Chapter Text
Friday, September 6, 2002
Hermione Granger was well known for her achievements. In primary school it had been gathering every scholastic award the teachers could dream up. At Hogwarts it had been mastering the new world of magic while keeping up her grades; which she had excelled at. By nineteen she had so many accolades under her belt that everyone was clamouring for her to join their company. In the end, she had decided on the Ministry and in three and a half short years had moved her way up to Junior Manager of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
With her clout to back them, Hermione had managed to get several of her adolescent social movements actualized. House elves were free. Her werewolf platform, entitled Lupin’s Bill, had passed in May just in time for the annual Remembrance Gala where she presented the signed legislature to Andromeda and her grandchild, Remus Lupin’s son, Teddy. It promoted job opportunities, protected against discrimination in all walks of life, and allowed for subsidies on wolfsbane potion for those who could not afford it themselves. Next on the docket was legislation protecting centaur’s migration lands.
Her friend group was strong as ever. The Potters and she saw each other constantly and had dinner whenever both groups could feasibly fit into each other's packed schedules, which Ron and Lavender usually joined. She had standing plans for lunch for whatever friend happened to be passing through. Dumbledore’s Army met annually, where they took over a local quidditch pitch and picnicked. The last one in June had introduced more than one new member as her childhood friends had children of their own.
Hermione Granger’s life was idyllic in every aspect…
Except one.
“So, there’s this guy--” Lavender Brown (soon to be Lavender Weasley as Ron had proposed last week after dating for seven months and living together for three) said, plopping herself down in the guest chair of Hermione’s office at eight fifteen in the morning.
Hermione didn't even bother to look up from the stack of documents she was reviewing to acknowledge her friend. It would only encourage her and Hermione had too much work to get through to cater to her obsessive fantasies. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Lavender pouted.
Hermione sighed, signing the page infront of her with a practised flourish. “Since we only have one conversation that starts with ‘so there’s this guy’, and I find myself being a fairly intelligent witch, the conversation will go as thus: ‘this guy Damien--”
“Marcus,” Lavender supplied helpfully.
“--has great hair--”
A dreamy sigh. “Shoulders.”
“-- I met him at the grocer--”
“It was the quidditch match Ron and I went to last Saturday.”
“--and I think you two will really hit it off. Sound familiar?” Hermione raised a brow as she passed off the stack of completed forms to her hovering assistant, Natalie Kemla. Fresh out of Ilvermorny, the young witch had been with her for three months as part of an ongoing government exchange program between the Ministry and the States. While a bit starry-eyed for Hermione’s personal taste, she had no complaints about the witch’s work.
“But you guys would really hit it off!” Lavender persevered. “He has a cat!”
“A lot of people have cats,” Hermione deflected, distracted, her eyes skimming the next document in her pile, putting it aside for further study.
Lavender continued on, unfazed, “and is a stage director for the Globe Theater!”
Noticing her assistant’s rabid attention to the conversation, Hermione was quick to dismiss her. “Thank you, Natalie, see that those are filed quickly.” The door closed behind the young woman before she turned back to her friend. “Lav, I know you mean well, but stop.”
The woman’s big brown doe eyes filled with tears. “I just want you to be happy. I know it hurt you when Won-Won and I got together and you’ve been such a trooper ever since--”
Hermione tiredly rubbed her eyes. “We’ve been over this, Lav. Ron and I weren’t right for eachother. I’m happy you made a go at it and I’m happier still that it has worked out for you both.”
“But we’re going to be married! Harry and Ginny are thinking about baby number three and Ron and I will be right behind them. Soon, you’re going to be all alone!”
Hermione sighed, pressing hard at her temple. It was too early to be getting a headache for how much she had going on that day. “Marriage and children are not death sentences. For Merlin’s sake, we all had dinner together last week, remember? Where we celebrated your engagement.”
“But it’s not going to be the same!” Lavender said. “Before it was only one married couple but now there will be two. That changes everything!”
“Lavender,” Hermione groaned softly, closing her eyes. Ginny had been needling her for years to find a man and settle down. Adding Lavender to the group had taken the matchmaking schemes to a whole new level. For the last several months, multiple times a week she would be cornered and forced to listen to the glowing review of whatever man they’d happened to stumble upon that would be ‘just perfect' for her and she was getting sick of it.
Hermione had hoped with the wedding Lavender and Ginny would be too busy with preparations to have the time to continue setting her up. Honest truth, she had been looking forward to a break from the constant ribbing and mediocre dates they tried to set her up on. Instead the time crunch seemed to have sent the two women into hyperdrive to get Hermione to the same blissful, down-the-isle path they were on.
So, for the sake of her sanity and the continued sanctity of her friendships, she told a little white lie.
“Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, with your big day coming up and all but, since it means that much to you, I have met someone--” she raised a hand to forestall the excited gasp and the run down of demands to know who it was. “We’re keeping it quiet because he’s in the middle of a divorce.” That would be good cover as to why she hadn’t talked about him prior and a convenient ploy as to why he would be absent in the future. “It’s new so don’t be shocked if I don’t invite him to the wedding.” There, that covered all her bases. Maybe she’d finally get some peace.
“That’s such great news!” Lavender gushed, vibrating in her seat, tears nearly forgotten in her excitement. “Is he handsome? He has to be handsome. Where’d you meet? How’d you meet?”
“It- it was at the grocer,” Hermione fudged quickly, almost slapping a hand to her face when it was the exact same scenario she had used earlier.
“Oh,” the witch drawled, eyeing her slyly. “Is this the mysterious ‘Damion’ with the good hair?”
“His name is not Damion,” Hermione said primly, “but yes, he does have nice hair and a kind smile and a warm laugh--” she trailed off with a frown.
She wasn’t lonely, so why did this imaginary man make her go all wishful? Merlin’s beard, maybe she needed to get laid. When was the last time she had sex? Two dates ago? Three? No, it was the quidditch player with the broom thighs and the amazing hands. Had that really been four months ago?
“And what does this mystery man do for a living?” Lavender flexed her eyebrows suggestively.
Hermione blinked, coming back to herself and the situation at hand. “No way. I tell you that and you’ll have who it is within the hour.”
“Guilty,” she beamed, the notorious gossip knowing her worth ferreting out information and proud of it. She turned serious as she locked eyes with one of her soon-to-be-husband’s best friends. “But you’re happy, right? He makes you happy?”
Catching her breath, Hermione looked away, guilt like a lead weight in her stomach for giving her friends cause to worry about her. That more than anything made her double down on her lie. “It’s still new and not going anywhere until his divorce finalized.”
“Which should be soon?”
“Any day now,” Hermione guaranteed with more conviction than the comment deserved.
A knock on the door, then her assistant stepped in. “Miss Granger, the Daily Prophet just came in.”
“Thank you, Natalie.” Welcoming the interruption, Hermione took the paper and immediately flipped to the editorial section.
“I thought you said that paper was trash,” Lavender said.
“It is trash but it’s trash I must read if I’m to keep abreast of things. Also, I sent in a notice that I want to make sure they formatted correctly.”
Lavender gasped, eyes riveted on the front paper that was aimed towards her. “Malfoy’s divorce finalized yesterday.”
Frowning, Hermione folded the sheet to take a look at the front cover. A moving black and white photo of Malfoy, the younger, walking down the steps of the courthouse, flanked on either side by his parents and a covey of lawyers. Face tight, his cape-like robes were pulled protectively over something he cradled to his chest as a slew of reporters tried to descend on the family but were held back by a ring of aurors.
Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass Marriage Dissolved.
Child custody still to be determined.
Scandal always made for big news, coupled with a pureblood family it would keep the rumour mill churning for weeks. For self preservation reasons only, Hermione had kept up on Draco Malfoy’s exploits. For as annoying of a prat he’d been at school, he had always been sinfully clever. At age nineteen, the boy that had once insulted her over her heritage broke out into the muggle business world, dipping his silver spoons in several pies. He’d taken over Malfoy Industries directly after the war while his father had stepped down from Chairman to serve his ten year stint in Azkaban. There was speculation on how Malfoy Sr. had gotten out after fourteen months for good behaviour and how directly after the Pureblood wedding of the year had taken place.
Hermione remembered reading some months ago, quickly and quietly swept under the rug by the release of a new wizarding tech from the company, about the birth of the Malfoy heir. What was his name, something with an ‘S’. She ran her finger over the photo right where the child no doubt slept securely in his father’s arms. “Scorpius,” she breathed, her eager mind finally supplying the knowledge.
“Oh my god.”
Hermione looked up, surprised at the muggle expletive, to see Lavender, gobsmacked, staring at her with wide eyes.
“Oh. MY. GOD!”
“What?” Hermione's eyes flickered around her office searching for danger, hand itching for her wand.
“It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”
Hermione blinked, brain short circuiting. “Excuse me?”
“It is Malfoy! That’s why you didn’t want to tell me where he worked. How could I have not seen it. Damion with a ‘D’, good hair, pending--” Lavender snatched up the paper, pointing aggressively at the headline, “finalised divorce; it’s all there!”
“Lavender, it is not Draco,” Hermione said hurriedly. It was fine if it was just her lie about a fictitious romantic partner but her conscience would not allow her to drag down a real person just so she could get her friends to stop setting her up on dates for a few months and focus on their own lives.
“‘Draco,’ is it?” The cat-in-the-cream grin sent panic through Hermione. “Now I really see.”
“No, you don’t understand--”
“Don’t worry,” Lavender said, gathering her things for a quick departure, and tapping the side of her nose, “your secret is safe with me.” She swept out of the room like a giddy whirlwind before Hermione could stop her.
Sucking in a breath she let it out harshly.
“Fuck.”
Hours later Hermione was still at her desk finalising reports while mentally drafting a letter to Malfoy. It was only common courtesy to inform him of the potential rumors that might or might not(she prayed that this might be the one time Lavender kept her mouth shut) start circulating about their romantic involvement but everything she came up with left her sounding far too pathetic for her peace of mind. Finished with her pressing work, Hermione had just set quill to parchment for a first draft when Ron burst into her office, his auror robes snapping behind him.
“Tell me it’s not true!” he demanded, face flushed and jaw tense. Harry, on his heels, closed the door behind them, flicking his wrist to release a silencing charm as their friend continued on his rampage. “Tell me you’re not dating that bloody blonde pratt!”
Hermione’s head fell in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Realising this was a possibility she had nonetheless held out some modicum of hope that everyone had matured enough not to air personal things in public, let alone their place of work. Gathering her inner fortitude Hermione sat up straight, putting on her best career-smile and waded into the frey.
“Sit down Ron,” she offered cordially, gesturing to one of the two guest chairs opposite her desk. “Harry, why don’t you join us?”
Ron continued to stomp around her office, throwing his hands in the air. “I will not sit until I get--”
“SIT! DOWN!” she boomed, her magic crackling around her. They came to attention like marionettes on a string. Both boys had been with her long enough to know when she used that tone she was done being nice. They quickly scuttled into chairs.
“Now,” she said, modulating her voice and laying her interlocked fingers on her desk, “I understand this is a bit of a shock--”
“I’d say,” Harry grumbled under his breath. She shot him a warning glare, letting him know she was allowing him to get away with the comment but wouldn’t be so lenient the next time. He looked away, shifting uncomfortably.
“As I was saying, this may come as a shock, but I’m a grown woman capable of making my own decisions.”
“But why him?” Ron demanded, hand fisted in the material over his thigh. “I thought you had better taste than that, Hermione! Or at the very least some self respect.”
“Ron!” Harry protested.
The redhead turned on him, defensive. “What? This is the git that treated her like shite all through school and called her a ‘Mudblood’. Who’s crazy aunt carved the word into her arm. And she suddenly falls for him?” He swung back to her, looking down his nose. “I knew you were trying to get your projects funded but I didn’t think you’d sell yourself!”
Hermione didn’t pick up her wand for the sole reason that she didn’t know what she would do with it in her hand. And for someone who always knew what her next move was, that was concerning. Instead she kept her spine locked and stared him down. “Get out.”
Harry sat forward, always the mediator. “Moine--”
She flicked her hand up with a dueler’s precision, stalling him. “Not another word. Get him out of my sight before I do something I won’t regret until later. If at all.”
Seeing the seriousness in her eyes, Harry tried to bundle Ron out but the redhead was resisting, spouting more and more hateful things lost in his anger, when the door popped open.
“Granger, I-” Draco Malfoy stepped into her office like he owned it and took in the scene with a flash of imperial silver eyes before they settled on her, carrying a significant weight.
“Honey,” his voice was as frigid as glacial ice. She shivered. “I thought we were keeping this quiet.”
Notes:
Please let me know what you thought!
If there are any spelling errors please let me know, I try my best but things still get by. (I attempted to use 'British keybord' so let me know if that is too distracting)
Next chapter will be posted today Sept 6th ~12:30 PDT
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Now available in Podfic by TrillbySkinner
Chapter 2: A Willing Accomplice
Notes:
Thank you Dances_in_Rain, KarenM, liah, LadyAnn98 for commenting on the first chapter!
Thanks to those who commented on previous Dramione works: The Muggle-born's Pureblood Bodyguard, Lucky Number 13, and Helping Hands
sunnydelights, TrillbySkinner, Mochg, ShittyMcShitface, Auror_mist, darkcivet (FallenInDreams), Dodo59, kkelly04, queenandlazy, Mustangbex, Freyalyn, Kirstyy,
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, September 6
Anxiety coursed through Draco.
He’d been in go-mode ever since his mother had cornered him over morning tea asking if he and Hermione Granger, a woman who’s screams found their way into his nightmares, and whom he had made the conscious decision to stay away from for his own safety, were dating.
A ridiculous question, prompted by a ridiculous rumour, that had the unfortunate power to ruin everything. And if Harry ‘Oblivious’ Potter and Ronald ‘Tag-Along’ Weasley were already in her office, it was too late to change anything.
“Why you fucking--” Weasley wrenched out of Potter’s hold and went for Draco with a wild haymaker.
Prepared for an attack from the tension in the room, Draco readied himself to counter but the redhead didn’t make it more than a step before he toppled like a board, slamming face first into the ground. Draco glanced up from the prone wizard to see Granger behind her desk, wand extended in flawless form, face impassive.
“Harry,” she ordered, voice clipped but bringing to mind a raging storm, “get him up.”
Potter jumped into action casting the release and helping his friend gain his feet who immediately shrugged him off, spinning to face Granger. Draco prepared himself to intercede if he made an aggressive move towards her.
“You turned your wand on an auror,” Weasley growled, face as red as his hair, “that alone is worth three months in Azkaban. I can have your job!”
She never wavered and Draco was impressed despite himself; the weasel had a good four stone on her and looked livid enough to forget his manners.
“Try it,” she hissed, eyes sparking lightning. “Now, unless you want to grow a pair and apologise, get out.”
“You’re making a mistake,” he ranted as Potter corralled him out. “He doesn’t care about you, he’s just using you. How can you not see that?”
“I’ve only made one mistake that pertains to you, Ronald,” she seethed, mass of riotous curls crackling around her. “Any others are not your concern.”
Draco took a single step to the side, casually freeing up the doorway. Potter gave him a strained nod as he finally managed to wrestle Weasley through it and shut it behind them.
An awkward silence descended as he and Granger stood there staring at each other. There was still a wildness to her hair but it was no longer a frizzy mop on the top of her head. Instead of the shapeless standard issue school uniform, her business attire of neutral colours under her Ministry-appointed robes hinted at a mature figure without being blatant about it. She’d certainly grown into her own.
“Granger.” He greeted, with a tight nod.
“Malfoy,” she returned dryly. Dropping heavily into her chair the wand disappeared up the sleeve of her beige sweater. “Since you’re here, I take it you’ve heard the rumour as well.”
Rumor. Such an insipid word for the travesty it had unleashed. “I came to see why,” he rumbled, cold fury lacing his words, “I had to have the rather awkward conversation with my mother, just days after the flaming end of my two year marriage, as to why I’m already in a relationship with a witch that I haven’t spoken of since the war?”
She paled, eyes horrified. “Your mother knows?”
“Oh, yes,” he smiled darkly, despair threatening to drown him. “At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if all of Wizarding London knows.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
He arched his brow. “Potter and Weasley were just in here belly aching about it. Since they’re the last to know anything, it’s fair to say our goose is thoroughly cooked.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to remain calm by telling himself this was the right decision, the only decision if he wanted to keep his son. “That’s why I propose we go along with it.”
Eyes wide, her jaw hit the desk.
If the shit storm of the last year hadn’t left Draco on the verge of a mental breakdown, he’d have been deeply amused by having thrown the Gryffindor Princess off stride.
“You can’t be serious,” she finally managed.
His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, he kept his composed veneer through sheer force of will. “Deadly.”
“Now see here, Malfoy--” the door swung open, interrupting her.
A slim blonde in her late forties sashayed in, four inch satin green pumps clacking. Rita fucking Skeeter, the carrion journalist in the flesh. Bloody fantastic! To think, after his divorce and the ensuing circus, he’d believed his week couldn’t have gotten worse.
“Miss Granger,” the girl from the secretary's desk said breathlessly, skirting in behind the fashion nightmare, “a Miss Skeeter to see you.”
Hermione stood, all traces of shock at his earlier proposition tidily hidden away as if it had never been. “Rita, I thought I advised you to stop terrorising my assistants,” she cooed, a predatory smile gracing her full lips.
Which the blond returned in kind. “I assure you I was the epitome of friendly with Matilda.”
“Natalie,” the young secretary corrected hesitantly.
“Whatever,” Skeeter waved a negating hand, rings glinting, as the eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses locked on Draco. “Mr. Malfoy,” she purred, her fingers stroking the spine of a guest chair, “my condolences on your divorce.” Her words were congratulatory, eyes shifting not so subtly towards Granger.
His teeth ground together hard enough they threatened to crack as he looked down his nose at her, nodding with the barest of civility.
“Rita,” Granger said, calling the harpy’s attention to herself. “You know how I so love talking with you, but as you can see I’m rather busy. If you would be so good as to leave your card with Miss Kemla,” she gestured to the secretary hovering mincingly in the doorway, “I’ll be sure to quill you in as soon as my schedule allows.”
“Think nothing of it, dear.” Skeeter practically licked her lips, eyes once more skimming between the two plump partridges the rumour mill had served up for her. Draco felt ill. “I’ve gotten all that I need. Until next time.” She swept out of the room, heels playing a triumphant staccato in her wake.
Miss Kemla looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. “Miss Granger, I am so sorry,” the secretary began tearfully, wringing her hands.
Granger raised a hand to forestall the waterworks. “This is not your fault. Skeeter is a beast unto herself.” Rolling her neck she let out a long sigh as each vertebrae cracked. “In the meantime, I want you to sweep your desk for any listening charms. You remember the spell I taught you?” Waiting for the girl to nod, she continued. “Until I advise you it is no longer necessary I want you to repeat it every time you are away from your desk, even if it’s just to step into my office or grab a cuppa.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she sniffed pitifully but looked much more the thing now that she knew she wasn’t being let go.
“In addition, until further notice all my mail will go through the Charms Department. If you receive anything in the meantime, place it in the lead-lined box in the bottom drawer of your desk and I will take care of it. You are not to open it, even if it is addressed to you.”
Stricken, the girl nodded again.
“And Miss Kelma.” Granger’s voice went down right Slytherin and Draco was shocked to feel a prickle of arousal he thought long dead shoot up his spine. He shoved it away violently not having time for such base urges. “Nothing that has occurred here today goes any further than this room. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Kelma squeeked. Dismissed, she skittered from the office.
Draco watched as Granger angerly pulled her wand and flicked it sharply through the air. Three points lit up; the door handle, the back of a guest chair, and a point on the floor where Skeeter had been standing. With another wave the three points grew brighter then popped.
“I hope that hurt,” she growled under her breath. Pushing up from her desk she advanced on him, hair and temper whipping. “Turn around,” she demanded, miming with her wand.
The memory of the last time she had charged at him like that resurfaced without warning and he locked his legs against retreat. “I will not.”
Her clenched fists went to her impertinent hips, “I'm not going to argue with you. You either turn around or I burn all your clothes.”
His clothes-- Ah, she thought the reporter had bugged him. “She didn’t get close enough to cast anything on me without my notice,” he felt the need to remind her. Had the Great Granger gone on a mental decline after Hogwarts? Now that was a rumour worthy of circulating.
“If you think that matters you’ve not had the displeasure of dealing with her as much as I have. Now turn.”
Knowing the fastest way to move this along was to comply, he spun in a slow circle arms away from his side. He felt the point of her wand at his back and his shoulder tensed as he clocked the few places to duck behind to give him time to draw his own wand. Before he could move there was a muffled squeak, cut short. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Granger had an iridescent green beetle, the size of a knut, suspended in the air under a stasis.
“Gnorimus nobilis, the noble chafer,” she explained, keen intelligence in her rich brown eyes. “They’re native to Europe but rarely seen in England due to habitat loss. I’ve been on guard for them since fourth year.”
“A friend of Skeeter’s?” His eyes narrowed as he looked over her brown-plaid skirt and plain sweater. “How do I know you don’t have any of them hitching a ride on you?”
“Rita wouldn’t dare.” She took the beetle over to her desk, opened the bottom drawer and removed a purple handbag that had seen better days. Rummaging inside she pulled out a glass jar that held three other such beetles.
The beaded bag brought on flashes of memories Draco would have preferred to have forgotten. Breathing deep he pushed them aside, not needing the added weight of guilt during their negotiations. His only course of action remained in him keeping the upper hand with this witch, something hard to accomplish on a good day. With his son’s future hanging in the balance he could not allow himself to falter.
Lowering her newest catch into its confinement she tightened the lid and stored everything back away. Bracing both hands on her desk, she leaned forward, eyes flashing. “Did you orchestrate this to force me into a corner?”
“No,” he answered truthfully, meeting her eyes squarely. “But I can’t say I’m unhappy with the outcome.”
“And what outcome is that? You said something about ‘going along with it’, what exactly do you mean?”
“Is there somewhere more private we can go? It’s going to be a lengthy discussion and we’ve already been walked in on once.” He left the double entendre stand, watching her cheeks flush prettily even as she vehemently refused to break eye contact; a prideful lioness, staring him down.
“Fine,” she snarled, nose wrinkling as she shoved up from the desk, skirting around to gain access to the in-built office floo. Taking a handful of powder she threw it inside and called out the address his preemptive enquiries had unearthed as her home in muggle London. “We’ll go to my place.” Turning to him she offered her arm. “I’m not changing my wards, so you can side-along with me.”
Biting his tongue against arguing, Malfoys did not side-along, he accepted her arm and walked with her into the green flames, stepping out into a small but tastefully decorated flat. After her somewhat cluttered office he was shocked at the minimalism approach to her home. The living room and kitchen-cum-dining area were an open floor plan with a branching hallway that no doubt led to the two beds, one bath the realtor statement listed as amenities.
Dropping his arm insultingly fast she headed straight for the kitchen, shedding her over-robe and piling it on the granite island as she rounded it. Going up on tiptoes, she pulled down a bottle of whiskey.
“You want some?” she asked as she sidestepped to the left and opened a secondary cabinet of glassware.
“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning,” he pointed out, wondering where the straight laced Gryffindor had run off to. During all the gala events they had been to that had overlapped throughout the years, he didn’t ever recall seeing her with anything stronger than a glass of wine or champagne.
Looking over her shoulder, she raised a brow. “Is that a no?”
