. I think she's dreaming. Not a good dream, either. I'm not sure if I should wake her, and oh dear, I really do have to pee.

Winky's here. Oh frabjous joy! Calloo, callay! I take special note of her clothes: cream-colored tunic and slacks. Matching cap, vest and boots, all of an odd sort of leather. The same ensemble she wore earlier in the day, and right smart she looks, but now it strikes me as odd.

Why?

Winky smoothes down Florence's hair. "Florence is a good girl. Florence has good dreams. Nothing but good dreams."

Why didn't I think of doing that?

Because I can't do that. Not any more.

I watch silently as Winky eases Florence and Gabriel away from my comforting body heat and into each other's arms. Such a sweet scene. The moment Florence wakes up, she'll--

"Winky is helping Missus, and then Winky is watching the children." And keeping Florence from throttling Gabriel. Good thinking.

I long to take in the sight of my children getting along (they're unconscious, that's all it takes), but my bladder demands attention. With her usual efficiency, Winky whisks me to the bathroom and assists me with my bodily functions. Afterwards, she braces me as I stand to wash my hands. "Better!" she squeaks happily. "Stronger! Standing, walking, without the nausea!"

I look from the sink to Winky's grinning face, which is level with my nonexistent waistline. Such a little thing Winky is, but she has no problem holding me up, or even bodily lifting me. How did she get so strong? "When did you become so sensible?"

Oops. Open mouth, insert foot. And Winky and I just read Florence the riot act for rudeness. But Winky is forbearing. One of the privileges of pregnancy, I suppose. "Oh, years ago. Years ago Winky loved, and Winky lost, and Winky wanted to die, but Winky kept going! As the elf Winky loved would have wanted." Winky nodded vehemently, ears flapping, eyes solemn. "Winky kept going, and Winky decided to help those who helped the elf Winky loved! And now I has helped, indeed I has!"

I have absolutely no idea what to make of this. "Oh." Winky is so happy, but I haven't a clue why. "That's good." Oh, that's lame, Hermione.

"Winky must see to the children." Winky wraps her strong little arms around me and bustles me to the sunken tub. "Winky has warmed the bath." She gets me sitting down with feet dangling in the scented water. Not too hot, not too cold. Just right, Ã la Goldilocks. "Bathing is healthful. Good for Missus. Winky is leaving Missus and baby alone together now." She beams at my belly and pats it. "Baby is a good boy." And away pops Winky, to keep my already-birthed children from killing each other.

Call me clueless. My head fairly spins. I shuck my robe and carefully slip into the tub. I manage that with no trouble. Winky's right; I am getting better. I am suddenly exultant. I would whoop with joy, but I don't want to wake the children. (I hear no sounds of battle; therefore, they're still asleep.)

I lean back and float, mind drifting. I move my arms and legs, testing their strength against the resisting water. My sodden hair begins to unravel from its braid.

An old memory comes to the surface. The first time I kissed Draco. Yes, I kissed him. I was the aggressor! I giggle at the thought. I took him by the ears and kissed him thoroughly, and then we stared at each other, aghast, speechless, awkward with surprise and most unexpected arousal.

Ron.

Harry.

"Gaah!" I double up as with a blow, clapping my hands to my ears. This breaks the float and sends me to the bottom of the tub. I scramble to get my feet on its floor and stand, spluttering.

Ron.

Harry.

Ron. Harry.

RonHarryRonHarryRonHarry--

"Go away!" Ears covered again, eyes closed, I want to scream at the names, the memories, make them disappear, but I fight to calm myself and succeed. Mostly. Screaming won't help. Think of something good. Good memory. Happy memory.

My mind scrambles like a drunken ferret. I have a multitude of happy memories to choose from, but can't seem to grasp any single one of them. It's like grabbing smoke. Doesn't make sense. I've been nothing but happy ever since-- since--

Here I stand in just-right water, herbs soaking into my skin, healing scent soothing my head, and some fiend has replaced my backbone with ice. I begin to shiver. "Think of Florence," I tell myself aloud. As if to drown out my thoughts. My thoughts are my enemy. I can't trust them. Can't trust my own mind. "Think of Florence." I open my eyes, drop my hands to my sides. No use trying to hide in darkness and silence. I stare at the tub's expensive tiling. "Remember, how happy, how happy I was, I was going to be a mother, I was going to give Draco-- give Draco-- a child!"

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Oh God," I gasp through chattering teeth.

Draco isn't her father.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God--"

Draco is her brother.

Oh, Mother. Oh, Mother, I'm so sorry.