Memories of her and Draco fighting when their tempers clashed, memories of pureblood events where more prejudiced families sneered at her until Draco’s glower, Lucius’ presence or a few very pointed comments from Narcissa sent them running. The memory of her in the hospital, pale and shaken and afraid, Draco holding her hand, his own fingers trembling as they waited for the healer to speak. The tears of relief when the blood had been nothing to worry about. Memories of Narcissa being unable to look at Hermione’s growing stomach, hiding away in her private drawing room because the memories of her own experiences were still too fresh. Pureblood women often had problematic pregnancies. Draco hadn’t been their only child by choice. They had tried and tried until Lucius had begged Narcissa to believe him that the child they had was more than enough.