After the morning he had? “A double.” Removing his own over-robe he folded it over the back of the couch as he stepped into the kitchen proper, keeping the granite-topped island between them. This at least would give him cover if she started throwing hexes.
Setting down two crystalline snifters she expertly poured two inches of the amber liquid into each. Sliding his across the distance, she took up her own and downed the contents in one go, breathing through the burn. “Now, explain.”
He took a sip, masking the shock at the surprisingly good vintage, and puzzled through what he was going to tell her. “As the world now believes we’re dating,” he said neutrally, “that continued belief benefits me. What will it take to gain your cooperation?”
She levelled him a look. “I’m not for sale, Malfoy.”
“Everyone has their price, Granger,” he shot her a rogue grin. “It’s all about what the other person is willing to pay and I have very deep pockets.”
“It’s also a question of why.” Her head tilted to the side, eyes the colour of dark chocolate picking out every detail of his face and dress. “Your divorce just hit papers this morning and--Ah,” a sudden flash of awareness lit her eyes. “This has something to do with your son’s custody case, doesn’t it?”
Draco nearly swallowed his tongue at the speed in which she cut to the heart of the matter. He'd always known she was clever; always having the right answer, the better grade, the smarter spells. No matter what he did, she always outshone him, even now.
He contemplated lying, telling her he only wanted her as a buffer between him and the hoards of women that were bound to beseech him for the position of Lady Malfoy, that she was just a convenience, that anyone would do, just to keep the upper hand. The realisation he was still carrying around such childish grievances after having lived through a war and survived a genocidal maniac left a acrid taste in his mouth.
“Yes,” he said, breathing out through his nose and stretching his neck, hearing the vertebrae pop. “The judge is currently debating if I’m the best choice to be raising my son.”
She frowned, staring off in the middle distance. “Aren’t there archaic laws that state the heir to a wizarding house has to remain there to be trained or some such?”
A dry smirk curled his lips, of course the little bookworm would have read about legacy laws. “Normally, yes. As scion to both the Black and Malfoy estates, the law is on my side about rearing my children. However, because of the war and my status as a Death Eater--”
“You were acquitted of being a Death Eater,” she corrected. “I was part of the team that pushed for, and was granted, clemency during the deposition.”
Something in the vicinity of his heart clenched then softened at her automatic defence. Draco had known Potter, ‘the Boy Who Lived’, had been a key part in his lighter sentencing but he hadn't known she’d been there as well.
“Be that as it may, many agree that the welfare of a child supersedes my, as you said yourself, archaic rights.” He swirled the amber fluid in his glass, watching it spiral and vortex before shooting it down in one gulp. Setting the crystal carefully on the counter infront of him as he continued. “I may have been acquitted for the things I did during the war but that hasn’t stopped the court of public opinion from branding me as a villain in certain lights. Unless I can prove myself to be a fit and stable parent, guardianship of my son will go to the Greengrass’s. At present, I’m in a rather precarious position. Astoria is not painting me in the best light and with the Malfoy name having been linked to so many horrors in the last decade alone, I can’t afford any more negative press.”
She eyed the bottle then seemed to think better of it and turned to fill her tumbler from the tap. “How is us being in a pretend relationship supposed to help you keep your son?”
“It nips the rumours of a sordid lifestyle in the bud. Instead of bed hopping, or any other unsavoury activity society can come up with if I so much as breathe wrong, I will be in a committed relationship with the hard working, morally upstanding, war heroine, Hermione Granger.”
“Why the charade? I understand there are probably some hurt feelings but can’t you just share custody with your wife so there’s no need for a legal battle?”
Draco feathered his hand through his hair. “If it was Astoria wanting custody, I’d have no -- fewer,” he amended reluctantly with a grimace, “hesitations about allowing her to retain some parental rights. But the one really pulling the strings is her father, Aspyn Greengrass and I don’t trust that man as far as I can hex him. He’s pushing for full guardianship and I can’t let that happen.” Half turning he wandlessly accio’d the envelope from the hidden pocket inside his robes. “That is where this comes in.”
Notes:
Favorite scene? I really like the BAMF Hermione showdown with Rita.
Posting next chapter shortly
Chapter 3: A Little Forgiveness
Notes:
Keeping up with the time line, posting chapter 3 right on the tail of chapter 2, as they flow right into each other.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, September 6
Hermione caught the packet Malfoy slid across the island to her with a dexterous hand. “What’s this?”
“A contract,” he explained, face once more the carefully neutral mask. “Laying out this arrangement and what I’m offering as compensation.”
There was at least an inch of documents in the envelope. “You came prepared.”
“I don’t like leaving things up to chance.”
They held each other's eyes for a long count of five. Had he always had that thin ring of ice blue around his iris? Blinking, Hermione broke first, eyes flicking down as she licked suddenly dry lips. “There’s one thing you forgot.”
“What’s that?” he drawled.
“No one will believe us being together.” They hadn't said more than a dozen words to each other in years, and even then it was only superficial greetings when they were reintroduced during Ministry functions. He led his rich, pureblood life and she lived hers, never the two interweaving. And now he expected everyone to buy them as a couple?
“My mother believed it,” he said softly, his voice deep and resonant. “And if the conversation I walked in on and the sucker punch I nearly received are anything to go on, so do your friends.”
“But once people actually stop and think--”
“People don’t care about facts, Granger, they care about a juicy story.”
This was ridiculous. There was no way. She couldn’t date -- er, pretend to date -- Draco Malfoy. “My answer is no. Now, I have a lunch meeting in...” she flipped her wrist to check the watch face, “fifteen minutes that I’ve been trying to schedule for weeks so...” She gestured towards the floo.
His eyes went stormy. Ignoring him, she poured out her glass in the sink then gathered her robe.
Stepping forward he took the material from her, shaking it out and holding it open for her to slip her arms in. She allowed him to settle the cloak, feeling the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. Blinking, she pulled away. Freeing her hair from the collar she led the way back to the floo. “You can leave first.”
He caught her hand as she made to move past, bringing her up short. “Granger, I realise this is not ideal, and under normal circumstances I would never dream of asking this of you, but I have run out of options.” The desperation in his silver eyes took Hermione’s breath away; this was a man that would do anything for his family. “Please,” his voice broke, “help me protect my son.”
She wondered, if she’d given them the chance, if her own father and mother would have fought just as fiercely to keep her? Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked away, pulling her hand free and feeling it tingle.
“I’ll read your proposal,” she whispered. “But that’s it.”
Seeming to know that was the best he was going to get from her, he didn’t push. Tossing some floo powder he called out his destination and disappeared in a swirl of green fire.
Scarcely giving the flames time to die down she threw in her own handful and stepped into her office, allowing herself only a deep breath before she set her mind firmly on the meeting ahead.
“Miss Kemla,” she called out to her assistant. “I’ve returned. Please bring in lunch.”
Dropping her briefcase on the hearth, Hermione kicked off her shoes, leaving them to land where they would, as she slunk across her living room to fall face down on her sofa.
Her lunch meeting had not go well.
The Head of Finance had politely listened to her recount her proposal (which she was sure he never read in the first place) as he ate his way through two helpings of steak and kidney pie and a bottle of rather expensive red wine while Hermione’s pumpkin bisque turned cold. Once he was full he interrupted her dissertation to inform her there was no room in the budget for her plans. When she proceeded to show him that if they redirected 3% from the overtime budget of the Aurors and they had only one Christmas party for staff instead of splitting it up by upper management and peons, then there would be enough for her project’s start up costs and six months of labour. He had not been pleased. Sourly he said he’d have his secretary look into it.
After that disaster, she’d gone to the Charms Department which turned out to be an even bigger joke. When she mentioned she’d like someone to go through her mail for the next month, something well within her rights as a Ministry worker with a threat concern, the front desk woman had rejected it. When Hermione had demanded the reason for it, she’d been told they didn’t deal with ‘the fall out of bad choices.’ And here Hermione had been under the impression that Draco had been erroring under hyperbole when he said that the wizarding world as a whole knew about them but if even mailwoman knew about her social life she was going to have a strongly worded conversation with Lavender about the definition of ‘secret’.
Mad enough to spit, Hermione had filled out an official form stating concern over an upcoming media story and her expectation of potential backlash from it. She demanded an escalation be put on it and a copy of her request (she wasn’t above thinking that nasty witch would ‘accidently’ lose the document.)
A sharp tapping brought her from angry thoughts. Lifting her head from the cushions she saw an absolutely gorgeous eagle-owl at her living room window. Realising that it had been noticed, it opened its beak and hissed soundlessly at her, pecking at the glass once more. Frowning, Hermione pushed herself up with a groan and swung open the window to the right of the animal. “And who are you?” she asked, easing a hip onto the sill.
Giving her a disapproving look, it shifted and offered his taloned leg and the roll of parchment tied to it. Frowning at the silver ribbon she offered the majestic animal a treat before unfurling it.
Developments to discuss. Ward me to your floo. --D. Malfoy
He wasted no time, did he. Hermione had known giving him an inch would result in him taking a mile but she had still given him that inch, which was her own damn fault. Huffing out a disgusted breath, she looked up at the owl.
“Are you able to take a return message to your high-handed lord and master?”
It blinked its large yellow eyes before settling in on his perch with a look that very much said, ‘don’t keep me waiting.’
“I’ll be right back,” Hermione promised, leaving the window open so the bird could enjoy the warm draft from inside.
After sending the owl off with another treat, Hermione regrouped on a stool in her kitchen with a glass of wine and the contract Draco had left. Taking a bracing sip she broke the seal and pulled the stack free.
‘For the term of six months, or until no longer necessary, or whichever comes first, one Hermione Jean Granger (henceforth referred to as the party of Granger) willingly enters into a binding contract with Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy (henceforth referred to as the party of Malfoy). At the end of the aforementioned time both parties will return to their original belongings besides what is gathered together in the midst of the binding and outside the scope laid out within this contract…’
It was both detailed and vague in the way of legal documents, covering every potentiality and their outcomes in parchment and ink. All in all, it was a weird hybrid of a non-disclosure mixed with a muggle prenup. As she read she automatically reached into her catch-all drawer on the side of the island and retrieved a pen to make notes. Crossing out the ‘six months’ and writing three. It was more than she wanted to give him but knew from her own interactions for her job just how long court cases could take.
Once finished, the contract laid in a neat face-down pile before her as she tried to organise her thoughts. Was she really going through with this? Her day had been tumultuous, with one disaster after the next and no chance to really catch her breath. She felt guilty, yes, for allowing such a little white lie to get so completely out of hand, doubly so when she understood a child was in the middle of it all. But did that mean she needed to get involved?
Hermione had several dealings with the Greengrass family that had been less than pleasant. Mr. Greengrass was as slimy as a flobberworm and greedy to a fault and while she couldn’t say a child would be in danger in his care, she sure as hell wouldn’t leave James or Albus with the man.
But was she really going to give up months of her life for a man who for years had been her adversary to save a child she’d never met?
She drained her wine glass, setting it down with more force then was warranted when she remembered Draco's eyes. How desperate and deep down scared he was for his son. It brought with it darker memories of a ballroom with him standing across from her with a very similar look. The lies he told had given them the precious extra minutes that had meant their escape and ultimately saved her, Harry, and Ron’s life.
Hermione sighed, covering her eyes and snorting mirthlessly, as she found she was fundamentally unable to deny him her aid in protecting his family.
Not after he’d helped her protect what was left of hers all those years ago.
Pasta was boiling on the stove behind her when the knock sounded at the front of her apartment. Pouring a second glass of wine, she corked the bottle and waited a long count to ten before moving to get the door.
“Happy?” Draco sneered looking as elegant as ever, still in his charcoal robes. “I’m at your door, like some muggle, per your request.”
She grinned. “Won't you come in?”
“This isn’t funny, Granger. If you weren’t so cursed stubborn--”
“You’re not special, Malfoy,” she told him as she led into her home. “Harry and Ginny don’t even have floo access unless I have the kids.”
He paused in shedding his coat, looking gobsmacked. “‘Kids’ as in plural? When did that happen?”
Returning to the stove, Hermione fished one of the pasta noodles out to test the doneness. “James just turned three and Albus is almost six months.” Half turning she pointed with her wooden spoon to the stool at the island that doubled as her kitchen table, offering him a seat. “What was so urgent that you needed to come over?”
“Father got an early copy of tomorrow’s Prophet,” he fell on the stool across from her, smoothing back his white blond hair that had fallen against his forehead. He looked almost as tired as she felt. “We made the front page.”
“Twice in one week,” she quipped, tossing the done pasta in a strainer in the sink. “Isn’t that a little gauche for a pureblood family?” Pulling down two plates she served a mound of noodles, garnishing each with freshly grated parmesan, garlic, and sliced cherry tomatoes. Retrieving her wine glass, and grabbing one for him along with the bottle, she brought everything over. Setting a plate, fork, and napkin in front of him she took her portion to the stool to the right.
“You cook?” he asked, startled, staring down at the food as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Why does everyone say it like that?” She shoved a twirl of pasta in her mouth.
“It was just in school you didn't seem like the ... homemaker type.”
“Just because I’m driven and have a job I like doesn’t make me domestically challenged,” she huffed, chewing. Wiping her lips with a napkin she reached forward to snag the packet of documents. “Now, down to business. I have several addendums, The first one being the removal of this, frankly ridiculous, stipend.” She flipped to page three, subsection nine.
Leaning over to read it himself, he shook his head. “This is a business agreement,” he said succinctly, retreating back to his side. “You are doing me a service and you will be justly compensated for it.”
“I am doing this because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t need your money for that.”
“The stipend is for any incidentals that may arise while we are together.”
Her hand tightened around her fork and said with as little emotion that she could manage, “it makes me feel like I’d be prostituting myself out for your money.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Cleared his throat and began again. “I would never make the mistake of thinking my compensating you for your assistance in this matter entitles me to … anything else.”
“But others will.” She bit her tongue to fight the tears, thinking of Ron’s hateful words spiralling through her head, staring pointedly down at her plate as she jabbed at her food, unable to meet his eyes. “As you say, society likes to talk.”
“No one will find out about this arrangement,” he promised softly.
Her eyes snapped to his. “The only reason we’re here is because I was having a private conversation with a friend, made up a pretend partner, and she jumped to a false conclusion. Whatever we decide, everyone is going to find out about it. I just want to mitigate as much damage to my image as I can and that begins with them not thinking I’m having sex with you for money.”
“Fine,” he yielded, stabbing ruthlessly at a tomato half. “But keep records of your expenditures and I will reimburse them.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother wasting her breath to inform him she had no intention of doing so.
“Your lease, of course, will be covered for the duration of the contract,” he continued, “as will the expense of a new wardrobe and any travel.”
“Lease -- wait, what’s wrong with my wardrobe?” Hermione glanced down at her sweater-and-skirt combo that she’d worn to the office. She thought she looked rather nice.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Your clothes are perfectly adequate for what you are.” He shoved a too-large-to-be-mannerly bite of pasta in his mouth, as if that would save him.
“And what am I,” she challenged, thrusting out her chin.
She saw his mind spinning as he chewed slowly, saw him come up with something adequate, and swallow. “A powerful witch who cares more about what she needs to do for her job than what she wears to do it.”
Hermione blew a curl out of her face before rolling her eyes. “Silver tongue devil,” she chastised. “I’ll buy my own clothes if the need arises.”
“I know what you make at the Ministry. You won’t be able to afford it.”
“I have a perfectly adequate salary for my needs,” she bristled.
Folding his arms, the charcoal material of his three piece suit accenting his chest as he gave her a shrewd look. “What will it take to keep the stipulations as they are?” he demanded.
Dragging her gaze away from his ridiculously good shoulders, she met his eyes. “I’m not staying with you for six months, Malfoy.”
“We both don’t want that. Six months was what my attorney said was on the outside for how long this could potentially drag out, not as a hard time frame. That's why the ‘until no longer necessary’ was added, to give us an out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’ve already spent more than enough time with my lawyers this past year, I don’t relish the idea of having to spend more. Tell me what it will take for you to agree to things as is.”
Of course he’d try to pull something like this. She sat back on the stool, crossing her arms and eyeing him mutinously. If he wanted to be a prick, she’d name a price even he would choke on. “I want a Favour,” she said with relish.
Draco’s eyes turned molten, the look in them demanding to know if she knew what she was asking for. A Favour was a type of Unbreakable Vow, which could not be ignored once invoked. The bearer would slowly decline both mentally and physically until the given objective was completed or they died, in which case the parameters were passed on to their next living heir.
She smirked, daring him to concede. She’d win either way, either he’d back down and remove the frankly absurd amount for incidentals and adjust the time frame more to her liking, or she’d get a Favour from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and that was nothing to sneeze at. His glare said he knew it too.
Did he always have such expressive eyes, Hermione found herself wondering. As a girl she always thought them cold but now she felt a delicious warmth from having riled him.
“Fine,” he snapped. “One Favour that does no harm to me or mine.”
“That, sir, is a lawyer’s reply,” she said condescendingly. “There is no end to the argument of what could be considered ‘harm’.”
“I am not giving you cart blanche over a Favour, Granger. It’s not going to happen.”
“To think a Slytherin believes me capable of such deviancy to be wary. I’m flattered.” Merlin, was she flirting? With Malfoy? Shaking herself of that notion she settled for a more beneficial wording. “If you are that concerned how about, ‘One Favour that holds no ill will for me or mine’? That way I can dig into the Malfoy reserves if I ever need to and you wont have to worry about me demanding your first born.”
“Isn't that counterintuitive to the innate threat of invoking a Favour?”
Hermione shrugged negligently. “Not if you do what I say.”
“Well, aren't you a saint.”
“Said the serpent to the maiden.” She looked up through her lashes trying very hard not to grin. “Do we have a deal, Malfoy?”
He hesitated for a beat but quickly shrouded himself back in his air of self confidence. “Yes, Granger. We have a deal.” She felt the pulse of the magic being sealed like a warm weight pressed to her sternum. That now brought the number of Favours owed to her to seven, three of which were from prominent wizarding families.
“Just so we’re both aware, I’m only doing this for your son.” Retrieving her muggle ball-point pen, Hermione signed the contract with a flourish before turning pen and parchment to Draco.
“Noted.” He studied the pen, testing it in a blank corner, before setting his name in ink.
"Since the public reveal is taken care of already, is there anything else we need to discuss?” she asked.
“We are going to have to be seen with each other in public at some point. We should decide on that.”
“What do you have in mind? Being seen leaving popular restaurants? Picking me up for lunch at the Ministry? Long walks in the park?”
"That's a start."
Imagining them in those situations, she barked out a laugh. “This is ridiculous, you know that right?”
Finishing with his meal he laid his cutlery in the center of the plate. “I am well aware.”
“I mean, this is bloody insane! You hated me in school, how could your mother believe we’re dating?”
“I never hated you,” he said, dabbing at his mouth and laying his napkin on the counter.
“Really?” A raised brow accompanied the dry look. ”Because it sure felt like hatred from where I was standing.”
“I resented you.”
“Oh, that is so much better,” she gushed in false contrition, snatching up the plates and taking them over to the sink.
“I’m not saying it’s better, it just was,” he said from behind her. “I was an only child that got everything I wanted and to whom things came easy all my life. Then when I went away to school I was constantly coming in second place to a girl I’d been raised to believe was a lesser being based on her birth. It made me question and doubt everything I’d ever known, including my own self-worth.”
“And it never once crossed your mind that I was in the same boat?” Was it too soon to start regretting signing the contract? She glared at him over her shoulder as she dumped the dishes in the sink, flipping the water on aggressively. “Growing up, you people didn’t even exist for me outside of fairy tales. And to learn I was one turned my whole world on its head. It gave me hope that I wasn’t a freak, that maybe I belonged somewhere. Then I get there and am treated even worse than before! Do you know how many times I’ve been pushed, or tripped, or jinxed? How many nights I’ve spent crying because people saw me as less than human?”
She’d told herself she was over this! It was years ago, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d made a place for herself in the wizarding world, she was making a difference! So why did she have the incessant urge to cry? Annoyed with her reaction as much as she was with his words she shoved her hands in the rubber kitchen gloves and attacked the dishes with the scrubber. “I’m sorry you couldn’t handle not being number one after having the world served to you on a silver platter. I was trying to survive in a world that wanted to drown me and I learned everything I could to keep myself afloat.”
“I admired that about you,” he said, voice like velvet, and it felt like her world shifted a foot to the left. She swayed, clinging to the sink. “I still do.”
Disbelieving she turned over her shoulder to look at him.
He met her stare levelly. “Your thirst for knowledge. Your drive to make the world better, even when everyone tells you you’re wrong for it.” His eyes were liquid silver. “You have a … goodness about you that I envy.”
Not knowing what else to do, she turned back to washing up without saying anything, lost in thought.
“Why do you do it like that?” Draco asked once the silence stopped feeling so fragile.
“Do what?” she asked, preoccupied with scrubbing a plate that had caked on cheese from breakfast.
“The dishes. Why not use magic?”
She paused looking down at her bright pink gloves holding the sponge. “I’ve just always done it this way. It’s… nice. Calming. To have something I can do that doesn’t need magic. To know I can still do something even if everything else were to go away.” She looked up to meet his eyes in question. “Do you ever feel that or is that just a muggle thing?”
His pause was starting to make her feel awkward. Was it really that odd?
“I’ve felt it,” he said finally. Not bothering with eye contact as he stood and he made his way around her kitchen island to stand by her side. Picking up one of the dripping dishes from the rack and a kitchen towel, he began drying. “I think our first outing should be dinner. Are you free tomorrow night?”
Notes:
Okay, we are getting into the meat of things now.
Next up is date night! Will be posting tomorrow Sept 7th ~7pm DTS
How are we liking things? Pacing nice? How are we liking the characters?
Chapter 4: All the Doubts That Fill My Head
Notes:
Thank you everyone whoe has kudo'd and Masha83, BeauxT, TrillbySkinner, LadyAnn98 for commenting on the last chapter!
Hermione's Dress:
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/912753049451731479/And on we go!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saturday , September 7th
Pulling out his silver pocket watch, Draco glared down at the time. Granger had agreed to meet him a block down from the restaurant at seven o’clock sharp. It was now nine minutes after the hour. He’d taken her to be a punctual swott from everything he knew of her from school and what he’d heard from her work at the Ministry. So why was she late?
Was she having second thoughts? Was she even coming? He didn’t take the little Gryffindor to be a coward. If she wasn’t going to show the proper thing would have been to send an owl with her intentions. At least that way he wouldn't be standing here like an idiot waiting for someone that wasn’t coming.
He paced, growing more agitated by the second. She signed the damn contract, she knew what she was getting into. If she was going to be this difficult after the fact he would drag her though so many lawsuits she’d be in a courtroom for the next ten years. If she cost him his son, he’d bury her.
The crack of an apparition and the sound of heels on cobble had Draco turning, about to pop off with some snide remark and nearly swallowed his tongue.
She dressed in beige, because of course she would. A completely benign colour but on her it made his heart rate increase. It was warm toned, closer to champagne, and complemented her skin instead of washing her out.
She had her hands up, fiddling with the clasp of an earring. The sheer sleeves and overlay tulle skirt added a note of whimsy while the sharp cut of the neckline and the belted waist gave it a mature elegance. Her peep-toe pumps brought her to just shy of eye level and her eyes were their customary chocolate richness. She even managed to get her hair into some semblance of tameness, though one rogue curl said it was a temporary armistice at best.
