"I'll, ah, take him downstairs now then, shall I?" she said in a shaky voice, extracting herself from him, simultaneously hurried and reluctant, and Draco smirked lazily up at her. He sank back on the bed, mind drifting as he waited for Hermione to come back up sans baby, so they could celebrate. She was right about the Order members speaking for him; their chances were now far better than what they'd had, even if nothing was certain, and Draco decided to allow himself to luxuriate in hope for once, unwise as it might be. Luxuriate in hope, and in her, he thought, and smirked again.