"Unfortunately," Draco bit out coldly, wishing he'd never said anything, never revealed anything that had provoked the sympathy and pity in her eyes and her voice. He gulped back the rest of his firewhiskey and set the glass down on the porch railing, silent and tense, and Nymphadora turned her face back to her son. Hermione loved the baby; Teddy was a symbol of life and hope and joy for all of the Order it seemed, but especially Hermione. She had, somewhat unexpectedly, taken to handling the baby with skilful ease, a quiet pleasure and contentment in her when she cradled him. And Draco always looked at her at those times and saw things he could never give her, that he could never have himself. Children were important to purebloods, and all his life it had been made clear to Draco that he was to marry and have children, to carry on the Malfoy line.