“Oi,” she snapped her fingers infront of his face. “Earth to Malfoy. What are you staring at?”
He blinked. “You’re wearing beige,” he commented, like that explained everything. “And you're late.” Which was more the point but made him look like an idiot.
Rolling her eyes she huffed. “Only by a few minutes.
“It was nearly ten.” He offered his arm. She looped her’s through without comment as he led them up the walk.
Le Trucs Gris was an upscale restaurant whose clients were typically those that ran in the upper echelon of the wizarding world, with the odd Quidditch player or actress thrown in. It was expensive, it was huanty, and didn’t stand outsiders lightly but it served excellent food unlike some establishments that skated by on laurels alone.
Giving his name to the maitre’d, Draco watched as the man’s training lapsed just enough to stare at his date a second too long before scurrying off to set their table.
“Well, at least you’re still recognizable,” Draco remarked. “I had my concerns.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Most know you by that curly mane you call hair. What did you do to it by the way?” On its own accord his hand came up, aiming for that wayward curl that caressed her cheek.
“Don’t touch it,” she barked, ducking his advance. “This took two hours, three bottles of extra hold hair spray and I still had to resort to a stasis charm. It’s going to be down-right mean tomorrow and I don’t want that time frame expedited by you poking at it.”
“So it is sentient.” He grinned, remembering lighter years of shooting the shit with his mates in the Slytherin common room. “There was a bet running at Hogwarts. You just won me a butter beer.”
“Oh har-har,” she fumed, jerking free of him. “As if I didn’t get made fun of enough at school. Now my hair is an animal and my clothes are boring, just what every girl dreams of hearing when out on a date.” Stomping around him, she gracefully fell into step with the waiter that came to lead them to their table.
Fighting his eyes wanting to drop to the sway of her hips, he followed behind. When the waiter went to pull out her seat, Draco intervened, doing it himself and tucking her in.
“Wine?” the waiter asked.
“Yes,” Draco decided. He laid a lingering hand on her shoulder, telling himself it was for the benefit of their audience. “Your 2000 vintage Planeta Chardonnay.”
With a bow the waiter saw himself away.
“There are muffling charms embedded in the table. Powerful ones,” she noted, impressed, laying her napkin across her lap.
“Standard in any upper-class restaurant,” he informed, circling the table to take his seat. The general murmur was present; tinkling of glassware, soft orchestral from the live band, the hum of conversation, but it was indistinct and ambient. “Can’t talk business if you can be overheard.”
“Merlin, what have I gotten myself into,” she lamented into her water glass. “Why did I ever agree to this?”
“Because I’m a devious bastard that preyed on your moral superiority and your bleeding-heart mentality,” he said, shaking out his own napkin.
She snorted, digging into the bread already provided on the table. “You don’t know me, Malfoy.”
“I know enough.” Letting his words hang in the air for a charged moment, he watched her. They’d spent six years together at school. Had fought on opposite sides of a war, coming within a hair's breadth of destroying each other. He knew her pressure points on injustice and children being thrown into dangerous situations they shouldn’t have to face and he had fully intended to exploit both when he stepped into her office the previous day to get the result he wanted. And here she was, in a public setting, having dinner with him and adding validity to his character so he could keep his son.
Breaking eye contact, his gaze travelled down to her neck and chest in a heated caress. “And for the record, you do not look boring.” He returned to her eyes, allowing her to see his smirk. “The wardrobe comment rile you enough to go out and buy a dress?”
Throwing her head back she laughed. Draco saw more than one set of eyes turn towards her. His pointed gaze met that of several other males, staking his claim as she gained control of herself.
“You are an absolute wretch,” she chortled, carefully dabbing at her eyes with the linen napkin. “This was a dress I already owned, thank you very much. Fleur -- you remember the Beauxbatons Champion from fourth year? She married Bill Weasley during the war -- picked this out herself when I visited this past summer.”
The waiter returned with wine, pouring a taster. Accepting the vintage, Draco requested the specials.
“We have a duck confit with poached pear,” the waiter recited. “Or steak diane with a cherry vinaigrette arugula salad.”
“I’ll have the steak diane but I don’t like cherry,” Hermione said, perusing her menu before smiling winfully at the waiter. “Which of the other sides would you recommend?”
“Oh, well, uh,” the man stuttered. “Any of the salads are popular but I really like the au gratin.”
“Mmmm, all that butter and cream.” She moaned and Draco nearly growled at the man’s arrested look. “You’ve convinced me, the au gratin it is.” She handed back the thick card stock.
“I’ll have the lamb, rare,” Draco interrupted, forcefully passing off his own menu to pull the man’s focus towards himself. “With the feta salad.” Seeing the look of warning, the waiter quickly scurried off to send in their ticket.
“So, Malfoy, how was--”
“You should call me Draco,” he interrupted.
She blinked, baffled. “What?”
“First names are a way to denote intimacy,” he said, picking up his wine and taking a hearty sip. “I can’t have you calling me ‘Malfoy’ like we’re work relations when we need to have this look legitimate.”
“Fine.” Rolling her eyes she sat forward and it was like a switch flicked. “Draco,” she purred and he nearly choked as the weight of her amorous gaze settled over him. “We want people to think we’ve been seeing each other for some time now, correct?”
Her words didn’t register until he caught her subtly checking that they had the eyes of the table next to them, a well known lawyer and his young wife, and was disgusted with himself for over-thinking her action. He’d proposition her taking into account her brains, he shouldn’t feel this-- this disappointment when she used them cunningly.
Breathing calmly out through his nose he set down his glass, and, committing to his part, smiled charmingly at her. “Not too long. Nothing serious, but heading that way.”
“So acquaintances trying for more?” She tipped her head, showing off the long line of her neck, flashing a coy smile. “Then we shouldn't make a public announcement after this morning's paper.”
Draco only barely managed to keep himself from frowning. He’d spent two hours with his personal assistant drafting the story they were going to tell the masses. He’d even brought a copy of the notice they'd come up with for her to look at before they sent it in for Monday’s edition. “Why?”
Shrugging one shoulder gracefully, causing the front of her dress to gape ever so slightly more, she eased back in her chair, the air of flirtation evaporating. Now that she’d laid the seed for those watching them, it was time to get back to business at hand. “We’re both private people, for being so much in the public eye, and well known for media dodging.” Grabbing another wheel of bread she swiped a pad of butter on it as she spoke. “If we suddenly make an announcement of this kind, it would be out of the norm.”
“All of this is out of the norm,” he said, frustrated.
“Exactly but we’re trying to make it look normal.” She gestured with her bread. “I don’t make comments on my personal life if I can help it. You’ve been off being married for several years with only your son’s birth and your divorce hitting the press. If we suddenly make a big hoopla about us dating, it’s going to throw some red flags.”
“The whole point of this is to show people we’re dating,” he pointed out.
“And we are. We’re just not confirming it with the press.”
Perturbed that he knew where this was going, he asked anyway. “Explain.”
“If we are seen by enough people, we won't have to make a statement because we’ll be an open secret.” She pulled out a journal. Or, Draco frowned, turning his head to get a better look as she flipped through pages, a planner crammed full with her neat writing. She marked two sections with some sort of nauseatingly vibrant ink for the following week. “I’ve made a schedule. Lunch on Wednesday. Somewhere we go frequently enough to be recognized but not too often that it is notable when we show up together. Dinner again on Thursday, somewhere with ambiance but not necessarily this fancy.” She denoted their current setting with a flippant wave of her hand, popping the last bite of bread in her mouth.
Draco’s nose furled. “Who goes to dinner on Thursday?”
“People who want to not be observed spending time together. It’s unfashionable. And will put the thought in people’s mind that this,” she flicked a finger between the two of them, “is not a new thing.”
“So by going at odd times it hints at an established pattern without having to come out and say it. Brilliant as usual, Granger.”
She grinned, snatching up her wine playfully. “So I have to call you by name but I still get Granger’d? I see how it is.”
He shared her smile. Then frowned when a thought occurred to him. “If we set up a pattern this cements you in the awkward position to have been dating a man you knew to still be married.” He knew the time lines would be on people’s tongue but he had hoped to quell that with their public statement.
“Semantics,” she shrugged, setting down her wine glass. Spinning it by its stem as she looked at the wavering candle light through the pure crystal. “People are going to think that regardless. Hell, it was part of the original story I concocted with Lavender.”
Draco snorted. “Loud-mouth Brown is how this all started? I should have known.”
Hermione had the good grace to blush, taking him back to sixth year when she was having a monstrous time trying to brew Draught of Living Death for N.E.W.T’s. It was one of the rare moments of cheer he had that year, and many years to come.
“Don’t be too hard on her,” she requested pleadingly, “it really all comes back on me.” Picking up a bread piece she began shredding it. Nervous fingers, Draco filed away as he listened. “Hearing I had found someone made her so happy. All my friends have been trying to set me up with someone since she and Ron got together.”
“I heard about their engagement.” Read it in the paper actually and the journalist dredging up the breakup of the Golden Couple from two years prior. After being raked over the coals of public opinion for his crimes, Draco had always sneered at the Gryffindor Princess' abhorrent aversion at being spotted twitterpated in the park. He was starting to understand that while they may have just been fluff pieces to the general reader, to her they were the constant lancing of old wounds never giving them the time to fully heal.
“I’m ecstatic for them, truly,” she said with genuine emotion. “They both deserve someone that makes them happy. But -- and I’m including Ginny and Harry in this -- they are driving me absolutely barmy! It’s like being the last single friend is some kind of travesty that they must fix.”
Draco was enchanted by the play of emotion on her face; frustration, joy, sadness, anger, longing. It was all there, so open and honest. She may be annoyed with them now but if they were in trouble, or if anyone dared to threaten them, she would be their first defender. It took him a little by surprise that the word that encapsulated all that he was seeing was ‘love’. She loved her friends and it was breathtaking.
“In the last eight months I’ve been set up on two dozen dates,” she continued, riled up. “It was getting ridiculous! So I made someone up.”
Draco shook his head, she really was something. “And how did that ‘someone’ turn into me?”
She gave him a dry smirk. “Your name coincidentally happens to start with ‘d’, you are well known for your hair, and are newly divorced.”
Caught by surprise at the frank, stripped down analysis of superfluous features that just happened to all fit him to a tee, he roared with laughter. Finding the humour in it herself, she cracked a grin. He had the strangest urge to see what it tasted like. Arrested by the direction of his own thoughts he changed the topic to work long enough for their food to arrive.
“So besides you and your lawyer, who all knows the truth about us?” Hermione asked, cutting into her steak and taking a happy bite.
“That doesn’t matter. Just keep it quiet on your end and we’ll be fine.” His lamb was perfect. He knew there was a reason he still came here besides the charmed tables and elite atmosphere.
“Oh, I completely disagree, Malfoy. If your mother calls me a slag over morning tea I want to know if it’s because of rumores or if that’s how she truly feels.”
He frowned at the sound of his surname, he needed to break her of that habit. Inspiration struck when he recalled her earlier flirtation for the benefit of their audience. As they say, turnabout's fair play.
Leaning forward he captured her hand and brought it to his lips, appearing to all other dinners like a man infatuated. “It’s Draco,” he whispered against her knuckles. She rolled her eyes but let him get away with it instead of jerking back as he half expected her to. “And I highly doubt that the word ‘slag’ has ever crossed my mother’s lips. If her good breeding ever lapses and she does belittle you, tell me and I will take care of it.”
Her fist clenched around her fork, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Malfoy.”
“Draco.” He laid a kiss on her wrist. She smelled nice, a hint of perfume warmed by her skin, something natural but not quite floral; woodsy. “And I know that, Hermione. I do it for my sake more than anything. My mother will at least pretend to listen to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who all knows, Malfoy.”
Like a terrier with a rat, that one. Brushing a caressing finger down her arm and along the inside of her elbow, he wondered just how far he could push this. “It’s Draco. And only--”
“Are you trying to Pavlove’s dog me?” she screeched, realisation dawning in those beautiful brown eyes.
“They don’t call you the brightest witch of her age for nothing,” he grinned, placing another chase kiss on her finger tips before releasing her and returning to his meal. “As for what you’re trying to get at, yes my parents know.”
“So you get to tell people but I can’t?” she demanded hauntingly.
He shot her a bland look. “My parents kept their mouths shut long enough to outlive the Dark Lord. Your friends are the reason we’re in this mess. Do you really want to debate who gets to know?”
A blush heated her cheeks as she looked away in a tiff. “So your pureblood parents aren't hung up on the fact that you’re doing this with a muggle-born?"
“Mother wouldn't care if you were a two headed troll,” he shrugged. His feta salad really was phenomenal, not too vinegary; delicious. “Things have been hard for me with the divorce. She heard your name and remembered you from when I was in school. When she asked about the rumours she wasn't disgusted, she was hurt that I, her only son, kept his girlfriend from her."
"Oof,” she winced, taking a gulp of wine. “’Girlfriend’, is that what we’re calling it?”
He didn't bother to hide his smirk. “I was going to say ‘lover’ but thought that would be too crass.” Sad reminiscences coloured his mood as his lips thinned, memories of the hardships he’d put his mother through the last year and a half coming to bear. “She’s only ever wanted me to be happy. Surprisingly enough she was the first one to broach the concept of divorce with me. Oh, I’ve though of it loads of times but I never said it out loud. And here is my conservative, old-world mother presenting me that very option. She could see how miserable I was and would move heaven and earth to see me happy.”
“Now you're in a fake relationship with a witch you can't stand with a time clock and a contract. Just what every mother wants for her baby boy.”
“This is not a fake relationship.” Shaking off his melancholy, he straightened. “For all intent and purpose, for however long this lasts, it is very much real and I expect you to remain committed to it. As for the contract, it’s how her’s and my father started.” She looked shocked and Draco barked a laugh. “Granger, marriage contracts are not a new thing. You should have seen your face.”
The waiter chose that time to come back and check on the table, Draco and Hermione instinctually shifting back in their respective chairs, opening up the whole of the table between them. “Are we ready for dessert? We have creme brulee and Chocolate soufflé on tonight’s menu,” he offered cheerily.
“Oh, no thank you,” Granger refused. “I’m stuffed.”
“One of each,” Draco overruled, not wanting it to look like the night was ending too soon for those watching.
The waiter looked between them, uncomfortable, before erroring on the side of the sale and rushing off to complete it.
Head going down like a viper about to strike, she turned on him. “Why did you do that?”
Too late Draco remembered that those who tended to counter Hermione Granger often found themselves in dangerous waters. But Malfoys were never ones to back down from a challenge. “It looks bad if a date leaves before dessert. Also, their soufflé is renowned. You’ll love it.”
“I don’t like chocolate.” Each word was barbed.
Here we go again, Draco thought barely refrained from rolling his eyes, hackles raised and teeth bared for no reason. “Then you can have the creme brulee.”
“I don’t want creme brulee, I want to go home. I’m tired.”
“It’s not even 8:30, your bed will still be waiting for you after dessert.”
“You’re impossible,” she growled.
“And you’re being obstinate,” he shot back.
Glowering, she slumped back in the chair, arms crossed.
Was it really too much for her to show some gratitude? He’d pick this restaurant specifically because he thought she would like it. Their soufflés really were world renowned and who in their right mind didn’t like chocolate!
When the waiter came back with their desserts he got a sweet smile as she asked for the cheque. She didn’t even bother glancing at Draco as he bit into the rather decadent soufflé, leaving her own dish untouched.
Like a dog happy to serve, the waiter returned quickly. Giving him another smile Granger intercepted the bill with a ‘thank you’ before it could be laid on Draco’s side of the table. Her coco rich eyes flickering over it. Satisfied, she laid down the slip of paper, her purple beaded bag appearing in her hands. Digging in it she laid out a stack of galleons.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked.
“Paying my portion of the bill.” She gave a pleasant, passive-aggressive smile as she stood, pushing in her chair. “Enjoy the rest of your desserts,” she said and walked away.
Draco’s jaw dropped as he stared at the departing sway of her skirt. Of all the stubborn… Snarling under his breath he signed the bottom of the bill, not even bothering to confirm the amount and swept up her pile of galleons before storming after his date.
Catching up to her outside he flicked his wand casting a quietus over the both of them. After the humiliation of a witch walking out on him the last thing he needed was someone overhearing them. “What the hell was that?”
“You wanted dessert, I wanted to go home. Win, win.” She didn’t pause in her angry stride, heels cracking against the sidewalk, as he was forced to trot to keep up with her.
They made the alley they’d originally met up in. “So the next time you don’t get your way, you’re going to throw a tantrum?”
She spun, jabbing a finger to his chest and backing him up against a wall. “The only one throwing a tantrum here, Dray-co,” she made a mockery of his name, “is you. My life doesn’t stop just because you dropped into it and you do not have the right to dictate it! I want to go home. I’m tired. I have things going on tomorrow that don’t involve you!” she yelled, punctuated each point with another stab of her nail.
“Sorry to interrupt the show,” they both turned to see a wizard, slightly older than the two of them, long wavy hair flowing to his shoulders, with his wand trained lazily on them. The air of danger about him hard to ignore. “Hands up where I can see ‘em. You, prettyboy, toss the wand. No heroics, aye?”
“Oh, this night just keeps getting better and better,” she hissed at Draco as she complied with the criminal’s order.
“How is this my fault?” He demanded, wand clattering to the ground as he raised his own hands, mind racing on how to get them out of this.
“I’m not saying it’s your fault,” she accused. “I’m saying--”
“Oi, shut your lip. You,” the man pointed his wand at Draco. “Pass over the blunt,” his wand tracked menacingly back towards the witch, “or this one and I are going to get better acquainted.”
“No need to threaten the lady,” Draco said cavalierly, shifting ever so slightly in front of Granger. If the cretin just wanted money, he’d hand it over gladly. “I’m reaching for my billfold,” he warned before slowly inching for the inner pocket of his suit.
“Don’t give it to him,” Hermione scolded. “That’s just rewarding bad behaviour.”
“Shud’p your woman before I do it for ya,” the man warned darkly.
“Granger, now is not the time for debates on morality,” Draco hissed under his breath. Raising his voice to be heard he told the mugger, “I’m going to lob this at you. There’s a couple hundred galleons in here so be prepared for the weight.” Putting words to action, Draco lobbed the billfold in an easy underhanded arch.
Notes:
Next chapter will be posted tonight around 8:30pm PDT
Chapter Text
Saturday , September 7th
While the thief's eyes were trained on the prize, thus suitably distracted, Hermione flexed her wrist, popping her wand from its glamoured holster on her forearm and into her hand. It was a residual idiosyncrasy from her time during the war but enabled her to shoot off three spells in such quick succession that neither wizard knew what had happened until it was over.
The mugger’s body, encased in rope, clattered to the ground followed closely by his wand, the bag of galleons left hovering caught by an arresto momentum. Grumbling under her breath about the stupidity of males she waved the bag towards herself and snatched it from the air.
“Here,” she said, slapping it into Draco's chest before summoning a wordless patronus. Touching the spectral otter’s head lovingly for a moment, letting its warm presence center her, she sent it off into the night. “Reinforcement will be here s--”
“What the hell was that!" Draco exploded, wide-eyed and furious.
She fell back a step at his anger, then took two forward to stand toe to toe with him. “Excuse me?”
“He had a wand trained on you!” His hand went to his hair and pulled as he put space between them and started to pace. “This wasn't a duel, Hermione, he wasn't going to be sporting about it. What if he had gotten a spell off?”
“I’ve perfected wandless protego,” she informed hands on hips, eyes trailing him. How dare he question her control of magic! As if she couldn’t counter some common-tier mugger. “You're welcome for keeping your money from being stolen.”
“Hang the money!” he spun on her, getting right back in her face. “You can play the hero all you want on your own time but do not involve me. I have a son waiting for me to come home! A handful of change is not worth endangering that!”
“But what if he'd gotten away with it?” she said seething, refusing to back down, refusing to feel guilty, over doing the right thing. “You don't know what he could have done next time if he went after someone with less skill.”
He wiped away her argument by cutting a hand through the air. “Not my problem.”
“Why you selfish--” A pop interrupted her as Harry stepped out of thin air, glasses askew and hair a mess.
“I came as fast as I could,” he panted, rushing her and taking her shoulders between his hands and checking her over. “Are you alright?”
Shooting one parting glare at Draco, she smiled reassuringly at her friend. “I’m fine.” She waved a hand in the direction of the man trussed up like a turkey writhing on the ground. “It’s just a mugger. I called so you can take him into custody.”
Seeing that she was unharmed, Harry crouched next to the man, wand out, checking the bindings. “Nice incarcerous,” he praised, glancing up at her with a grin that reminded her of childhood and mischief. “You know, we’re always looking for aurors.”
Hermione grinned back, slightly strained but comforted by the familiarity. “That wouldn’t be fair to you or Ron. I’ve heard it’s quite trying to always be shown up.”
An old argument, both joking but with hidden truths. It wasn’t just her boys that had issues with being out performed. She took the six week auror boot camp right alongside her friends, two dozen other fine wizards and three witches. Passing with flying colours, more to prove that she could then for any real drive, she went to Shacklebolt and turned in her withdrawal paperwork within an hour of graduating. She knew her worth and would not put herself in the position to constantly be belittled for her blood status or gender.
“You asinine Gryffindors with your stupid heroics.” Nearly forgotten, Hermione turned to see Draco still fuming. Making sure both saw his sneer, he retrieved his wand from the pavement. Pointing it menacingly at her he demanded, “owl me when you get home,” before spinning on his heel and apparating away.
“You look nice,” Harry said after a prolonged silence.
Hermione eased a hand down the tulle of her skirt, palms suddenly sweaty. “Thanks.”
“So you and Malfoy,” Harry headged. “I didn’t want to believe it was real.”
He was her best friend, keeping this from him was killing her, but bound to silence, she settled for a shrug. “It’s still new. Wouldn’t even have gone public but someone in our friend group doesn’t know what a secret is.” That at least satisfied her guilt by being the truth.
“You know Lav does it out of love, right?” Harry grunted, taking a firm hold on the assailant’s upper arm and forcing him to his feet. “She just gets so excited and wants to share it with everybody.”
“I know,” she sighed, visibly deflating. “It would have been nice if she’d have left this one alone.” As the only female of the Golden Trio her dating life was plastered everywhere and people seemed to think it was their right to comment on who she dated and throw out opinions on her sex life. The boys got it too but not quite as invasive. Harry and Ginny had been a thing since the end of the war and after her and Ron’s break up he’d dated only a few girls casually until he met Lavender.
“Well, Ginny is chomping at the bit to give you the third degree. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold her back.”
“Good god,” Hermione griped, wrapping her arms around her waist, wishing she’d brought a coat, “it’s been two days!”
“When you’re ready, bring him to dinner,” Harry offered kindly, understandingly, leaving Hermione wondering what made her deserving of having such great friends. Then he grinned, easing the tension like only he knew how to. “Though I recommend asking Gin to lunch soon, just so you don’t find her having broken into your house and I have to arrest my wife for trespassing.”
“Thanks, Harry,” she squeezed his shoulder. “Need me to come down to make a statement?”
“Just send an owl when you get home,” he quipped with a smirk as she rolled her eyes.
Prepared to trigger her own apparition, his soft words stopped her. “I want you to be happy, ‘Mione,” he said, eyes dark with shared nightmares. “If he does that, I’m willing to get to know him.”
