Tonight was supposed to be perfect—your anniversary dinner, just you and Draco, somewhere nice. You had the perfect outfit, the perfect plan. But now, you were curled up in bed, clutching your stomach as another wave of pain crashed over you.

A soft knock. “Love, how bad is it?” Draco’s voice was gentle, careful. You barely managed a groan in response. Within moments, he was at your side, pressing a warm heating pad against your stomach, setting down a cup of tea. You could hear the rustling of fabric—he must’ve changed out of his suit already.

“I know we had plans,” he murmured, fingers combing through your hair. “But nothing matters more than you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Draco scoffed. “For what? Being human?” He kissed your temple, voice softer now. “How about this—we stay in, I’ll make us dinner, and we have our own little anniversary celebration right here. Sound good?”

You let out a weak chuckle, nodding.

“That’s my boy,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you.”