Unplanned

May 3, 2004

Draco watched as the ceiling fan rotated around for what would have been the seven hundred and fifty-second time if he had been counting.

He was not actively trying to count the spin of the blades. He desperately wished for sleep to overcome him. To pull him under and let him escape his brain for a few hours.

It has been three days since he had last seen Scorpius and Granger. Three days since he had held his son in his arms. Seventy-two hours since he had made Hermione laugh. He groaned as he rolled over onto his side, confirming the other part of the bed was cold and empty. It shouldn't be, he thought. Hermione should be there.

He knew he was fighting a losing battle. Every interaction with the mother of his child had him falling harder for her. The pillow his head was now resting on smelt like her cinnamon perfume, the scent getting softer with more time away from his bed. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the brush of their hands when she passed him Scorpius.

Draco groaned and closed his eyes, giving in. It was practically nightly at this point. He would have rathered jerked off to the vision of her moaning on his desk at work than have to relive some of the happiest moments with her to get a decent night's rest. Memories of Hermione Granger flooded his brain, and he just let them.

The twinkle in her eye while she held a pool cue. A brush of their hands when she reached for her drink. The way her head almost dropped to his shoulder when she laughed. The smell of smoke when they landed. Her wicked tongue licked away a drop of wine. Cool marble against his palms. The taste of the Merlot against her lips.

The feel of her against his chest. Cotton sheets. Smoothing her curls when they tried to suffocate him. The feel of her hardened abdomen against his fingers. The warmth of being in bed next to someone else. The soft snores reminded him of the way she sounded when he was inside of her.

A kiss to her lips. A kiss to the baby. A moan when his head reached the apex of her thighs. Always so ready for me, love. White knuckles twisting around emerald sheets. His name rolled off her lips as she fell over the edge. Salty. Sweet. Granger.

"Daddy loves you." The thud of a kick against his hand. A green quidditch jersey that never looked better. Leo? Callum? Hercules? The flush of her cheeks when they argued. An eye roll, but her lips turning up in a smile. Kisses pressed against her stomach.

The glow that radiated off of her with a baby clutched to her chest. Sweaty curls. Chest heaving. A proud smile on her face. Warmth. Want to hold your son? The perfect combination of him and her.

He rolled over again and flung an arm over his face. He needed to just man up and tell Granger he loved her. His eyes opened, and he watched the ceiling fan spin again.

Seven hundred and fifty-three.