Like a sucker punch Hermione could only stand their gaping at him. It had been a confessional, told late in the night over a bottle of fire whiskey that she couldn't remember the last time she'd been truly happy in her relationship. It was a moment of morose weakness after her breakup from Ron but for Harry to have remembered it after all this time... In the end she could only nod sharply before apparating herself home.
Peeling off her heels she cracked her nylon encased toes. Carrying them with her as she moved down the hall she set them outside her bedroom door before stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light.
“Happy, huh?” she mused to her reflection. Her hair was starting to spring back from the pins she put in it. She’d eaten off all of her lipstick over dinner and her eyeliner was smudged. The dress she had fallen in love with when she’d seen it last year and had allowed her girlfriends to convince her to buy, looked washed out under the harsh fluorescence. Her hand moved up to smooth the princess skirt but stopped, dropping to hang listlessly at her side.
Flicking off the light she went to bed.
Sunday morning came far too early. Ginny dropped the boys off at five a.m. so she and Harry could portkey to Poland in time for warm-ups with her team, the Hollyhead Harpies, before their big match at ten. In the midst of passing hellos and diaper bags, the sneaky witch cornered her into lunch the following day. Hermione reluctantly agreed knowing that Ginevra Potter, née Weasley, was not above making herself obnoxious to get her way.
The little cafe they met at was one they frequented often. It was down the street from the daycare that watched Albus and James when Ginny had her training days with the Harpies. She would be picking them up after her interrogation.
The quaint parler was filled with golden light from a rare sunny day even though it hovered just above freezing outside. Ginny was already seated at a corner table in front of the big windows, waving her over frantically.
“I already ordered for us and all necessary charms are in place,” the redhead informed, looking nearly rabid, hair pulled back in a perky tail. “Now, spill.”
Feeling coerced, Hermione dropped into her chair, arms crossed. “Your brother’s fiancée has a big mouth.”
“Please,” Ginny scoffed, spooning an absurd amount of sugar into her tea, “we already knew that.”
“She told the Prophet,” Hermione hissed in a whisper, eyeing the other tables cautiously.
“That’s all on you. From what Harry and Ron say, Malfoy was already in your office when the Beetle dropped by,” she said, using the name they’d coined for Skeeter back in fourth year. Unmannerly licking the spoon she used to stir her tea, she pointed it at Hermione. “By-the-by, I’ve already hex’d Ron within an inch of his life for all the rubbish he spewed. And I’ve told Lav.”
Hermione winced. For as bubbly and personable as Lavender was, she would become your worst nightmare real quick if you hurt someone close to her. Ron had only voiced what others would no doubt think so she almost felt sorry for the jerk. Almost. That the hurtful words had come from a friend was what really tore at her.
“Do you believe I’m selling myself dating Malfoy?” Hermione asked, voice small, thinking of the truly absurd amount of money she agreed to receive by signing the contract.
“If you are, bleed him dry before you dump him.” The redhead downed her tea, pragmatic as ever.
“I’m serious, Ginny.”
“So am I.” She smiled as their waitress brought over an immoderate amount of food for the table. “Don’t listen to Ron. As per usual, he’s being an idiot. If you are using the Ferret,” yet another name from bygone days, “more power to you. If you’re not, then don’t worry about it and have some fun. Have you shagged him yet?”
“Ginny!” she gasped, double checking to make sure the retreating waitress hadn't overheard.
“What? I’ve always wondered if he was a good lay. He looks like he has soft lips.” She winked. “And I’ve got a thing for quidditch player’s bodies.”
“No, we have not shagged,” her voice dropped to a whisper on the last word, clutching her coffee, embarrassed.
Ginny grinned, cutting into her full English breakfast with relish. “But you want to.”
“He has a child,” Hermione deflected, turning to stare out the window and the people all bundled up enjoying the sun.
“Harry and I have two, that doesn't stop us.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she sing-songed, buttering a muffin and taking an inelegant bite.
“And I’m not going to,” Hermione snipped through gritted teeth, glaring at the witch.
After Ginny swallowed she continued to press as if she had not just nearly gotten her head bitten off. “Is this because of the divorce thing?”
Hermione blew out a breath. Once Ginny was on a roll, few things would stop her. “A little,” she ventured, spinning her mug between her hands. “I just never saw myself being with a married man.”
“From everything I’ve heard that was mostly a technicality,” she said, whipping her butter knife back and forth as if clearing the air. “A technicality that’s been fully dealt with,” using the knife as a sceptre she decreed, “shag away.”
“It’s still too new,” Hermione hedged, unable to come up with a more plausible lie as to why there would be no shagging, now or ever. “I need to wrap my head around it.” She dug into her own meal of broccoli soup and a half roast beef sandwich.
“Bring him over,” Ginny encouraged using her toast to soak up a bit of yolk. “If I remember correctly his son is just a bit older than Albus. It would be nice, I need more parent friends.”
Hermione choked. Fumbling with her napkin as she tried to cover her mouth so as not to make a mess. “I, uh-” clearing her throat, “I haven’t met his son yet.”
The witch gave her ‘the mom look.’ “Why not?”
“This isn’t serious, Gin,” Hermione reminded. “Meeting his son is a big deal that I’m not ready for.”
“So this is just a shag with benefits,” her friend rationalised, relaxing. “I can get behind that.”
“This is mostly to get you guys off my back,” she snipped, then frowned, not realising how much deep seated resentment she had been carrying over her friend's little pokes.
There was a weight pause as Ginny absorbed that. “That wasn’t our intention. We’ve just been concerned about you.”
“And you think jumping into a relationship will fix me?” Hermione said bitterly, pushing her half eaten food away, no longer hungry.
“Of course not,” Ginny soothed, seeming to want to reach out but stopping herself knowing Hermione’s aversion to touch in times of heightened emotion. “It’s just … you were like this during the war. You focused and you planned and you made contingencies on top of contingencies and you kept everyone else at arm's length because you didn’t know who was going to die next. Being self-contained is not a bad thing because it’s the reason you’re sitting here in front of me. It’s the reason I’ll be going home to the love of my life and our two beautiful children.” She dipped her head to capture and hold Hermione’s eyes, “but that’s over now. You don’t have to do this all alone. It’s okay to find someone else to rely on when you need to take a step back and breathe. We want you to have that, Hermione. To be happy and feel safe and know things are going to be okay.”
Hermione swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Your husband said the same thing.”
“He can be quite smart.” She grinned, both ignoring the other’s teary eyes. “Even blows me away sometimes.” She fiddled with her fork, giving the illusion of tucking back in as they gave their emotions time to settle.
Hermione blew out a heavy breath. “As soon as I know what I’m doing with Draco, I’ll invite him to dinner. I’m not rushing anything,” she was quick to point out, “but I’ll see were this takes me.”
I’m contractually obligated to, she thought sourly.
Notes:
Why, yes all the chapter titles are based off P!NK lyrics
Next chapter Sept 11th ~12:30 PDT
Fic rec while you wait: The Missing Sister by singularritae. I alt time line where what if Harry Potter wasn't an only child? Do mind the tags on this one, a bit of sqweek in the beginning, but a very very good story.
Chapter 6: I Can't Be Alone With All That's On My Mind
Notes:
Thank you BeauxT, isaidisaidso, Masha83, Lily3013, TrillbySkinner, and aurora888 for your lovely comments! <3 <3
Chapter title comes from P!nk -- Walk Me Home
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday, September 11th
Hermione and Draco’s transition from rumour to perceived actuality went surprisingly smooth.
That Wednesday, for their scheduled lunch, they ate at a popular bistro a block up from the Ministry. Keeping their conversation light and general, casting flirty glances and familiar touches for their audience under the protection of a muffiato charm while they hotly debated the benefits of various potions ingredients and the responsibility of ethical harvesting practices.
Thursday’s dinner went better than expected. She’d gone shopping for it when it did turn out she owned too many tame earth tones in her wardrobe. She was not apologising for it. ‘Beige’ as he called it, the git, was the best colour for an office environment. Black was too severe. White not at all practical to maintain. Warm neutrals looked nice with her skin tone and could be dressed up or down depending on the venue. That her most adventurous article of clothing was the tulle dress was not the point.
So she bought a carmine silk blouse just to stick it to him. That it could double as a work blouse (when tempered with a blazer) was just the icing on the cake. Wearing it to dinner with the one black skirt she owned that she had dubbed too form fitting for work, and the gold and diamond earring and necklace set she’d bought when she got her promotion last year, she visually dared him to make a comment.
He was smart enough to ignore the challenge, though his eyes did roam over her in an appreciative manner. She caught his stare with a raised brow. He had the audacity to wink at her.
Lunch again the following Monday, she strong-armed him into walking the six blocks to the one street-food vendor in wizarding London. He was beyond disgusted with the idea.
“Is she wrapping that in newspaper?”
“A superior use for the Prophet, if I do say so myself. Two, please,” she ordered with a smile when they came to the front of the line. Reaching in her purse for coins he edged in front of her.
“I’m paying,” he growled, handing over four galleons. Hermione rolled her eyes but took up both rolled cones of fresh fish and chips, stepping out of line to keep the queue moving for the lunch rush.
Sticking her nose in the fragrant steam wafting up, she moaned out a content sigh. “Here,” she shoved one cone into Draco’s hand eagerly pinching up a chip with her nails and popping it in her mouth, rolling it between her teeth and huffing to cool it as she chewed.
“You expect me to eat this with my hands?” Draco’s face was stuck somewhere between disgust and contempt.
Second chip halfway to her lips, Hermione had the uncharitable thought that if he’d reacted half as badly to Voldemort as he did to street food, he’d have saved himself a lot of turmoil. “I’m sure you can use magic if you’re scared to get your hands dirty.” Stepping back she grabbed a handful of napkins from the trolley and stuffed them in her coat pocket “Stop being such a baby and just try it.”
Frowning at her, Draco stepped up to the vendor and asked for utensils. Giving him a funny look the vendor nonetheless dug out a plastic fork and handed it over, turning back to the next customer. Triumphant, he returned to Hermione’s side.
Shaking her head, she started back in the direction of her office biting into one of the battered pieces of white fish.
“My fork isn’t working,” he said after a long minute from behind her.
“I know.”
“Why isn’t my fork working?”
“Because it’s meant to be eaten with your hands.”
“But this fork won’t stab anything, it just keeps bending and folding in on itself. What is the point of a fork that won’t stab anything?”
“It’s cheap plastic. Maybe if you eat it with your hand--”
“I’m not eating with my hands,” he whinged. “It’s uncivilised.”
“Oh for the love of--” Spinning she shoved a corner of fish in his mouth. His face darkened at the forceful action but gradually resumed a neutral expression as he chewed. “See? It’s good. You’re not going to turn into a frog if you eat with your hands, but I might do it if you don’t stop complaining.”
“But my hands will get dirty.”
She reached in her pocket and slapped several napkins to his chest. “Anything else?”
He shook his head meekly, amusement dancing in his silver eyes. And something more …
Feeling suddenly flush, Hermione stepped back not realising just how close they had gotten. “Good.” She continued their march back towards the Ministry.
“Your hair gets bigger and crackles when you’re angry,” he said after several minutes.
She glanced back to see him happily munching on chips, wiping his fingers between each bite. “It is not sentient.”
He raised a brow. “Have you told it that?”
That outing earned them a blimp in Witch Weekly. A photographer in the crowd had captured the moment when her annoyance had gotten the better of her and she had tried to shut him up with fried fish. The editor must have done something to the footage. The second long interaction was lengthened ten times making it seem like they had just stood there gazing into eachothers eyes for aeons instead of her immediately stepping back and all but smacking him with a bundle of tissue.
The article led to another uptick of nosy questions and glares as she went about her day. But besides the few hours of her precious free time she had to give up for their public outings, her life pretty much stayed the same.
Until Malfoy showed up with a monstrous bouquet to her office.
Flowers were a cliche they hadn’t crossed and she doubted she’d be up for whatever public farce they preceded.
“What are those?” she demanded, already in a piss poor mood. She’d woken that morning craving pancakes and strawberries. Drowning in memories she had escaped her flat and fled the office to bury herself in work a whole two hours early. On top of her normal duties her campaign for protecting centaur migration routes was launching in November and she wanted it to be perfect.
“A symbol of my affections.” His smirk was infuriating as he presented her with the bundle.
Hermoine saw Natalie swoon in the background. With a pointed look Hermione banished her back to her desk.
Catching the silent interaction between manager and assistant, Draco’s smirk morphed into a schoolboy grin as he thrust his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d take you to lunch.”
Rolling her eyes, Hermione hid her warm cheeks by smelling the blooms. Last time she'd gotten flowers was when her dad-- she ruthlessly pushed that thought away, set aside the bouquet and picked up her quill getting back to work. “Our next date is on Tuesday.”
After his obnoxiousness about the fish Hermione had postponed their next outing to the following week, deciding they had made enough public outings to cement them as a couple in the people’s mind. The occasional dinner and being seen on each other's arm at social functions was all that was needed to maintain the ruse going forward.
“Yes, well, it looks bad if I don’t take you out for your birthday.”
Her hand stilled in her writing, vision flattening. She felt herself flush hot then cold. “How did you know it was my birthday?” she whispered through nerveless lips.
He looked up from fiddling with her paperweight at the corner of her desk, a bronze snitch the size of an apple Harry had gotten her two years ago as a tongue-in-cheek gift. Seeing her pale face he frowned. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing,” she shook her head, swallowing nausea. You are fine, she scolded, don’t think about it. It’s just another day, it doesn’t matter. Ignore it and push on.
“You’re an abysmal liar,” he said dryly. ”What’s wrong?”
“Leave off, Malfoy,” she growled, fighting for calm. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe! Grasping at anything to distract herself she pulled a book closer and flipped to a random page. She couldn’t even get her eyes to focus on the words. “I have better things to do than be your contractual arm candy.”
He gave her a sharp look reminiscent of their early school days.
“Kemla!” he called, his practised sneer turned into a dazzling smile when her assistance squeeked into view. “I’ll be taking Miss Granger out to celebrate her birthday,” he informed cordially. “Have anyone that comes by leave a message.”
The girl melted. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Have a great time, y'all deserve it.”
Knowing he had out manoeuvred her she hissed something disparaging about his ancestry as he stuffed her into her jacket and scarf.
He didn’t bother to reply as he steered her out the door.
“Oh, Miss Granger,” Natalie scurried to intercept them as they passed her desk. “I just wanted to say happy birthday. I didn’t know it was today or I would have gotten you something.”
“It doesn't matter,” Hermione said sharply. Seeing the girl’s arrested look, Hermione felt sick to her stomach. Before she could make an even bigger arse of herself she fled, leaving Malfoy to catch up.
If he dared.
Draco eyed the witch beside him as they marched down main street with no destination in mind. It might have been a few years but everything he knew about her, then and now, told him she wasn’t the type to jump down hapless assistance throats for basic human niceties.
“Stop staring at me,” she growled, chin tucked to chest, glaring at cracks in the pavement.
Facing forward before she decided to redirect her foul mood back on him, he milled over his options. Now that he’d gotten her out of the office he wasn’t really sure what to do with her. “What do you feel like having for your birthday lunch?”
Having not thought her shoulders could go any higher, she proved him wrong. “This is your idea.”
He wondered if she realised how transparent she was being or if, having never grown up in Slytherin, she didn’t have control over her emotions enough to disguise them. Not the best with other people’s feelings, Draco could at least feed her, give her something else to think about then the mounds of paperwork she had to complete on her birthday. “Greek?”
Her breath fogged out in the chilled air as she sighed.
Realising that was as much of an agreement as he was going to get, he placed a hand on the lower back of her fawn trench coat to guide her to the restaurant he had in mind. She stiffened, taking a step to the side to break the contact.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, and biting his tongue to keep from snapping at her, he led them the block up to his close friend Blaise Zabini's latest acquisition. Having not had the chance to make the grand opening last month, Draco knew from talks that it served lunch cuisine to cater to the Ministry crowd as well as having a foot hold as mid-range fine dining in the evenings. Atmosphere was nice. Black, gold, and glass decor with washes of teal to pull the Mediterranean vibe. Waitstaff was friendly and experienced. Giving his name got them a table with no issue.
“Wine?” Draco asked Hermione as the hostess sat them.
“It’s the middle of the day,” she grumbled, fighting to shed her jacket while sitting down.
Draco raised a brow, flipping open the menu he was handed. “Is that a no?”
Hermione sighed, waving off her own menu and told the server curtly. “I’ll just have your soup.”
“Oh, alright,” the hostess said, thrown off but quick to recover with a smile. “We have chicken n-”
“Just pick one.” Granger interrupted her before she could continue her spiel.
“Of course.” Hesitantly the woman turned to Draco. “And for you, sir?”
He smiled charmingly up at her, trying to make concessions for his partner’s terrible manners. “I’d like another minute to look over the menu. But I’ll take an earl grey to start.”
The woman trotted off.
“It’s not like you to be so abrupt with staff,” Draco noted, clear censor in his tone. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not in a good mood and therefore unfit for company,” she fumed. “You should have just left me in my office where I could do no harm.” She was itching for a fight and while he wasn’t above indulging her, the middle of a crowded restaurant was not the place.
Refusing to rise to the bait, he feigned being distracted looking over the menu. He wanted something shareable that she wouldn’t be opposed to eating. Having taken several meals with the woman he thought he had a pretty good gauge on her preferences. “Does this foul mood have anything to do with it being your birthday?” At his words her hackles rose again as if she was preparing to ward off a blow.
“It’s just another day,” she forced from a locked jaw glaring a hole in the table. “It doesn’t matter.”
Draco frowned. His own friends, scattered to the four winds as they were with work and life, treated birthdays like the triumphs they were for making it through the hell of their adolescence and their young adult years. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing they would all converge to celebrate. It never crossed his mind that the children from the other side of the war would treat the milestones with any less reverence then he and his friends did.
“Did your fabled Golden Trio lose track of the days and forget? I know you’re the brains of the group, but that is just sad.”
“They didn’t forget,” she snapped defensively, bringing to mind a porcupine; back arched and quills fully extended. Eyes distant she fiddled with her silverware, minutely shifting them so they rested perfectly straight on her linen napkin. “I told them not to worry about it. With work and children and wedding plans it’s just not that important.”
“Oh, I disagree,” he said softly, heart going out to the woman sitting across from him. “You, Hermione Granger, are very important and deserve to be celebrated in more ways than one, but especially on your birthday.”
Arrested, she blinked at him then promptly burst into tears.
Floored, Draco just stared, blinking dumbly. Before he could even think of trying to comfort her she shoved away from the table, spun on her heel, and was gone in a crack that rattled the windows.
Thirty minutes later found Draco hammering his fist against a burgundy painted door outside a flat in muggle London, feeling ridiculous as he clutched her fawn coat in the other.
“Granger, I know you’re in there! Open up.”
He’d first gone to her office, having a rather frustrating conversation with her assistant, and ended up here. It was like running a bloody fox to earth!
Knock, knock.
“You’re wards are good but I have all the time in the world and I don’t care if your neighbours hate me.” Silence. “I’m going to start singing our school anthem in three, two, one--”
The door clicked open on groaning hinges revealing an empty doorway.
Hesitantly, he reached out a hand. The last thing he needed was to get fried by her wards. He’d learned first hand that she could be rather nasty and didn't necessarily play by the rules unless they worked in her favour. Waving his hand through the threshold he was relieved, and a little surprised, to find her magic down.
"Granger?" he called, stepping in and shutting the door gingerly behind him.
“What do you want?” Following the watery voice he found her lying supine on her sofa, a cloth bag that clinked with ice covering her eyes.
“You, uh, left your coat.” He inched closer, feeling completely out of his depth. “Are you alright?
“Nothing for you to concern yourself over.” She sat up, the bag slipping wetly to her lap. “Just a crap day, Malfoy.”
“It’s Draco,” he said, trying to make any kind of connection. Her pale face and abject loneliness reminded him too much of himself standing infront of a mirror in a Prefect bathroom sixth year. Scrambling to hold onto any shred of self in a world where he felt he had no control. That look scared him because he remembered what he had contemplated when he felt so lost he didn’t know how to continue living. “Look, how can I make it not a crap day? Just name it, I’ll see it done.”
“You bought me an obscene amount of roses and we went to a nice restaurant. Enough people saw us that your cover is safe,” she said wearily, fading into her sofa with a dejected sigh.
“I’m not talking about our cover. I’m talking about me, Draco, and you, Hermione, doing something to celebrate your birthday.”
“I don’t want to go out,” she said, red rimmed eyes trained on the ceiling. “I don’t have it in me to pretend right now.”
“We don’t have to go out. How about dinner at the Manor?” he offered impulsively, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. “It’s private so we won’t have to pretend but it will get you out of the house. I’ll even bake a cake.” She raised a skeptical brow that held some of her normal Granger-nes and he smiled. “How about if you promise to come I'll have someone else make the cake.”
Her chocolate eyes searched his, so deep he felt himself drowning. “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.
“No one should be made to feel alone.” His shoulders hunched, wondering if this conversation would reveal too much no matter how much he tried to hide. "Especially on their birthday."
The air was charged with silence. He could feel her eyes on him, weighing him, judging him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet them, not sure what she would see.
“Alright,” she said finally.
Letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, he re-armored himself in an air of self-assured confidence. “Excellent. I’ll open the floo at five.”
“I work until five.”
Right. Shit. Of course she would go back to work after an emotional breakdown, she was Granger for Merlin’s sake. “Then travel from your office,” he fumbled.
“Shouldn’t I have a say in what my plans are for my birthday,” she quipped, her ornery spark coming back to life.
“You already said you didn’t have any.” He grinned cheekily. “Tonight, five. Don’t be late.”
Notes:
One of my favorite parts of this whole fic is the fish and chip scene. Was it a trick of the printer or did they actually stare into eachother's eyes for that long? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Next Chapter will be up September 19th ~5pm PDT
fic rec that I keep finding myself going back and rereading: Innocent Monsters by itscometothis
Chapter 7: Not Broken, Just Bent
Notes:
Posting a bit early today. Thank you Barbabelle, mmarsh464, TrillbySkinner, Samanthalouise854, PrincessAmaranth, Dannie7, nevergiveupplus and my mother for reading and commenting on the story <3
And shout out to selina12 for reading and commenting my other story 'Lucky Number 13'
And without further ado, Happy Birthday Hermione!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thursday, September 19th
Draco felt the ripple of the estate’s wards as the floo allowed someone entry into his home.
“Hello?” A feminine voice he was becoming well familiar with echoed up from the foyer.
Biting back a curse he turned to glance at the clock on his son's dresser.
“Of course she’s on time when I’m running late,” Draco grumbled to himself as he continued to feed the squirming baby’s arm through the sleeve of his shirt. A blown out diaper had necessitated a bath and a change of clothing. “I’ll be right down!” he boomed to make his voice carry, causing Scorpius to jump and look up at him with a baby frown. “Not you, luv,” he soothed, bending over to kiss his son’s cherub cheek.
“Mimsy?” Draco asked the air, threading buttons on Scorp’s little shirt. There was a pop and a house elf appeared beside him, awaiting orders. “Our guest is here. Can you show her to the den? I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Right away, Master.” The house elf dipped an excited curtsy, disappearing in a swirl of pink fabric.
“Are you ready to go meet the witch that is saving our wands?” Draco asked, picking up his son. Amazed at the growth from just a month prior Draco held him close, breathing in his powdery scent. “I think you’ll like her,” he confided in a whisper walking out of the nursery. “She’s very nice and very smart.”
Scorp babbled on senselessly, almost on the cusp of words but never quite making it. Draco listened intently as they made the stairs to the ground floor, nodding along and offering perfectly reasonable input whenever he was looked at expectantly.
“Master,” Mimsy popped next to him at the base of the stairs, skipping to keep up with his longer legs. “Mimsy made the Hermione Granger tea. She said my dress was pretty!” she squealed happily.
He smiled down at the elf. “Very good, Mimsy.”
“Would Master Draco like Mimsy to set the table, sir?”
Memories of countless people dying on his family’s dining room table assaulted Draco. First thing he had done when he’d been released after his trial was burn the thousand year old piece of furniture, have the ashes mixed with salt, and then spread in a fast moving river. The one he’d gotten to replace was a golden hawthorn that sat eight at most and even still he took most of his meals informally in the kitchen.
“No, thank you. I got it from here.”
“Very good, Master. Mimsy will be right there if you’d be needing anything.” With a snap of her fingers she was gone and Draco took a calming breath before he entered the large family room off the kitchen.
Hermione was standing by the hearth looking at a collage of pictures of Scorpius’s life. Draco’s favourite was two month old Scorp caught in a perpetual loop of nomming on the snout of a stuffed emerald dragon before being caught and turning to the camera with a toothless grin.
“Apologies for my tardiness.”
She turned and waved him off with a strained smile that turned genuine when she caught sight of the baby. “Is this who I’ve been hearing so much about?” she gushed, coming to join them.
"Hermione, my son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” Draco presented the boy, one arm around his waist the other supporting under his bottom as he rested against his chest. “Scorp, this is Miss Granger.”
“Hello, cutie,” she grinned, grabbing the baby's toes playfully and earning a bright-eyed smile as he purposely tried to eat his fist. Glancing up at Draco with a mysterious smirk, she informed. “Well, there’s no denying you’re the father."
"He's got Astoria’s eyes." Draco had no idea what compelled him to add that.
Thoughtful, she met his son’s steady gaze searching intently. “No,” Hermione said after a time. “He's got his own eyes." Enamoured by the eye contact the baby squealed and tried to rock himself out of his father's hold to get at the pretty witch that smiled so lovingly at him.
“Do you … do you want to hold him?” Draco was forced to ask as his son reached for her but dreading the answer. Astoria had wanted nothing to do with Scorpius from day one.
“I’d love to!” Scooping the baby up under the arms, she shimmied him in front of her face as she laid a smacking kiss on both drool covered cheeks. He smiled wide, showing off his toothless gums and flailing his arms. She cooed and gushed as she settled him on her hip, flicking her hair out of the way of grabbing hands by rote.
With a roaring in his ears Draco was taken back to the first time he’d rode a broom, the pounding in his chest then not dissimilar to now, and the first time he laid eyes on his son.
“You’re a natural,” Draco breathed, awed and shaken to his core but trying to hide it.
Hermione laughed, transfiguring a linen napkin from the hair tie she dug from her pocket to clean the baby’s cheeks and hands of saliva. “I hope that’s not another dig at me for not being ‘the womanly’ type in school. I like babies just fine, I’m just not in a rush to have them anytime soon.”
“But you’re so at ease.”
“I told you Gin and Harry already have two.” She grinned, exaggeratedly rocking her hips to occupy the baby and giving him the napkin to play with. “I’m the favourite auntie.”
Scorpius babbled insistently, chewing on the cloth.
“You hungry, sweetpea?” she asked as if the child had told her that himself. “I’m sure if we ask daddy real nicely, he’ll show us where the grub is.”
Ignoring the fire racing through his veins, too much of a coward to acknowledge the reason for it, Draco quickly led the way to the kitchen.
When Hermione had accepted Scorpius Draco had looked floored, like he had taken a punch he wasn’t expecting and it had left him unbalanced. For a second she thought she’d seen another crack in that cool veneer he always seemed to guard himself with. Now she sat in his kitchen, in a house she’d sworn never to step foot in again, watching him work with his shirt sleeves rolled up, lean forearms flexing as he chopped vegetables. Heat pulled low in her abdomen reminding her distinctly just how long she’d been without a partner.
Taking a hasty sip of wine she turned back to Scorpius who was distracted with the ice cube wrapped in a dish towel she’d given him to chew on. The shock of white blond hair was a dead giveaway that he was a Malfoy but it was also there in the forming of his brow and hiding under the chubby cheeks. He was going to be a heartthrob when he grew up, just like his daddy.
She had always known Draco was aesthetically pleasing. With his symmetrical features, pale hair and grey eyes adding an element of uniqueness with a jawline the kept him on the masculine side of androgynous. Back at Hogwarts he had his own fanclub for Godricks sake, so she wasn’t the only one to notice but he had been such an insufferable, close-minded prat to her and her friends that she had forced her slight attraction away until it withered and died.
Well, clearly not died as it was coming back with a vengeance. She had always had a thing for a man that knew his way around a kitchen.
When Scorpius beckoned she spooned another bite of peaches and soft pear, smiling knowingly when he immediately went back to his cold rag. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”
“My pleasure,” Draco said, spreading his bounty on a sheet pan and drizzling olive oil across the butternut squash and turnips.
“You being nice is something I’m still getting used to.”
He shot her an adorably disgruntled look under the fringe of his blond hair. “I’m not ‘nice’, Granger.”
She laughed at how affronted he looked. “Of course you are. How many people do you know would make dinner for their pretend girlfriend just so she’s not alone on her birthday?”
“That’s not nice, that’s …. That’s--”
“Nice?” she supplied helpfully, shooting him a patronizing smile over her shoulder.
He pointed his knife mock-threateningly at her. “Watch it, witch, or I won’t feed you.” Turning away in a huff he picked up the tray of vegetables and shoved them in the oven with the already roasting chicken. It smelled divine.
Hermoine smirked, sipping her wine and going back to entertaining Scorpius. Transfiguring her bracelet into a string of large wooden beads she handed it off to the baby, who immediately put it in his mouth and chomped away.
Dinner tasted even better than it had smelled. After a few bites to curb her appetite, Hermoine offered conversation.
“He’s a wonderful little boy,” Hermione said, nodding over to where Scorpius sat with Mimsy. The little house elf that had greeted her at the floo fed the adorable baby a mashed rendition of their plates with small pieces of chicken that Draco had made up for him. He seemed to enjoy it as each mouthful was met with exuberant kicks and demanding grunts as he rattled the wooden beads she had given him on the highchair’s tray. “You must be very proud.”
“Indescribably,” he said with genuine warmth, eyes only for his son.
Hermione felt her breath falter as a languid pulse flowed through her body. Swallowing thickly, she looked down at her plate, hand trembling as she speared a bit of chicken on her fork. “How has he been with all this strangeness?”
Draco faltered, moving his wine glass away from his lips before he could take a sip. “Strangeness?” he questioned.
“With his mother?” Hermione said slowly, confused by his confusion. “Astoria?”
“Oh, that.” He completed his drink, setting the glass back down as he swallowed and turned back to his plate. “He’s fine.”
“Really?” She found that quite suspicious. When it was her turn to watch the mini-Potters there had always been a tad bit of separation anxiety. The boys loved Hermione and they trusted her, enjoyed spending time with her, but she wasn’t their parents.
“He never really spent all that much time with Astoria. She didn’t want children but knew it was expected of her. When Scorp came along ... There’s no ‘strangeness’ for Scorpius because I’m all he’s known.”
“Is that … normal? In Pureblood families?”
“It’s more common than I realised,” he said in the world weary way only achieved through hindsight. “Growing up I thought Pansy’s and Theo’s jealousy towards my parents' open affection with me was just childish griping. Turns out I was just spoiled.”
Hermione snorted and he grinned.
“How are Parkinson and Nott?” she asked. Conversation continued smooth and nebulous, jumping from work to upcoming court dates to the extensive remodel to the Manor, Hermione soaking up the contentment she didn’t know she’d been missing.
He’d completely gutted the east wing, closing it off from the rest of the sprawling house and making it the contained family dwelling were they now sat. It still bolstered six beds and four baths but gone was the Gothic opulence and oppressive air. In its place were clean lines and reserved elegance. The dark hardwood floors should have made it feel claustrophobic but the high ceilings and warm grey walls with white trim made it feel very modern and homey.
After Scorpius began getting fussy Draco put him to bed. Joining her back in the kitchen he held his hands behind his back.
“Now don’t laugh,” he said, and she was instantly suspicious. He was just too pleased with himself. With a grin to rival his son’s he presented her with a cake already lit with burning candles. Then he started singing.
God awful singing.
As he belted out the last stanza of happy birthday, she took a deep breath and blew. She had to do it twice because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t get her lips puckered enough to get a good gust.
“How’s it finally turning 22?” He pulled a candle, licking the icing from the wax.
She shared a secret smile, cleaning a smear of buttercream from her ring finger with her tongue. “I’m 23.”
He choked. “What?”
Who’d had though she’d be spending her birthday with Draco Malfoy and actually enjoying herself. “How’s it being with an older woman?” she asked, wrapping her tongue around her own candle with a Cheshire’s grin.
His eyes raked her up and down. “You can’t be.”
She laughed. “I, unlike you, clearly know when I was born.”
“But in school…”
“I missed the registration deadline by fifteen days,” she said with faux-solemnnes. “Trust me, no one was more crushed then I.”
They chatted a bit more, Hermione finally weaselling out of him that Mimsy had been the one to bake but he had helped with the frosting.
“Very rustic,” she praised.
“So,” he forked up another bite of cake as she followed suit. “Do you want to talk about what caused your breakdown this afternoon?”
The cake turned cloying on her tongue and she had to swallow hard to get the next bite down. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are but my mind healer has said--”
“You see a mind healer?” she interrupted, incredulously. Mind healing wasn’t a new field of study but it had made a resurgence after the war. Hermione had always though of going but had never put forth the effort to make an appointment, citing too little time or too many commitments. In all honesty she’d been terrified that she’d open up to someone, bring it all out into the light, and they’d be too overwhelmed or too untrained to help her.
He shrugged, running the tines of his fork through the crumbs. “It was a part of my probation. I kept up with it because I found it helped, talking to someone. They might not be able to understand everything that happened, Healer Yates would be the first one to confess to the fact, but sometimes just having permission to say the words can be healing in their own right; having another person there to hear them, freeing.”
The air felt loaded. What did it cost him to share that bit of information? Why did he share it? Why did she open her mouth and reciprocate? “My parents.”
“What about them?” he asked, turning to grab the wine and pour them each another glass.
“I obliviated them. Back in seventh year. Just before Harry, Ron, and I went on our Horcrux Hunt,” her voice threatened to break but she ruthlessly controlled it. The Order had kept it quiet after the war, partly at Hermione’s request but mostly because the wizarding world as a whole had little care of muggles. It had been speculated on after the war, rumour and conjecture, but she’d never confirmed it. Had never actually said the words aloud before.
He didn’t jump to fill the silence, just sat there and lent her his presence, so she continued, reliving memories that she’d ignored, swallowing down like poison all day.
“My mum used to bake my birthday cake.” She listlessly stabbed at the cake infront of her, the gourmet quality leagues away from the uneven mess served during her childhood. “She was the worst baker. It always turned out burned, or undercooked, or both. We’d all choke down a slice then later, before bed, Dad would sneak in with a single slice of cake he’d bought from the grocer up the street that we would share in secret.”
She took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of herself, feeling emotions like acid in her stomach. “I’m another year older and I can’t see them, or call them to hear their voice, or sit around eating terrible cake with them and the memories are killing me.”
“You did the right thing, Granger.”
“I know that,” she spat vehemently, dashing angerly at tears she had no right to cry. “Not just logically but in my heart. Voldemort’s followers would have tortured and killed them given half a chance and they would have never left me of their own will. So I took that away from them. Now I get to sit here, on my birthday, remembering so many happy, loving times and they don’t even get to remember that they had a daughter.” Like a dam breaking, she crumbled into sobs.
A monogrammed handkerchief slid into view from across the table. “Have.” His voice was cold steel, leaving no room for argument.
She lifted her head, sniffling. “What?”
“They have a daughter. You’re not dead and neither are they. That’s because of you. Grieve, but do not belittle your sacrifice.”
It was so hard to talk to Harry and Ron about these things, they’d actually lost people. Harry never even remembered meeting his parents. Ron would sometimes turn to talk to a brother that was no longer there. Her parents were alive. In theory she could go up to them and tell them everything she’d wanted. But she couldn’t. She’d known the cost of the magic when she’d cast it but that cost was so much higher then just the initial transaction. It was a pain that was constantly evolving and to have someone acknowledge it, made feeling it easier to bear-up under the strain.
He ate another sliver of frosting. “So, did you actually kiss all four of the Champion's in fourth year? Or was that just a rumour.”
Like a balloon popping she could suddenly breathe again and shared his teasing smile with a watery one of her own. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Come on, Granger,” he provoked.
She took up the linen cloth, the edges embroidered with Silver Thread, and dried her tears. He was right, she did feel better. It still hurt but the pain was manageable, no longer festering silently inside of her. “All I’m going to say is Bill Weasley is a lucky, lucky man.”
They talked for a while more, inane things as they were both at their threshold for emotional reveals, until Hermione heard a clock chime the hour somewhere deeper in the house.
“I should head home,” she said softly, reluctantly, not wanting to let go of this warm, languid feeling after most of a lemon-curd cake and three glasses of wine.
“I’ll walk you to the floo.” His voice was just as soft.
He followed beside her, hands in his pocket as she gathered her jacket and purse. A foot apart but it felt both closer and farther away, like she wanted to run while at the same time taking that step that would bridge the gap between them.
Neither said a word as they entered the elegant travelling room. Nor when she took up a handful of floo powder. But she hesitated at throwing it in.
This felt like a pinnacle, a precipice, a point of change.
She wasn’t sure what would tip it one way or the other but could she really call herself a Gryffindor if she didn’t take the chance?
“Let’s do lunch tomorrow,” she said impulsively, turning to meet him head on, chin up. “There’s a little cafe on Third that I go to with Ginny all the time. To make up for today,” she hastened to add, so if he did reject her it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Sound perfect,” he said in his lazy, cultured drawl.
“Noon,” she half declared, half offered.
His lips curled in a smug smile. “It’s a date.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. Of course he would be a prat about it. Casting the powder, she called out her address and stepped in.
“Hey, Granger,” she heard over the roar of the charmed flames. Like iron to a magnet she turned. He stood, shirt sleeves rolled, the first two buttons at his throat undone. Most seeing him would have said he was relaxed, drowsy after several glasses of wine and a good meal ... unless they were able to see his eyes. Hermione felt heat pulse through her whole body. “Happy birthday.”
Green fire consumed her as she was pulled away.
Notes:
What made you want to click on this story? Was there a specific tag? ~or~ what tags do you find yourself searching for more so then others?
I am a 'protective Draco' girly. Also have a weakness for 'fake dating' 'baby fic' and some 'ron weasley bashing' if I like the other tags. Weird how those all make an appearance in this story ;p
Next chapter scheduled for Sept 21st ~noon PDT
Chapter 8: The Point of No Return
Chapter Text
Saturday, September 21st
Saturdays were for doing chores that Hermione had put off throughout the week. Dusting, vacuuming, mopping. She stripped her bed and started the wash before throwing on a light sweater and walking the two blocks to the corner store to pick up that week's necessities. Returning home she tossed everything in the dryer before putting away the groceries, leaving out the bright teal teething ring and an oral numbing gel that said it was baby safe.
Bracing her hands on the granite counter top she stared at the two items. She’d bought them spur of the moment when she spied them while visiting the toothpaste aisle, remembering Little Malfoy’s constant chewing and excessive drool the night prior. Now she wondered if she had been a bit too presumptuous. She’d spent less then two hours in the little one’s company and she may be sudo-dating his father but did that give her any right to presume she could help. Or even if said father would even approve of the muggle aids.
Well, only one way to find out.
Pulling a fresh sheet of parchment she wrote out basic instructions of each item and set it aside to send off when she went into Diagon to meet up with Luna. It was a stopover weekend for the blonde witch on her trip from the deep reaches of Siberia before travelling to Argentina for the next two months. They’d tried to get everyone to come, but Neville couldn’t get the time away from the School, Ron and Lavender were meeting with florists for the rapidly approaching big day, and Harry and Gin didn’t want to chance getting the travelling witch sick, so it was just the two of them. Luna kindly wished her a happy birthday, gifting her a pair of earrings made out of leaves of the World Tree she’d been studying.
“They offer protection,” Luna informed dreamily, stirring her tea seven times clockwise before reversing and stirring three times the opposite way. “And give warnings of people with bad intentions.”
Sad to say, it had taken Hermione several years to come to terms with Luna Lovegood’s deeper connection to the magical world. Effortless in a way it had never been for her, Hermione had rejected it as lunacy without trying to understand. It took seeing a thestral for the first time to come to terms that just because one knew the rules and could perform magic, if she didn’t believe in magic she would always be stunted.
“They’re gorgeous,” Hermione gushed. Not her usual aesthetic, the four inch leaves were a bold coppery gold gradient, waxy in a way that made them look nearly metallic. Taking a deep breath and focusing like Luna had taught her, Hermione could fill the faint hum of magic in them. It was different then a normal protection charm, older in a way Hermione was just learning to quantify. Opening her eyes, Hermione smiled at the other witch. “Thank you.”
Luna’s cornflower blue eyes were locked on her. “Being with Malfoy is good for you.”
“Wha--Oh,” Hermione straightened. “How did you hear about that?”
“I’m glad Draco found the right path, he was always so lost,” she continued blithely, slurping loudly at her soup. “There is an Indian curse that first wives cast on second wives…” Luna steered the conversation from there, asking leading questions on Hermione’s newest project and what she hoped to accomplish on her trip until their meal ended. Tossing out a parting comment on how she couldn’t wait to meet Draco’s son over Christmas she was out the door.
Hermione blinked, then smiled, realising just how expertly she had been handled.
She returned home to find an owl and a haphazardly wrapped gift waiting for her on her windowsill.
Grinning, she hitched a hip on the sill and opened the window. “Well, hello there,” she greeted the eagle-owl glared at her with raptor disdain.
It stuck out its leg mutinously.
Fighting a smile she offered a treat, which it took as if it was doing her the favour.
Breaking open the silver wax seal, her lips turned up into a full smile.
Granger,
You have my eternal gratitude.
Anything you want, name it and it’s yours.
~DLM
The note invoked images of tangled sheets and roving hands and Hermione bit her lip against a moan, forcefully shoving those images in a box and locking it away, frustrated with herself.
The other night had proven there was an attraction, as loathed as she were to admit it. She always found it annoying when her hormones ignored logic and logic said there was no future for her and Draco Malfoy. That he’d been kind to her when she wasn’t in a head space to be kind to herself, at a time when she had desperately needed it, didn’t change the fact that they were not actually dating. They swam in very different circles, both personally and professionally. That one of their goals currently aligned didn't change that they wouldn’t suit in the long run.
She raised a brow to the owl. “What do you think he’d say if I demanded Scorpius as payment?” It blinked its large yellow eyes at her before rotating its head 180 degrees. Hermione laughed. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
Hermione tapped her finger to the tip of her nose trying to think of something that would annoy Malfoy but not to the point that he would retract his nebulous offer, as she eyed the package that was also there.
It came with a card but she could tell by the shoddy wrapping job that it was from Ron. Only three days late this year; Lav must have reminded him. Or it might be his poor attempt at a non-apology.
Sighing, Hermione turned it over in her hands. There was no point in opening it, it was the same thing every year. She’d made the mistake of returning from Christmas break third year with a box of Jaffa cakes she had received from a well meaning great aunt to share with the boys. Ever since Ronald had somehow gotten it in his head that they were her favourite and proceeded to get them for each and every gift giving occasion.
She detested Jaffa cakes, or any orange flavoured thing really. She had told Ronald multiple times over the course of their relationship but still she got them as gifts.
Sighing she glanced up at the flowers sitting in center prominence on her kitchen island. The bouquet Draco had gotten her had been so ridiculously large she had split it into thirds, this one, one she kept at her office, and the last she had on her vanity in her bedroom. Utterly ridiculous and yet….
Draco had brought her flowers without having to be prompted. He made her dinner and baked her a cake, turning what had started out as a terrible day into a memory she would cherish.
Fingering one of the rose bud’s silky soft petals, Hermione found that it fed something deep in her soul to have someone else take charge and take care of her without having to be told or reminded. To be thought of first instead of having to be the one making sure everyone else was okay. Was this why people got into relationships? She’d had several one night stands in the two years since she and Ron had parted ways but nothing that remotely resembled a relationship. All the blind dates her friends had set her up with had led nowhere.
Frowning, Hermione realised Gin and Harry might be annoyingly onto something that the reason she was single was her inability to let people close to her.
Maybe … maybe she could use this chance with Draco, and the six months she was off market, to do some self reflecting and to work out exactly what she was looking for in a long term partner. But first that started up with learning to open up to others.
With that thought in mind, Hermione retrieved a pen and wrote on the back of his note, The weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow. How do you and Scorp fancy a picnic? along with a time and the location of a park in muggle London.
Attaching the reply to the owl, she watched it wing gracefully away, feeling a lightness she’d nearly forgotten was achievable. Metaphorically dusting her hands, she went to fold her laundry.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Draco demanded, bouncing Scorp and catching the teething ring for the tenth time in as many minutes. He’d frozen it like she had suggested in the letter and the baby was besotted.
“You promised me anything I wanted,” she reminded, turning her face up to the sun. There had been cloud cover and a light sprinkling of rain early in the morning but it had cleared up nicely. “It was either a picnic or your first born child. Now I get both.”
“But really, a muggle park?”
“Would you prefer a wizard one? I’m sure it would have been loads of fun being hounded by journalists. Oh, a play park,” she gushed, pointing to where dozens of small children swarmed some brightly coloured equipment. “I haven’t been to one of them since before Hogwarts.”
“‘Play park’?” Draco asked dubiously.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what a play park is.” She gasped as he hesitated, shock warring with excitement. “Now we have to go.”
“I though we were here for lunch,” he whinged.
“It’ll keep,” she called behind her as she rushed towards the swingset, her favourite thing as a child. Draco, carrying Scorpius, trailed reluctantly in her wake.
“Here, you give me him,” she scooped Scorpius out of his father’s arms, “and you take this,” she said, passing Draco the picnic basket.
He nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight. “Merlin’s balls, Granger. What do you have in here, bricks?”
“You’re so dramatic.” She rolled her eyes strapping Scorpius safely into the bright yellow and red baby swing. “Are you ready, little star? And a one, and a two, and a weee,” she sang, pushing him gently, exaggerating her smile and excitement when he seemed unsure of how to react. On the back swing, she caught him and bent down to look in his eyes. “How was that? Fun? Want to go again?”
He looked up at her and she watched as his mind caught up with the stimuli. He smiled, letting out a chuffing snortal, slapping his hands down on the hollow plastic.
“One more time,” she let go and he swung away from her as she gasped. “Want to go higher?” She gave a slightly harder push, still barely gaining any height, clapping when he swung back to her. “Yay!”
“What is the point of this?” Draco asked, eyes eyeing the device with distrust.
“Point? I don’t know if there is one.” She caught his wrist, dragging him in the way of the hurtling baby. “You try.”
“Like this?” He placed his hand on the yellow cross piece and shoved.
“A bit softer. Not too high,” Hermione corrected, waggling her fingers as Scorpius when he looked at her for directive. “You want to be in perfect control of the distance in case something happens.”
“Will something happen?” he asked fearfully, instinctively reaching out to protect his son.
“No.” Hermione caught him, giving the buggy a push to keep the momentum and keep Scorpius occupied. “It’s pretty simple cause and effect. You push, the baby comes back, repeat. If you stop generating momentum eventually the friction of the hinges will bring him to a stop. Perfectly safe, just be mindful.”
Keeping an eye on him until he got the hang of it, she walked over to the next section and sat on one of the normal swings, kicking off.
Draco eyed her, still pushing his son. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Pumping her legs she gained height.
“I thought these were for children.”
“As an adult, I can attest to still finding them enjoyable.” She grinned, glad she had decided to tie her hair back in a braid that morning, remembering getting her curls caught in the metal chains on more than one occasion when she was little. “Let's see if I can still do it.” Reaching the pinnacle of her upward arch, Hermione tipped herself backwards, tossing her legs over her head flipping out of the cradle of the swing as she let go of the chains.
She heard a panic shout but was too busy laughing as she stuck her landing with a flourish. She hadn’t done that in ages .
“What in Salazar’s name is wrong with you!” Draco scolded, having pulled Scorpius to a stop as he glared at her.
“Oh, relax. I had everything under control.”
“Says the woman who could have broken her neck. What kind of example are you setting for Scorpius?”
Rolling her eyes, Hermione unbuckled the baby. “How about lunch, little star?” she cooed, pulling him free. “Before your daddy’s knickers get in any bigger of a twist.”
“Leave my knickers out of this. It’s boyfriending 101 to be concerned when our girlfriends do idiotic, death-defying stunts.”
“You are not my boyfriend,” Hermione reminded cheerily as she carried Scorpius out of the play park to go hunt for a place to lay out the blanket she’d brought.
“Witch Weekly says that I am,” he mocked, lugging the picnic basket behind them. “Surely such a dedicated publication wouldn’t lie about that.”
“Hold down that corner there,” Granger directed, spreading out the red chequered blanket as he rolled his eyes and pressed a heel down on the fabric. Getting it laid out to her liking she kicked off her shoes, tugging the picnic basket to sit in the center with her as she pulled out several more dishes then the dimensions should contain.
“That has an extension charm on it, doesn’t it?” Draco said, definitely not checking out her arse as she bent over the basket. “In muggle London no less. Naughty, naughty.”
She cast a pointed glare over her shoulder. “I’m only in trouble if I get caught, so keep it down. Here, I’ll take him so you can make a plate.” Rising up on her knees, she held out her arms for Scorp. Draco’s heart turned over in his chest every time she interacted with his son not just willingly but enthusiastically. It was … nice.
Suppressing a private grin Draco passed her the baby as he took a place across from them, looking over the repast. “Forget the utensils?”
“It’s all finger foods, Draco,” she huffed, tossing him a flimsy round of thick paper. “If you tell me you’ve only ever eaten a sandwich with a knife and fork I’m going to lose all respect for you.”
“Malfoy’s do not eat with their hands,” he told her loftily, nose in the air.
She raised an unimpressed brow as she bit into her own sandwich, handing Scorpius a cut grape where he was cradled in the bend of her legs, which his son immediately stuffed into his face, happy as a niffler in a Gringotts vault.
Draco couldn’t take his eyes off them. “You’re corrupting my son.”
“Eat the damn sandwich,” she quipped without heat, catching the child when he tried to lunge for a carrot and instead passing him a much softer cucumber slice to gum.
“Daum!” Scorp gurgled forcefully.
They both shared wide eyed glances, trying not to burst out laughing.
“I guess we’ll need to start watching what we say around him. It’s a miracle that James’s first word wasn’t fu--” she caught herself, glancing hesitantly down at the baby who was fascinated with the cucumber slice, and whisper-spelled, “F-U-C-K.”
“I'm not sure if She-Weasel deserves to be sainted or condemned for procreating with Boy-Wonder. Here’s hoping they got her brains and not his blind courage. She’s still chasing with the Hollyheads, right?” He asked conversationally as he reached into his pocket, released the shrinking charm, and set down his own picnic basket.
She eyed it suspiciously as she let Scorpius play with her fingers. “What’s that?”
“What is what?” he asked innocently. At her dry look he feigned a surprised glance at the delicate plates and crystal stemware he pulled free. “Oh, this? A packed lunch. I told Mimsy we were meeting you and she threw together a little something.” A charcuterie board, a chilled bottle of white wine, and caprese salad followed. “Ah, here they are. Fork?” he asked, handing her a bundle of silverware in a linen serviette.
She threw a carrot at him that he ducked with a laugh. “You are such a prat,” she giggled. “I can’t believe you had Mimsy pack you Meissen porcelain.”
“They were my grandmother’s. Mother hated them and had them relegated to the picnic pack. Wine?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just stay over here with my plebeian finger foods and you can keep your thirty quid plates and posh salad.”
The salad plates cost roughly three times that, but who was counting. “How about if I eat one of those little sandwiches you come over to my side? It has chocolate covered strawberries.”
“Fine, but you have to eat it by hand.” Challengingly she held out a sandwich half.
Catching her wrist, he pulled her even closer and took a bite from her fingers, not breaking eye contact as he chewed. Her eyes darkened but she didn’t pull away.
“Your turn,” he whispered, taking a strawberry and feeding it to her.
Her white teeth bit into the dark chocolate, the same color as her eyes but molten, and Draco was enraptured.
“You’re using your hands.” Her voice was soft, heated, as her tongue peeked out to catch a stray bit of chocolate on her lips.
He inched closer, their breath’s mingling. “Like I said, you’re a bad influence.”
Scorpius chose that time to squawk indignantly, incensed from being half crushed and ignored. Brought back to their senses, they jerked away from each other to try and sooth him.
Draco took a deep breath. One second longer and he would have kissed her.
She swallowed, eyeing him with embarrassed amusement. “I think I’ll take that wine now.”
As lunch wound down, Draco found himself lying on his back, staring up at the bright, clear sky, feeling warm and relaxed, with the sound of his son’s joy flowing over him.
It was nice to get out of the house with Scorpius, something he was hesitant to do in Wizarding society, partly for protection and partly out of fear. While after four years he was not a complete outcast, mainly for the endorsement of the golden trio at his trial and his copious charitable endeavours since, he still had a long way to go until he would be considered accepted. He never wanted his son, his main reason for living, to be caught in the crossfire of someone who took exception to Draco being a free wizard. The muggle world was a good compromise and one he hadn't considered before now.
And he had a certain, brilliant, muggle-born witch to thank for it.
“I think it’s time,” he told the clouds.
“Time for what?” Hermione asked distracted, taking a final bite of her sandwich as she played with his son, who giggled happily as she pantomimed at him.
“Time for our first formal outing as a couple. There’s a gala, October 5th. I would like you to go with me.”
Her head came up. “I thought you said we didn’t need to go to that one.”
“I did. It’s a small pre-season function, not necessary, but now I’m thinking it’s a good idea to get our feet wet before the big one on Samhain.”
“When you say ‘social’ you mean pureblood, don’t you?”
He arched his neck to be able to look at her. “Yes.”
“Your ex-wife will be there?”
“More than likely, along with the rest of the Greengrass family.”
“Alright,” she sighed, laying a smacking kiss on Scorpius’s cheek, not managing to dodge his sticky hands in time. She just laughed, grabbing a napkin to clean them both up. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”
Relief flooded him at her easy acceptance. “It’s white tie event, so we’ll need to pick up some dress robes for you. Are you free this week?”
“I’m more than capable of finding a dress,” she grumbled, passing his son a bit of cheese he’d been reaching for. “I swear, you care more about my clothes than I do.”
“You’d benefit from having my eye on this.” They were having a lovely day and he was loath to press the point but he did not want her sneered at for violating one of the hundred faux pas when they would already be on the hunt for blood for her even daring to be born.
“You said I looked nice enough before.”
“You did but this is different. We’ll be going to the heart of it. You’ll need all the help you can get.”
She snorted. “That’s flattering.”
Draco sighed, sitting up, hating her anger even though she was the one jumping to conclusions. “Don’t take it like that.”
“It’s kind of hard not to, Malfoy,” she growled, eyes flashing in a way he found too tempting.
He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, trying to wield his charm to cool her ire. “It’s Draco.”
“Nope, right now you’re Malfoy.” Though she snatched her hand away, she was ever so gentle as she picked up his son, jostling Scorpius in the air above her head much to his delight. “How about I just keep you and you can be my date,” she crooned. “You think I’m pretty don’t you, little star?”
“Gea-walwa.”
“Ah, thank you.” Bringing him down she laid a smacking set of kisses on his cheeks before settling him back in her lap.
Awed by the easy familiarity with his child Draco could do nothing but stare at the witch. He lived in a constant state of panic that something he did would hurt his son. And here she was handling Scorpius with a breezy competence that the boy thrived on. A grape had kept him entertained for several minutes as he squished it, rolled it around in his hand, ate it; curious and testing. The same with bites of sandwich, strawberries, grass. When he managed to get his hand on a carrot she calmly patted his back when he choked on trying to swallow a too large bite, offering him water and explaining the importance of chewing his food. Draco would have reacted in a panic, probably scaring the boy.
Feeling his gaze on her, Hermione cast him a saucy smirk. “You should take pointers from this little man, he’s got the moves.”
Swallowing past the emotion in his throat, Draco fought to keep up the light and friendly banter. “Sweetheart, I taught him those moves.”
She rolled her eyes, handing Scorp another cracker. “If we’re doing this, then we need to see my friends too or I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m thinking dinner, my place. I’ll invite the Potters, Lav and Ron, get it over with in one fell swoop. Is there a night that works for you this week?”
Draco shook his head. “Mother leaves for the Africa Tuesday, so I don’t have anyone to watch Scorp.”
“He’s coming too. I’ll have Gin and Harry bring the boys and will have a nice family friendly night with no fighting or too personal questions. Then we’ll call it early so everyone can get the kids to bed on time.”
“So you’re going to use my son as a human shield?”
“In a heartbeat. Look at these cheeks,” she held the baby out to Draco, showing him off proudly with flakes of slobber adhered cracker, “look at them. The girls are so baby crazy right now that I can just overload them with his cuteness and we’ll be able to make it through dinner without having to answer too many uncomfortable questions.”
“Fine,” he sighed forlornly, putting on a bigger show of being inconvenienced then he actually was. With her holding his son, he would have agreed with anything she’d ask of him.
Notes:
Next chapter: September 27th ~1230pm PDT
Another story to tied you over until then: Dépaysement by setissma
Chapter 9: Probably Just Stare
Notes:
Longest Chapter of the fic.
Thank you Vinbhat, BeauxT, Jeffica, Samanthalouise854, NostalgiaMachine, TrillbySkinner, Snowe, Samcartersg1, Mima, PrincessAmaranth, Mom for the comments! Hope everyone it doing well
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, September 27th
Hermione had been waiting for over ten minutes alone at a table, cranking her neck what felt like every thirty seconds to check the door.
It was closing out week three of this madness and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself, just a little bit. When this was all over, she just might see if they could remain friends, it would be good to have another single in the group. At the very least it would cause the Potters and the soon to be Weasleys to split their match-making schemes.
Chuckling at the thought, Hermione once more consulted her watch, easy smile folding into a frown. Draco was typically fastidious with being on time and Hermione’s mind kept jumping to darker and darker places as the seconds ticked by. What could have happened? Was he hurt? Was Scorpius hurt?
Twenty minutes nearly saw her out of her chair about to go on a wizard hunt when he blew into the restaurant, face thunderous.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, dropping a kiss to her hair as he took the seat across from her, his coat carrying a draft of cold air with him. She knew it was for the benefit of their audience but the play acting still left her rather flush.
Pulling her wand she tapped it to the table and cast an area of effect muffliato, working hard to keep her face smitten even as she asked very seriously what was wrong.
“Nothing,” he deflected tersely, making a big production of opening the menu.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like you want to tear someone limb from limb.” Belying her serious tone she shot him a smile and a saucy wink. “For the record, Lavender’s great aunt is sitting in the corner and has been giving me pitying looks for the last quarter hour.”
He closed his eyes and winced. Gathering himself he met her gaze, a sincere apology in their depths. As it wasn’t as high of stakes as the potential loss of his son through government intervention, it was easy to see why he sometimes forgot she also had a vested interest in the public opinion of their perceived relationship.
She brushed it aside with a wave of her hand leaning forward. “So what happened?”
“It came to light that our chief financial officer in our American branch has been embezzling,” he said under his breath. “I have to make an emergency trip to see how bad the damages are and get ahead of it before the story breaks.”
She hummed in sympathy. “When do you leave?”
“My port key activates at two.”
She blinked, forgetting that there was the very real possibility they were being watched. “Two, as in two this afternoon?”
“Yes. This is going to be a media nightmare. If we don’t stay on top of it it could take us years to recover.”
“Why can’t your father go? I thought you said he’d taken point on travel ever since Scorpius was born.”
“He has but he’s already in the Congo overseeing a merger with a wholesaler of magic components. There’s not enough time to get someone new over there and up to speed before shit hits the fan.”
“Wait, didn’t you say your mother left for Africa earlier this week? Who’s going to watch Scorpius?”
Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he sighed. “I’m taking him with me.”
She frowned, scolding, “port key travel isn’t recommended for anyone under ten years of age.” It had something to do with children’s magical cores not being stabilised yet. It wasn’t dangerous, per say, but it left them unwell. And that only exacerbated the further one had to travel.
“Don’t you think I know that, Granger?” he growled. “I don’t have any other choice.”
Not to be deterred when the well being of her-- er-- well--Scorpius was at stake, she tried another thought. “There has to be someone. What about Parkinson?”
“Pansy?” he gaped at her. “Merlin love the woman, but Pansy knows as much about child rearing as I do about your muggle physics. And if you’re thinking of adding Blaise or Theo to your list, while I trust them to kill for my son, watching him for several days with no supervision is a vastly different story.”
Biting her lip she contemplated what she was about to do. It was one thing to be seen in public with this man, that was all for show, but to offer to watch his son was something else entirely. It moved way past the parameters of their contract and made it … well, personal. Then she remembered how he’d invited her to his home when she fled a restaurant crying and brought a picnic basket to an outing he’d been forced into instead of only relying on her to provide it, and there was really nothing else for it.
“What about me?” she offered.
“Pardon?”
“How about I watch him?”
He sat back in his chair, shocked. “I can’t let you do that. This isn’t your problem.”
“So you're saying you’d rather be stuck in a foreign country, with an ill child all the while dealing with a major work melt down then allow me to help you?”
She saw him wavering. “Didn’t you make dinner plans for this evening with your friends?”
“That was meant to introduce you so I’ll need to postpone it anyway. They’ll understand. Ginny and Harry took a one year old James to Spain for Ginny’s first game back after her maternity leave. Harry had to miss the game because James was so sick. They ended up taking a muggle plane back because they didn’t want to risk making him worse.”
Draco paled at the thought, something she didn’t think him capable of with his fair complexion.
Sensing victory, Hermione permitted herself a smug grin. “If you want to pack him a bag we can meet at my place.”
“Can we make it the manor?” he countered. “The wards are specifically keyed to him and it would make me feel a lot more comfortable if he’s in a place designed to keep him safe.”
“Alright. I’m sure it will be better for him staying in a familiar environment.”
“Are you sure about this Granger?” He tried to give her one final out that she brushed aside without a thought.
“Positive,” she said with an easy smile. “I watch Albus and James all the time, not to mention I’m on backup for any of the other Weasley brood. One child will be a breeze.” A frown pulled at her brow. “This won’t cause any problems with you legally? Me watching him, that is.”
“No,” he assured. “Pureblood precedent holds until a court order says otherwise. But Granger, he’s such a handful. And as much as the muggle mouth gel stuff is helping, he still gets rather cranky.”
She grinned. “Wait until you meet James. That boy would make a grindylow look tame.” Still he hesitated and Hermione bit her lip self conscious. “Is there another reason you don’t want me to watch him? Maybe that it’s ….me?” They’d talked about their past at school but had never brought up the topic of muggleborns and muggles. After he accepted the teething aids she had assumed he’d moved past his prejudices. But maybe not, maybe he was just really good at covering up beliefs until he got what he wanted.
“Merlin, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just,” he let out a ragged breath, bracing against the table, “this will be the first time I'll be leaving him overnight since he’s been born. I know I’m being a ninny, I just…” he trailed off at a loss for words, looking at her helplessly,
She reached out and laid her hand over his. “It's a perfectly normal feeling,” she said, finding it sweet how reluctant he was to be away from his son. So different from the cocky, sneering adolescent he had once been, too macho to show any emotion that might make him appear weak. She liked this Draco a lot better.
His hand flipped under hers and he gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Thank you, Hermione.”
She patted his hand and pulled away, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach as she downed the last of her tea. “I’ll stop by the office to let Natalie know what's happening and pick up some work to finish out my week from your place. Then head over to mine to pack a bag and meet you at the Manor. Will you ward me back to your floo?”
“I never had you removed.”
Her heart gave a somersault. Ignoring it, she forced a smile. “Then I’ll see you there.”
An hour later and she was stepping back through the floo into the tastefully appointed travelroom, her briefcase looped over her shoulder and an overnight bag of necessities in hand. The quick echo of feet alerted her a second before Draco appeared in the room, hair askew and looking freshly showered with a slate grey shirt hanging open giving access to his chest and a sleep dazed baby in his arms.
Spying her, Scorpius perked up, smiling and reaching.
“Hello, little star,'' she greeted warmly as she set down her bags to step in close to the pair. “Someone looks like they just got up from a nap,” she sang, smoothing down his bed head.
“Trying to put him down, actually.” Draco sighed. “He usually takes his afternoon nap at two-thirty, but I was trying to get it done early so you wouldn’t have to. He wasn’t having it.”
“Here,” she reached in to scoop the baby, ignoring when her hand touched toned, warm skin. Draco Malfoy was fit. “Why don’t you finish what you need to do? I’ve got him.”
He opened his mouth, looking ready to decline, then closed it seeing the way Scorpius cuddled into her. Nodding sharply, he disappeared out of the room.
“Silly daddy,” she whispered to Scorpius, who laid his head on her shoulder and gently played with one of her curls. “Meeting witches with his shirt half off, what is he thinking?”
With a small pop a pink adorned elf appeared and Hermione jumped, startled.
“Mimsy is sorry, miss,” the little creature wailed, looking about ready to cry as she wrung bony hands.
“It’s okay,” Hermione reassured, relaxing her death grip on Scorpius when he squawked. “Just not used to living with others. Is there something I can do for you Mimsy?”
“No, miss. Master says I could be taking your luggage to the guest room.”
“I didn’t bring much, I can manage.” Bending, she grabbed both bags by their handles, shifting the baby to her hip as she stood to balance out the weight. “If you’ll point me in the right direction I’m sure I can find my way.”
“Mimsy will shows Miss Granger the way.” Scurrying ahead, Mimsy led the way up the stairs to the first floor. The cool tone greys dominated the aesthetic but the white moulding and scenic art pieces hanging on the walls kept it inviting. Turning left, Mimsy led the party around the bend in the bannister and to the third door on the right side of the hall.
“Will this do, Miss?”
The grey and white colour scheme continued on in here but with added moss and sage accents. Thick wall-to-wall carpet and the queen size canopy bed with a plush white duvet made it feel cosy. The window opened up to a fantastic view of the manor gardens and the forest beyond the sloped lawn. “It’s lovely.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Hermione turned at the masculine voice and her mouth went dry.
Draco stood in the doorway, fiddling with his cuffs, hair swept back artfully. The grey shirt was, regrettably, buttoned and beneath a deep charcoal suit jacket that did amazing things for his shoulders. Even though she could never mistake him for anything but a confident and successful man, he abruptly looked … powerful.
“Here, let me help.” Setting Scorpius on the bed, keeping a close eye on him in case he decided to roll, Hermione took Draco’s wrist. Fixing the silver and onyx cufflinks she folded the cuff just so and fitted the sleeve of his jacket over it judiciously.
“Thank you,” he said softly. This close his breath fanned over her face smelling strongly of mint.
Her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips. “You’re welcome.”
“Master Draco be wanting Mimsy to remind him of the time.” Mimsy broke in and they jerked away from each other not realising how close they’d become. “It be twelve minutes to the hour, sir.”
“Right. Thank you, Mimsy,” he said.
Hermione went to reach for Scorpius but Draco beat her to it, stepping around her to scoop up his son, cuddling him close.
“I’ll be back Sunday,” he informed quickly over his shoulder as they all traipsed downstairs. “Though it will probably be quite late.”
“Alright.”
“There’s a list of floo addresses on the mantle,” he pointed to the ornate marble hearth as they reentered the travelling room. A leather suitcase waited by the fireplace for his departure. “Including the family healer. There is a muggle phone in the kitchen. I left the phone number of the receptionist for our London office and the American office, and the hotel I’m staying at. Just state your name and I’ll make sure they patch you through to me no matter the time. If anything happens, call me and I’ll have the first portkey home. Am I forgetting anything?”
Hermione held out her hands. “Baby?”
Draco blinked owlishly before glancing down at his son, who grinned up at him. “Right,” he said but seemed unwilling to give him up. Pulling him close, he told the infant seriously, “now Scorp, be on your best behaviour. Show Hermione just how charming the Malfoy men can be.”
Accepting his baby weight and clean powdery scent, she nestled him close as Scorpius looked at his father in confusion, picking up on his anxiety. “Daddy has to go away for a few days but he’ll be home soon. Can you say ‘bye-bye da-da’?” Hermione caught his arm and tried to distract him by miming a wave. “Bye-bye, da-da.”
“Ig da-daga!” Scorpius garbled leaning forward to reach for his father.
“Granger…” Draco floundered, heart in his eyes.
“I won’t let anything happen to him,” she swore solemnly. Smiling gently, she reminded as he continued to hesitate, “the sooner you leave, the faster you can come home.”
Nodding tightly, he stepped in close and pressed another kiss to his son's forehead. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered so softly that if she wasn’t holding the boy she would have never heard it. Forcing himself away he threw in a fistfull of floo powder and was gone in a swirl of green flames.
Once the sparks died down she left out the breath she’d been holding. Looking down at the baby in her arms he looked up at her with glistening silver eyes and a pouting lip. “There, there, little star,” she soothed using her thumb to dry under his eyes. “He’ll be back as soon as he can.”
“Miss Granger,” the little house elf piped up. “The young master takes his bottle at this time before his nap. Would you like me to take care of it for you?”
“No thank you, Mimsy. This will not be the first bottle I’ve made.”
“You have children, Miss?” Mimsy asked, skipping along beside them as they travelled to the kitchen.
“No,” she said, opening and closing cabinets one handed in her search for the formula. “But my friends have a whole passel of them.”
“Miss Granger is friends with the Harry Potter!”
“That’s right and his two little boys.” Juggling the baby and formula she managed to get a bottle sorted in no time. “There we go, bugg-a-bear. You hungry?” She tempted him with the silicone nipple. Meeting her gaze he broke out in a wide bashful grin that forced one out of her. “There you are, happy boy. Missed you.”
Helping Scorp hold his bottle as she bounced him, she asked the elf if there was a place she could finish up some work. She had a proposal that was to be filed Monday and wanted another chance to read through before she signed.
“There’s being the Master’s study,” the elf offered helpfully.
Hermione frowned, perturbed at entering someone’s private space. “Would Draco mind if I used it?
“No, miss,” the elf quickly assured. “Master said you have full authority over the house.”
“And where is this study?”
“Upstairs, Miss. Between the Master's bedroom and Master Scorpius’s room. Would you like me to show you?”
“I’ll manage. It’s not like there’s a hundred doors,” she joked, taking herself and the baby back up stairs to search. Ignoring the door to her own room and the one beside that, she looped around the second bend in the walkway and, through the process of elimination, got it on only the second try.
The study was masculine and academic, done up in deep greens and rich woods. Inbuilt bookshelves reached from the floor to the high ceilings, embrasurered around the heavy black-walnut desk. No doubt typically tastefully decorated, it looked like a cyclone had just gone through it. Papers were everywhere, three different briefcases vomiting up their contents and a small covey of annoyed owls posted outside the huge, multi paned windows.
Slipping Scorpius into the playpen set up in the corner, sparing a small smile at the tangible proof that Draco wanted his son around him constantly, she went to see to the messenger owls before she had a mutiny.
“Mr. Malfoy is away right now,” she informed the haunty animals. “Which of you are simply missives and which of you will need a reply?”
A dozen pairs of raptor eyes blinked peevishly at her.
“Yes, I have the right to take the mail. If that will cause an issue I suggest you return early next week. If not, can I have you break up into who is simply dropping off and who needs to take back a general reply of Mr. Malfoy’s unavailability? I promise to get everything to him, unread, as soon as possible.”
One, a large barn owl with a harried look to its eyes, clacked its beak at her.
“Yes, yes,” she huffed, exasperated. “Double treats.”
With a bit of bickering and a whole lot of shuffling, the owls got themselves into two distinct groups. Untying their messages, she handed out the agreed upon payment then turned to the next group, counting quickly under her breath to get how many copies of the mailer she would need. Promising to be right back, Hermione hurried to his desk, and feeling uncomfortable about poking around in his personal space, unearthed a quill, ink pot, and a new sheet of parchment. Stating simply that Mr. Malfoy would reply as his earliest convenience, she pulled her wand and made the necessary copies, returning to the window to pass them out.
With a much emptier treat dish and a few nicks on her fingers from disgruntled messengers she finally pulled the window casing closed and locked it with a sigh.
Staring at the pile of missives and the catastrophe that was the desk, Hermione retrieved Scorpius and looked for somewhere else to do her work.
Walking down the hall Scorpius visibly brightened when they made to pass one door.
“Is this your room,” Hermione questioned and got an excited babble in response. Grinning, she pushed it open and was bombarded with a disjointed cacophony of colours and objects. Easily twice the size of her guest room it would have been any child’s dream. Giant stuffed animals vied with quidditch paraphernalia, fantasy murals on the wall and what appeared at first glance to be an accurate, if stylized, version of the constellations on the high ceiling.
“Someone spoils you rotten, don’t they?”
Squirming to be put down, the second Hermione let go of him he zoomed his way to a treasure chest tucked in the corner on all fours. Using the box as a brace, he pulled himself to standing and began banging on the lid, looking at her expectantly. Smiling, she walked over and tossed up the lid to reveal even more toys. Shaking her head fondly she grabbed out a few soft plushies and a set of wooden letter blocks that were brightly coloured.
Deciding to settle in with Scorpius, Hermione transfigured an impromptu desk out of the wooden rocking pegasus in the corner of the opulent baby’s room so she could keep an eye on him. Though he seemed content to crawl around on the carpet with his spoils. In short order, she noticed him rub sleepily at his eyes. Glancing at the dragon clock on his dresser she grinned. Right on schedule.
“Are you ready for your nap?” she cooed, setting down her quill and gathering him up. “Big boys need lots of sleep so their brains can grow.” A fresh diaper and she laid him in his cradle, touching her wand to the mobile and watching as magical animals and stars danced around the crib.
Casting a quieting charm so as not to disturb the sleeping baby Hermione tucked back into her work. He woke an hour and a half later, but was content to play around with his toys until an excited Mimsy came to inform them dinner was ready.
“Oh,” Hermione said, glancing shocked at the clock and was surprised to see it was half five. “Thank you Mimsy, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I be wanting to, miss,” Mimsy stressed fussing with the ruffles on the hem of her dress. “Master Draco likes to cook so I don’t be able to as much.”
“Well thank you very much. I can't wait to taste it.”
After a truly wonderful dinner Hermione settled with Scorpius in the family room to play. Hermione glanced at the time before gathering up Scorp and going over to the phone in the kitchen. Running her finger down the list she calculated which would be the one to best reach Draco, at what would be mid-afternoon Stateside.
Punching in the number and listening to it ring, wondering if this was actually a good idea, a woman on the other side picked up with a thick american accent.
“Yes, hello. I’m looking for Draco Malfoy? This is Hermione Granger.”
“Hermione? Give me just a second and I’ll patch you through.”
A string of classical music filled the receiver but less than a minute later Draco’s voice came on the line.
“What’s wrong?” he choked out in a panic. “Is Scorpius alright? I can be there in two hours--”
“Draco, breathe. Everything is fine,” she quickly reassured with a soft smile, once more enamoured with the love he felt for his son. “I’m sorry I worried you. There is just a little someone here who would like to say good night.” Holding out the phone she pressed it up against Scorpius’s ear. “Can you say ‘ni-nigh, da-da’?”
Confused by the interaction he looked up at her as if she was crazy.
“Hey, buddy, can you hear me?” Draco’s soft voice floated up through the speaker and she watched as Scorpius’s eyes lit up and he began babbling incessantly, gripping the receiver from her hands and shaking it.
“Here, little star, you have to hold it like this.” Getting him resituated, she leaned in close to better help guide the conversation. “Why don’t you tell daddy how we played with your blocks and how Mimsy made a wonderful dinner of mashed turnips and pot roast and how you liked it so much you decided to rub it all over your face and hair.”
“Stop teaching my son to eat with his hands,” Draco harped around Scorps excited rendition of the story.
“It’s helping with his fine motor skills.” she quipped back.
Getting over his joy with the phone, Scorpius thrust it back at her going back to his plush dragon. She took it back and held it to her own ear. “How are things going on your end?”
He sighed long and hard, already sounding exhausted. “We’re still digging up numbers. It’s not good.”
“I’ll let you get back to it, then. I have a little one to bathe and get to bed. I just wanted you to hear Scorps' voice.”
“Hermione--”
She waited, but when the line remained silent she prompted, “yes?”
“Will you call me again? Tomorrow night?”
Her heart melted. “Of course. What time would be best? I don’t want to drag you away from something important.”
“Anytime,” he was quick to assure. “Anytime would be perfect.”
“Alright,” she said softly, unable to fight a warm smile. “Good night, Draco.”
“Good night, Hermione. And … thank you.”
Babysitting Scorpius was easier than she would have ever expected after the horrors she’d encounter with James, the little devil. He rarely fussed and when he did a quick reapplication of the numbing gel or a cloth wrapped ice cube usually did the trick. Everything was going so easy, in fact, she knew something had to go terribly wrong just to balance out the universe.
Sunday morning was Mimsy’s day off and Hermione felt like an ogre insisting she take the time to see her brother who was in the beginning of his apprenticeship to be a veterinarian. She had to all but swear on the family grimoire that she and Scorpius would be fine without her.
They were just sitting down to a breakfast of oatmeal and sliced fruit when she heard what sounded like the front door opening and slamming shut.
“What in the world,” Hermione mumbled, immediately going on high alert.
“Draco?” an unknown, masculine, voice demanded harshly.
Catching on to the lack of attention, Scorpius looked at her with a frown marring his small face.
Trying to find comfort in the knowledge that someone who was a threat wouldn't identify themselves in such a fashion nor would the wards allow such intrusion, Hermione pressed a quick kiss to each of Scorpius’s cheeks. “It’s okay, little love. I’m just going to see who that is. Can you try to feed yourself while I’m gone?”
It more than likely wasn’t a thief but nonetheless, Hermione subtly pulled her wand, keeping it low and to her side to not draw attention.
She stepped into the hall to see Draco twenty years in the future standing in the brightly lit entry. Hermione wouldn’t say it was a relief to recognize the intruder, but as knowing thy enemy was half the battle, she felt confident in her ability to neutralise the threat. Especially when Lucius Abraxas Malfoy still had another three years of highly regulated use of his wand and she had already bested him once when she was fifteen in the Department of Mysteries.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted neutrally, eyes scanning the foyer for any other surprises, naturally angling herself so she could best defend that hallway that led to Scorpius. “I thought you were out of the country until Tuesday. Is your wife with you?” From all that Draco had told her, she thought Narcissa would be at the very least neutral if not an ally in this situation.
The man turned, long platinum hair flaring out around him, his eyes raking her from crown to sole in a slow perusal steeped in derision. “You,” he sneered, sharp boned features twisted unpleasantly as he laid eyes on her. “What are you doing here? Never mind, just run along and fetch my son,” he ordered dismissively.
Grinding her teeth against his patronizing tone she tried to remain calm. “Draco’s not here right now.”
He looked completely taken aback. “What do you mean he’s not here? Where else would he be?”
“America. Something to do with Malfoy Enterprises.” She shrugged as if to suggest that was the extent of her knowledge even though the two of them had talked for nearly forty minutes after she’d put Scorp to bed last night. Come to think of it, she was probably the second most informed person on what was happening. She had offered several suggestions last night and she was interested to hear if any of them panned out.
“If my son is in America, then why are you here?” His tone insinuated she was there to steal the silver.
Hermione bit her tongue against a scathing retort, instead settling for indifferent. “I’m watching Scorpius.”
His being gained even more rigidity, if that could be believed. “You mean to tell me, Draco left his son, the Malfoy heir, with you?” he hissed.
“Yes,” you bigoted piece of shit .
He chuffed in disdain, lips pinched. “I knew this would be a mistake but my wife and son blinded me from my better judgement.” Standing tall, looking down his nose at her, he decried, “Your services are no longer needed, Miss Granger, I will take charge of my grandson. See yourself out at once.” He slammed his cane against the wood floors to accentuate his words.
She arched an unimpressed brow. “No.”
He choked on his own pomp. “No?” he demanded incredulously.
“I was invited, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, iron lacing her tone, “you were not. And now I must ask you to leave.”
“I own this manor!”
“I’ve read the terms of your probation, Mr. Malfoy, and we both know that’s not true.” His title and lands had been stripped from him after his first arrest and passed on to his son and heir just after Draco’s sixteenth birthday, the legal minimum age required to not have a regent. It had been a spot of luck for the Malfoys. If Draco had been just a few months younger the Malfoy fortune would still probably be tied up in probate.
“How dare you presume to talk to me in that manner,” he snarled.
“You’d be surprised with just how far I dare.” With a flick of her wand, she opened the door behind him. “I’ll be sure to tell Draco you stopped by. Good day, Mr. Malfoy.”
“If you think I’m leaving my grandson with you--”
“You don’t have a choice,” she interrupted, fed up with this antagonistic man to pretend at being cordial any longer. “Draco has left Scorpius in my care and in my care he will remain until Draco comes to get him.”
“I warned my son against this. I knew you were just another conniving upstart that would dig her greedy little claws into my son at the first opportunity. We already got rid of one woman worth ten of you, you think you have any chance? Now you will release my grandson and vacate the premise at once!”
“I refuse to talk circles with you. Draco will be back late tonight, you can take it up with him then.”
Turning, she disappeared back down the hall to where she could hear Scropius banging on his high chair tray, demanding attention. Flicking her wand behind her she cast a strong repelling charm to keep Lucius trapped in the foyer so he couldn’t follow her. With the restrictions placed on his wand and being removed as executor from the manors wards, he didn’t have a chance, though that didn't stop him from trying for over two hours to break through her magic with no success.
Hermione curled up in the den with Scorpius, reading a book aloud as he babbled up at her. After a late lunch, and double checking the coast was clear, Hermione took him and his bottle up to his room where they could play with his toys before his nap. Before long he was fighting sleep but every time she went to put him in his crib he would fuss and reach for her.
Neither one of them had gotten the greatest night sleep. Two days without his father had made him more clingy. Along with a flare up of his gums that had woken him up several times in the night in need of soothing. Not one to typically give into tantrums, she nonetheless allowed him to tire himself out with games and toys, lounging with him on the carpet until he nestled against her side and passed out.
She felt her heart swell with affection for the little boy.
Gently brushing her fingers through his baby fine hairs she got caught up in thoughts of what her future children would look like. Would they have his perfect little cheeks? Would they inherit her curly locks and brown eyes or their shadowy father’s features? Would she be the disciplinary or the one they sought for comfort? Would they also curl up so trustingly against her knowing she would protect them with her very soul if that’s what it took?
Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she closed her eyes, just for a second, wanting to bask in this feeling of comfort and rightness as she clutched the little body close to her heart, his gentle breathing her lullaby.
Hermione came back to awareness with tiny fingers gently poking at her face.
Peeking open a single eye she managed to focus on the face that looked at hers with such focus in his blue-gray eyes. He looked so much like his father with only baby fat rounding out his cheeks.
Smiling, she gathered him close as he grunted indignantly, allowing her eyes to close, warm and content with the baby in her arms. “What are you doing, little Malfoy?”
Drawn by her words his fingers played with her lips.
"Are you hungry, little star, is that why you're telling me to get up?" Cradling his head she nipped at his fingers, adding gobbling noises and received one of those adorable snorting chuffs for her troubles.
At the mention of food he grunted excitedly then tried to devour his own hand.
"Ah yes, cannibalism,” she cooed with a smile. “What would your father say?"
"Start with Granger, she’s sure to be sweeter."
Startled, she jerked up right, baby swept protectively to her chest with her vinewood wand held trained out before her.
Draco leaned against the door frame to the nursery, his face its customary mask but his eyes intense.
Mewling at the indignity, Scorpius pounded on her chest. Lowering her wand she settled him by second nature, embarrassed at being so jumpy.
No matter how much time had passed since the end of the war, her anxiety and hyper-awareness never left her alone for long. Seeing Lucius today hadn’t done her PTSD any favours. "Sorry. I- uh- didn't expect you home so early." She said getting her feet still holding the baby close.
"I just got in." His eyes took in both his son and her. Merlin, her hair must be a fright. She only just stopped herself from reaching up to fix it.
Making to move past him she belatedly realised she should have passed him his son when Scorp tried to launch himself at his father with a delighted cry. Draco accepted the ungraceful transfer with ease. Not knowing what to do with her now empty hands in the enclosed space of the door frame, she shuffled awkwardly. “I was just about to head down to make dinner. "
"Yes, let's." Setting his son against his shoulder, he laid a light guiding hand on her lower back as they walked down the staircase.
"How was the trip?" she asked to fill the silence.
“It could have been worse. Richardson had been in the position a year but had only started nipping from the pot about two months ago. It totals a hundred thousand dollars American but that’s what insurance is for.” Eyeing her, he shifted topics. “You know we do have beds. Was there something wrong with all of them to make you choose the floor of my son’s room?”
She blushed hotly. “I was playing with him before his nap and I guess we both just conked out. Your carpet is remarkably comfortable.”
He raised a pale brow as he buckled the child in the highchair. She moved around him, getting the shatter resistant plate and blunted silverware. Pulling the prepped meal components from the icebox she spooned some of each onto the plate and cast a light warming charm, subtly using her wand as an anchor point in her rapidly bunned hair.
“You had your wand on you?”
Setting the plate in front of the excited baby, Hermione tugged up the sleeve of her sweater showing the holster strapped to her forearm.
“And you always wear that?”
Her eyes slid to his then away, chest tight with unexamined emotions. “Yes.”
“I see.” And it felt like he really did in a way few others could. Harry for the most part. Ginny partially but she could empathize. Ron in his own way, though never in a way they connected on. Before this she would say the only one who had truly understood her was Neville and neither one of them were in a place to discuss it, both still too emotionally taxed even years after the war.
But Draco had lived with the creatures that had given her her nightmares and probably had some of his own from the experience.
He tapped her wrist and the wand holster still hidden under the material. “And we weren’t afraid of a little someone getting a hold of it?” he questioned, eying his son who was eating mashed sweet potato by the fist full. She laughed at his resigned sigh.
“No,” she reassured. “It’s keyed to me, he wouldn’t have been able to touch it. Besides, you have that nursery so warded that even if he had managed to perform a bit of magic, it would be quickly contained. I like the monitoring charm,” she continued conversationally, pulling out sandwich materials, setting to work on two turkey on rye. “It took me a little bit to get used to it but it beats getting up a dozen times in the night to check on him.” Swiping mayonnaise on both halves of bread she said, “your father stopped by earlier.” She very pointedly did not look at him.
“I know.”
So that was why he was home so early. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if that was the wrong choice but it didn’t feel right handing off responsibility of Scorpius without your permission. I know if I came home and didn’t know where my child was I’d be livid, even if it was my --” the word stuck in her throat but she forced it through “--parents.”
“It was your call to make.”
Fitting lids back on condiments, she avoided his searching look. “He wasn’t happy with me when he left. I … I warded the house against him.”
“I’ll talk with him,” he said, face turning thunderous. “He had no right to make you feel unsafe in my home.”
“I’m sorry for causing trouble with your family. And your work.”
“I was already on my way home when he called. Your suggestions were perfect, by the way. We were able to wrap earlier than any of us could have dreamed. There is going to be a mountain of paperwork but nothing I need to be in person for. As for my family,” he reached out and laid a hand on hers, “that’s not your fault.”
“I overreacted. He is Scorpius’s grandfather.” She swallowed thickly at the though that her own children would never get to meet their grandparents.
“You did what you thought was best for my son. I left him in your care trusting you to do that. Why would I be upset that you kept your word? While I know my son would be perfectly safe with my father, your history with him has given you no indication of that. I would much rather you be hesitant than hand Scorp over to someone you don’t trust just because he happens to share blood with them.”
She shared a relieved smile glancing up at him through her lashes.
“Now, are one of those for me or are you going to eat them both?” he asked, pointing to the sandwitches.
“Oh, I thought Malfoys didn’t eat with their hands,” she teased, sliding him the plate for the one where she’d left off the tomatoes.
Never breaking eye contact he reached into the drawer she knew he kept silverware and pulled out a knife and fork.
“Don’t,” she threatened.
Slowly, never looking away, he sawed into the sandwich, cut free a corner and used the fork to convey it to his mouth.
“Heathen,” she sneered, using her hands to cram an obnoxiously large bite into her mouth. Leaning over she opened one of the glass fronted cabinets and unearthed a bag of crisps. Not bothering with serving them, she broke the charm keeping the cellophane closed and propped the open bag between them. “Are you still serious about us going to the ball this weekend?”
His head shot up. “You have found a dress, haven’t you?”
She waved him off. “I’ll pick something up this week. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Having proven his point, he set down his cutlery and picked up his sandwich like a functioning creature with opposable thumbs. “Then what are you talking about?”
Hermione suddenly turned hesitant, nibbling at her bottom lip.
“Out with it, Granger,” he challenged before taking another bite.
“Well, this would be a good time to map out boundaries, since we’re going to start meeting with people that will be close to us and who might know something’s up if we start acting strange.”
“What kind of boundaries?”
“What we’re comfortable with portraying to the public.” Her blush burned her cheeks. “Hugging? Hand holding? Cuddling?” She wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
“This isn’t exactly the venue for cuddling.” He popped a crisp into his mouth, brushing his fingers off on a napkin.
She didn’t appreciate his lackadaisical tone. Resting a hip against the counter, she folded her arms across her chest. “What about kissing?”
Draco choked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh come on, Sherlock,” she bit out sarcastically, “it’s one thing to be seen out to dinner, it’s quite another to be someone’s date to a social function. People will expect a certain level of … intimacy and it would be noted if there wasn’t any. Stop acting like I told you to grope me in front of your mother.”
“First of all, what in Merlin’s name is a ‘sherlock’? Second, please never use the words ‘mother’ and ‘grope’ in the same sentence again. And third, getting back to your original questions, I’m not opposed to hugging you, or holding your hand, or even kissing you,” he told her, “the last one just caught me off guard, is all.”
“Why? Did you never think this was going to come up?” she asked hotly, thinking back on their almost kiss from last week.
“I just wasn’t prepared for you to spring it on me when we’re standing in my kitchen eating sandwiches.”
“Well, when should I have brought it up?”
“I was thinking it would happen a little more organically,” he said dryly, finishing his sandwich and going to the sink to wash his hands.
“You’re impossible,” she huffed, bumping him none too gently out of the way with her hip so she could finish the dishes she’d left there from her and Scorpius’s breakfast and lunch.
“I’m not one to kiss and tell, Granger,” he moved closer to her, well within her personal space but shy of touching, “but if you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask. We can even cuddle. Though I don’t know how well we’d pull that off in a crowded ballroom, I’m game enough for it.”
Her eyes flashed to his, full of fury and fire, and he grinned his school boy grin at having gotten her goat. Refusing to give into the urge to wipe the stupid look off his face, she sniffed disdainfully and turned back to taking her anger out on the hapless pan.
Posting up beside her, bracing his hands on the counter edge with his back to the sink, he stared off into space. “Maybe we should practise,” he said conversationally. She snorted. He side eyed her. “I believe in my acting capability. Yours are questionable at best.”
“You know what--” Throwing her sponge into the sink, uncaring that it splashed water everywhere, she slapped her still wet hands to both of his cheeks and dragged his head down to meet hers.
Instead of the perfunctory meeting of mouths she had intended, he changed the angle of his head last second to capture her lips. Startled at the turn of events it took his hand coming up to cradle her jaw and tilting her head just-so to perfectly align them and then … magic.
His mouth slanted over hers and she gave as good as she got, pressing him up against the counter as she lifted up on her toes to better reach him, his hand on her lower back to encourage her.
They broke off gasping, eyes locked on one another. For once, Scorpius was silent.
“How was that?” she panted. “Think we’d pass muster?”
“O’s for sure,” he croaked.
She felt a heady rush of victory shoot through her at his less than steady reply.
Notes:
Baby Scorpius, I just can't <3 <3 <3
I've offered up some of my favoite Dramione fics, what are some ones ya'll like? Give me a new hidden gem
Next Chapter we're off to the Gala, October 5th ~7pm PDT
Chapter 10: It’s All Your Fault (you called me beautiful)
Notes:
Thank you meanttobeasleep, Samanthalouise854, Mudblood88, Casey02, TrillbySkinner, Mima, DHr26letters, Palindrom, Nanera, Samcartersg1, FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, Alisha for their comments!! Still looking through everyone's fanfiction selections
CocoMar for reading and commenting on Lucky Number 13What's a party without some gowns.
Hermione: (minor spoilers for what I plan on having Hermione were in the future) https://www.pinterest.com/asongstress1422/contracts-with-a-side-of-pancakes/hermiones-gowns/
the Ex: https://www.pinterest.com/asongstress1422/contracts-with-a-side-of-pancakes/astoria/
Theme: https://www.pinterest.com/asongstress1422/contracts-with-a-side-of-pancakes/black-and-white-ball/
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saturday, October 5th
“I’m late, I’m late,” Hermione muttered under her breath floating down the hallway, going through her mental checklist as she fitted the backs to her dangling gold leaf earrings that Luna had gifted her.
Clutch; under her arm. Shoes; on the hearth waiting for her to slip into just before she flooed out. Wand; holster strapped to the inside of her left thigh as there was no other place for it in the slinky floor length gown with lacy cap sleeves. After Draco’s constant badgering throughout the week Hermioine had finally gone out after work and spent way too much time, and way too much money, finding a dress. But damn did she look good.
Checking her reflection one last time, making sure her glamoured scars were invisible, she slipped on the matching stilettos, and stepped through the green flames.
Hermione saw Draco first. He had his back to her, giving Mimsy final instructions for the evening. Broad shoulders encased in white silk that should have washed him out, but the decorative embroidery of fleur de lis, giving homage to his French ancestry, set his silver hair gleaming.
Hearing her heels on the hardwood floors he turned, signature smirk firmly in place until his locked eyes on her and his jaw dropped. She felt every centimetre of his gaze as it travelled up from her strappy stilettos to the tip of her coiffed hair.
She felt a thrill of feminine vanity. Cocking a hip, she struck a pose. “Acceptable?”
“Never less than outstanding,” he said. Catching her hand he brought it smoothly to his lips.
Ignoring the blush that spread through her cheeks, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do they teach that to all the pureblood boys?”
“You would know. Weasley ever get you to blush like that?” Before she could scold him for bringing up her ex, he straightened and reached into the inner pocket of his robes. “I have something for you.” He pulled out a long thin velvet box, tapping his wand to the lid. “It would have been a lot easier if you had let me help pick out the dress, but here.”
Wide eyed she stared at the box. “I can’t accept that.”
“You haven’t even opened it yet.”
Reluctantly, she took the box. Psyching herself up before flipping up the lid.
And gasped.
“Draco,” she scolded breathless, reverently ghosting her fingertips over the magnificent set of sapphires set in gold as if she just couldn’t bring herself to touch them.
Smirking, he deftly pulled the chain from its casing and stepped behind her to fasten it around her neck.
“This is too much,” she demurred, hand clasped protectively where it rested over her collar bone. “I really can’t accept it.”
“Hermione, your birthday was two weeks ago. If you don’t have something to show off, no one will believe I am serious in my pursuit.” Rolling his eyes as she still remained reluctant, he grumbled. “If it makes you that uncomfortable, think of it as a loan.”
“A loan?” Letting out a tight breath, she nodded succinctly. “A loan. I can do that. I’ll give it back after the party.”
Shaking his head ruefully, he tucked her finger tips in the elbow of his jacket and turned towards the floo. “Ready for this?”
Hermione took a deep breath beside him, the sapphires of her necklace catching the light of the roaring flames. “No. But let's do it anyway.”
He patted her hand. “That’s my Gryffindor.”
They entered the fray. Flowing with the traffic, they ignored the stares as Draco guided them down the stairs.
“Why didn’t you tell me this was a black and white,” she seethed, getting a good look at everyone else in the stark landscape. She stuck out like a sore thumb in her gold gown.
“You seemed so pleased with yourself. Who was I to ruin your thunder?”
“You’re an arse,” she hissed under her breath.
He grinned, nodding to a couple that passed them resplendent in their snow white dress robes with black military braid scroll-work set out in sharp contrast. “You said you didn’t want my assistance.”
“Glad you got your laugh while I embarrassed myself infront of everyone.”
When she made to pull away, his grip tightened, forcing her to look at him. “I’m not laughing, Granger. As I keep saying, I am not the boy that I once was and I hope to someday show you that, if not with my words then through my actions,” he said, never once breaking eye contact. “And while I think you would have looked wonderful in white, gold is, and has always been, your colour. You are beautiful and that goes further than skin deep. Don’t let any of these busybodies, with too much time on their hands and more money than sense, make you doubt yourself. They aren’t worth a tenth of you.”
To give her heart a second to recover from probably the sweetest thing anyone had said to her, she swallowed her emotion and she tried for a joke, under her breath for only him to hear. “Did you practice that infront of the mirror.”
“You’d be surprised.” His half smirk was all charm, she must have imagined the slight bite of sadness in its depth. “Too much?”
“Maybe a bit.” She squeezed his hand. “But it was appreciated.” Taking a second to breath she centered herself, bolstered by Draco’s words, and met the onlookers with her head high.
After he had procured them each a flute of champagne from one a passing waiter, they began their circuit around the crowded room. They’d not make it a dozen feet when a tall lithe figure cut through the crowd, his black velvet robes setting off his ethereal hair and pale skin to haunting degrees. Beside him, a woman floated on his arm, sumptuous in matching dark velvet and diamonds.
“Draco, what is this?” Lucius hissed.
“Mother, Father,” Draco greeted cordially, making the introductions though all parties were well acquainted. “If I may present Miss Hermione Granger.”
“Miss Granger,” Narcissa smiled beautifully. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”
Lucius interrupted, enunciating each word as if it made his teeth hurt. “I though we discussed showing her during Christmas if it became necessary.”
“We said Samhain,” Draco clenched his jaw at his fathers blatant disrespect. “But I felt that this was a better time to get the introductions out of the way. That way we'll be old news by then.”
“This should have been discussed with me,” Lucius scolded harshly. “I invited a very important client from the Japanese community. We can’t afford any,” he looked at Hermione as if she were a bug that had crawled out from a hole, “issues.”
“Issue?” Hermione fluttered her eyelashes and Draco was instantly on alert. “Well, we were going to keep it to ourselves but as we’re practically family, let’s get the secret out of the way,” she gushed, wrapping herself around Draco’s arm and smiling brightly. “We’re pregnant.”
Narcissa gasped. Lucius paled. Draco, who had taken a bracing sip, choked on his champagne.
“What,” Lucius snarled, turning furious eyes on Draco.
“She’s kidding,” Draco wheezed, shaking free his pocket square and dab at his lips. He shot her a withering glare.
“Oh,” Hermione continued in her false falsetto, “but that must be what your father was talking about by ‘issue’. Of course he wouldn’t be insinuating that I, Brightest Witch of Her Age, receiver of a Merlin First Class, Savior of the Wizarding World, would somehow cause an issue by simply being here.” She gasped theatrically, turning comically wide eyes towards his father. “Unless you mean that my being a Mud--”
Draco cupped his hands over her mouth, cutting off her words, eyes serious. “You’ve had your fun, witch. That’s enough now.” Her eyes turned obstinate but he ignored them, turning on his father. “Apologise.”
Father and son faced off, neither willing to budge.
“Lucius,” Narcissa intoned softly, censor clear in the single word. The man’s perfect posture immediately stiffened.
“My apologies Miss Granger, if you took offence because you misconstrued my words,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Hermione smiled sardonically, eyeing at him over her champagne glass. “Oh come now, Mr. Malfoy, I know you can do better than that.”
The older pureblood looked haughtily down his nose at her.
Perspicuous, she fluttered her eyes and said with a snide undercurrent, “you're a very attractive man Mr. Malfoy, I see where Draco gets his looks. I hope he looks half as good once he's your age.” She smiled prettily, a socialite smile to really nail the coffin shut. Narcissa threw her head back, her crystalline laugh ringing out at having caught the subtle by play. Lucius sniffed disdainfully, straightening his shoulders as he shifted awkwardly. A direct hit to his inflated ego.
Hermione turns to grin conspiratorially with the matriarch. “And I see Draco got his charm and wit from you,” she praised truthfully.
“Oh, you’re a delight,” Narcissa said, turning to her son. “Bring her to tea tomorrow, I want to see how she torments my grandson,” she quipped, eyeing Lucius disbelievingly. Turning back to the couple, she shooed them off. “Go. Dance with Miss Granger and give the ol’ fish mongers something else to sneer at instead of your divorce.”
Narcissa covertly winked at Hermione as Draco leaned in to dutifully kiss his mother’s cheek. Hermione remembered Harry telling her how the older witch had lied right to Tom’s face, saving Harry’s life and allowing them to win the war. She really did love her son and her love was as fierce as anything.
As the two young people walked away Narcissa spied her husband of twenty-five years trying to catch his reflection in one of the mirrored walls that lined the ball room. She slipped in beside him and patted his hand in trite commiseration before strongly hinting that it was time he introduced her to these Japanese wizards.
After the first dance, Draco left Hermione on the sidelines while he went to get them another drink. Focused on the task Draco didn’t see the enraged witch that soar across the ballroom until she smacked him in the shoulder with her pearl encrusted clutch.
“What the hell, Pansy,” he seethed at his one time lover and long time friend as he bobbled the two champagne flutes, nearly spilling them.
“Why did I have to find out about your relationship from Witch Weekly instead of directly from you?” Pansy hissed, smacking him on the other arm to show her displeasure.
She was in a white silk pants suit, muggle in cut and austere. The structured collar was interesting while the flared trouser cuffs and tapered waist gave it an edge of femininity. It fit her to a T and he knew it was one of her latest designs.
“Well hello to you too,” Draco snarked, rolling his eyes. “How was Paris where you’ve been secluding yourself for the last four months? Make any fashion designers cry?”
“Don’t give me any of your sass, I have plenty of my own.” She militaristicly straightened the folds of his dress robes so they hung perfectly against his shoulders. “They have owls; you could have written.”
“Sorry for wanting to keep it to myself for a while,” he pouted, accepting her ministration as the form of deep affection that it was.
“So you and the Gryffindor Princess,” she said, stealing one of the champagne flutes and shooting it back before he could stop her. “Can’t say I didn’t see it. You’ve been lusting after her since before you knew the word.”
“Don’t be crude,” he scolded.
“Though I can’t believe you actually brought her to this.” She gestured off-handed with the empty glass to the pageantry around them.
“Of course I brought her. As you pointed out, we’re dating.”
“It’s one thing to date the Golden Girl, it’s a whole other thing to bring her to one of these. More than one marriage minded debutante is eating their knickers right now that the Malfoy heir is back off the market.” She got a maniacal grin on her face. “Maybe I should go say hi to your new belle, tell her what she’s in for. You think I can make the Gryffindor lioness run scared?”
“Be nice, I need her,'' Draco warned, snagging a second champagne flute from a passing waiter while Pansy exchanged hers for a new one. With owning house-elfs being on the outs, many of the older families had turned to leasing out human waitstaff for such events instead of chancing things becoming politically charged when they did or didn’t have freed elves.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about right now,” she said placidly, tipping her glass to point across the ballroom.
Draco turned in time to see Astoria gliding through the room in Granger's direction.
“Shit.” He set down both glasses and broke away from Pans without a backward glance, trying to be covert as he moved quickly through the crowd. For all of her clear aggression in her single minded pursuit of Hermione, Astoria looked as delicate as usual in a black, off the shoulder, velvet dress. Draco wondered if it was by coincidence that she just happened to match the rest of the Malfoy family and only a last second change on his part made it so she didn’t match him.
“--knew there was a slut in the background but I didn’t think he would sink so low as to bed something like you.” Draco heard Astoria spout as he drew closer and felt his blood boil.
Hermione, cool as ever, didn't let the statement faze her in the slightest. “Come now, Miss Greengrass, I would have thought you’d have a stronger bite than schoolyard taunts.”
Draco finally got close enough to intervene. “That’s enough Astoria, you’re making a scene,” he said lowly, already feeling eyes starting to stray their way.
“You come here with your mudblood whore and say I’m making a scene!” she screeched, drawing even more eyes. “You shame yourself and you shame the name of the Sacred twenty-eight. I will never let you keep my son, I’d sooner see him dead than tainted by the likes of her!”
At the threat to Scorpius Draco stepped forward, but Hermione grabbed his wrist to keep him back. That only seemed to set Astoria off more.
“He’ll get tired of you,” his ex-wife spat. “He always does.”
“When the time comes for it to end we will part with grace.” Hermione’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “But right now Draco and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she purred, purposefully making it sound salacious.
“Filthy mudblood bitch!”
Draco seethed, taking an imposing step forward. “Don’t talk to her like that!”
Hermione's laugh caught both purebloods off guard and they turned towards her, surprised.
She collected herself to smile patronizingly at his ex-wife. “I grow bored of you, Astoria.” Giving her back to the other woman, showing the room at large how little she viewed his ex-wife as a threat, Hermione offered her arm to Draco. “Dance with me?”
Ever the gentleman his training kicked in and he wordlessly accepted her hand and drew her into the waltz that was just starting. They spun around for several turns in silence. Hermione stood comfortably in it, giving Draco the chance to gather his equilibrium for which he was grateful.
He wanted to ask if she was okay. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and shield her from the prying eyes that he felt clocking their every move. But the first thought of many that tumbled from his lips as they were cloaked from being overheard by the orchestra was, “I didn’t cheat on Astoria.”
“I know.” She said casually, swaying gently to the music in his arms.
He almost made a misstep, correcting it into a turn at the last second and keeping them moving with the flow of the other dancers. “Pardon?”
“I said I know.”
His mind spun. Infidelity wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in pureblood marriages, more par for the course, helped along by the scorned woman act Astoria had attributed to herself. The only oddity in this case was the divorce itself, nearly unheard of in wizarding society as a whole and never in pureblood families. “But how?”
She slid her grip up his shoulder to rub her thumb soothingly at the skin just above his collar. He initially stiffened at the touch, then relaxed, easing into it. Salazar. He could never let her know how fulfilled he felt when she initiated contact.
“Like you’ve said, we went to school together for years. And as much of a little shit as you were, I never knew you to be disloyal.”
He turned his head away, jaw tight as they continued to glide around the room. “There are people who would disagree with you.”
She flipped a negating hand at the rest of the room, especially towards where the Greengrass congregate had closed ranks and were glaring at them. “A divorce is coming to realise that two people are better off apart then together; it is not disloyalty.”
“I made a vow, and then I broke it.” Was he even talking about his marriage anymore? He wasn’t sure. But his chest felt tight and his left arm burned.
She must have felt him flinch because her hand flowed down his arm to rest on his sleeve right above the dark mark. “That wasn’t loyalty, Draco, that was fear. Loyalty is not something that can be forced, it is something that has to be nurtured. Did you want to be loyal to Tom?”
It took a beat for him to realise to whom she even referred. This muggleborn witch cared so little about the Dark Lord that she used his true name as a blatant show of disregard. It almost tempted him to smile and made the next part both easier and harder to say.
“Yes.” That truth was his greatest shame. “My parents revered him, and I revered my parents. I was so stupid.”
“You were a child,” she defended, thumb stroking over his forearm.
“I should have known better.” He locked eyes with her. “You did.”
“I was one of the ones he wanted to persecute the first time around, I knew I was not safe. How much harder to have one's family accept the viper into the den not considering it would bite one of their own.”
“The veneer of loyalty started peeling long before the first time he tortured my father. By then we were in too deep for escape."
“You still fought it.”
“No, Granger, I didn’t. I gave them full access to Hogwarts and stood by while my aunt tortured you.”
“But there was a plan--”
“One I did not know my part in,” he interrupted, not wanting her to overlook his inexcusable actions. “I completed what tasks he set before me. I was doing everything in my power to protect my family and I didn't care what happened to anyone else. People died because of my actions.”
“People died because of my actions too, Draco.”
“You were fighting for the right side.”
“Doesn't change the fact that they're dead. It doesn't change the fact that I've killed some of them.” Her smile was self-deprecating and so sad. “You in all your martyrdom can't claim that.”
“This isn’t a contest!” he hissed, lowering her gracefully into a dip.
“Then stop making it one,” she said evenly, eyes never leaving his as she trustingly laid in his arms before he righted her. “Nothing we can say or do will ever negate our actions but we can do something with their outcome. We can’t waste that.”
The music came to an end and Draco led her from the dance floor running into another of his friends.
“Granger, long time no see.” Blaise drawled, eyes raking over her in a blatant appraisal that had Draco’s hackles up. “And may I say the view is spectacular.”
Hermione’s smile was sassy and full of teeth. “If you don’t stop flirting with me in front of my date, all you’ll be seeing is stars.”
“Ah, Gryffindors, so much passion!” Blaise cried out clutching his heart.
“What do you want, Zabini?” Draco growled, fighting every instinct that waffled between stepping in front of Granger (wrong move, the last thing he needed was to be on a third woman’s shit list) and punching Blaise in the face, and he wouldn’t do that because they were friends.
“The card tables are opening up. Wanted to see if you would join me,” Blaise offered with a final wink at Hermione.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Hermione said. “It’s getting past my bedtime, anyway. Gentleman,” she nodded her goodbyes.
“I’ll see you home,” Draco said, giving Blaise a dark glare as he moved past his friend to fall into step with his witch.
“It’s alright,” she said, laying a staying hand on his lapel. “Stay with your friend.”
“I want to,” he reassured, linking her arm through his to walk her to the floo. “I’m sorry everything went tit-sideways with my father and Astoria,” he said for her ears alone.
“Oh, I was expecting much worse.” Her grin flashed as she locked eyes with one of the Rosier matrons and nodded in recognition. The old pureblood gasped, clutching at her diamonds as she turned sharply away. “At least no one has tried to hex me.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” he said as they entered the floo room, “your wand work is too well known.”
“Pitty,” she sighed dramatically. “I’ve been wanting to test out a new counter-curse I’ve been working on and thought this would be the perfect venue.” When she made to step into the large fireplace, he refused to release her hand, instead tugging gently so she swayed back into him.
“You’re quite terrifying, you know,” he complemented, brushing a rogue curl from her eyes.
“I know.” She grinned, eyes sparkling. “Kiss me here, and go back to your friend,” she directed. “I’ve closed my wards and am too tired for company.”
His hands skated down her bare arms, not wanting to give up touching her quite yet. “You have the boys tomorrow?”
“No. It’s the first Sunday of the month, so it’s the Weasley family brunch. Nothing quite screams ‘family’ like eight couples and a near dozen children first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds riveting.”
Hermione laughed. “Just kiss me so I can go to bed.”
Obliging, knowing it was for their audience but not one to turn down an opportunity, Draco did just that. “Goodnight,” he breathed against her lips, just barely restraining himself from going in for a second taste.
“Night.” She grinned up at him, an easy playfulness that had been missing most of the night. “Give Scorp my love.”
“Always,” he whispered, keeping hold of her hand til the last possible second as she threw down her powder and stepped into the flames.
Raking a hand through his hair, giving the heady rush of kissing a brilliant witch a second to settle before he returned to the party.
Too much in his own head he didn’t notice the individual that had watched the whole exchange from a shadowed alcove.
Notes:
Always on the look out for other tags that fit the story.
Any projections? I'm coming up to the end of my pre-written stuff and am starting to panic.
Next chapter will be up round midnight!
Chapter 11: Where There Is A Flame Someone’s Bound To Get Burned
Notes:
2nd chapter of the night. Previous chapter was the Gala
Thank you Samanthalouise854, FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, BeauxT, Thompsra, TrillbySkinner for having already commented on the last chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was the disappearance of her wards that nudged Hermione from sleep and undoubtedly saved her life.
Rolling over in bed she was just awake enough to hear the shattering of glass from the front of the flat. Adrenaline immediately took over as she bolted from bed to stumble from her room at a sprint, skidding down the hall and into the kitchen only to see the entire front of her living room engulfed in flames.
Sleep befuddled as she was, for all the years she spent in the wizarding world, her first line of thought and therefore her action was to dive under the kitchen sink and pull out the foot-and-a-half, five pound, red canister instead of her wand. After the war she'd became obsessed with safety and basic first aid, refreshed her CPR training every year and stockpiled her house encase of emergencies.
Pulling the pin on the fire extinguisher she flew around the couch, aimed the attached hose and compressed the leaver, spewing a thick layer of white foam on the growing flames. Following the sweeping technique the instructor had shown her she saw out of the corner of her eyes flames licking at her inbuilt bookshelves. Acting on pure instinct Hermione reached through the fire, ignoring her signed copy of Hogwarts: A History and instead grabbing a cheap picture frame tucked in a corner shelf, hissing at the singe to her arm.
Holding the photo to her chest she beat back the flames with the fire extinguisher one handed, slowly but surely. Her living room resembled a snow field when she was done but the flames were out. She debated who she should have called the muggle fire brigade or an auror team. If she hoped to have insurance cover any of the damages she’d need a constable’s report. She wiped sweat away from her forehead, adrenalin making her breathe fast bringing with it the thick scent of man-made chemicals…
… but no smoke.
Fuck.
It had been a magical attack.
Leaving the fire extinguisher on the counter, making a mental note to pick up a replacement, she went to draft an owl.
“As I said before, Inspector,” Hermione droned, her arm throbbing even after a healer had seen to it. “I was asleep. I felt my wards drop, there was a crash from my living room, and then everything was on fire.”
“And you managed to put out charmed flames with that muggle contraption?” Auror Captain Bigsby said with not a little disbelief, pointing his quill to the red canister that two other aurors were poking around confounded.
“It's called a fire extinguisher,” she said. Hermione knew there were clear conflicts of interests but she really wished she could be dealing with Harry instead of this trumped up wizard that seemed to discount everything she said and sneered at anything muggle. “It works by separating oxygen from--”
“Where is she!”
Hermoine shifted in her seat at the island to see Draco muscle his way past the auror's guarding the door. Spying her, he immediately came to her side. Taking her by the shoulders he looked her over in a panic. Seeing the thick bandage wrapped from fingertip to elbow he demanded, “what happened?”
“Just a little burn. It’s already been seen to,” she reassured, having the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to cry. Instead of giving in to the waterworks, she eased against his chest, resting her forehead against his sternum and allowing him to support her, taking solace in his presence.
“Mr. Malfoy,” the chief investigator interrupted, “what are you doing here?”
They both tensed at the man's tone, turning at the same time to lock him in a united glare.
“I got word that something happened at my girlfriend's home. I came to check on her.” Draco said, not allowing himself to be cowed.
“Got word from who?” the auror pressed eyeing Draco with clear distrust.
“A friend, who has been with me since we left the gala with Hermione earlier in the evening,” he answered with noticeable chill.
“And does this ‘friend’ have a name?”
“I’m sure they do,” he sneered, the perfect pureblood princeling looking down his nose at the annoyance. “Do I need to get my lawyer?”
“That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it, Inspector?” Hermione challenged with a raised brow. She knew Draco had nothing to do with this. For one thing she was too valuable to him in the act they were playing. And secondly they had become … friends. The longer the investigators tried sniffing in his direction, the more likely her attacker would be able to slip away scott free.
Bigsby gave a speculative eye. “Just curious about how this ‘friend’ heard of the incident so quickly.”
“Things like the wizarding world’s golden girl having a team of aurors dispatched to her home doesn't stay quiet long. I rushed over.”
“You just said you ‘rushed over,” the inspector pretended to read over his notes and Hermione just barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Is there a reason you didn’t apparate in?”
In for a penny in for a pound. "I tend to entertain Muggle guests,” Hermione explained. “Friends from primary school and such. I block apparating for everyone besides myself, as well as floo access. There's no way Draco would have known my wards were down and he’d be able to get in.”
“Why are your wards down,” Draco growled, pressing even closer to her and eyeing the open doorway and broken window with distrust.
“They want to see if they can gather a magical signature,” she said, patting his chest soothingly. Turning sternly to Bigsby, “is there anything more you need from us tonight?”
“The flat is a crime scene. You’ll need to make other accommodation for the night, Miss Granger. Possibly longer.” The inspector closed his little notebook. “Leave your contact information with Auror Jameson. We’ll be in touch.” Without a ‘by your leave’ he walked away from them.
Hermione sighed, going to reach for her temple but then stopping with a hiss when her new skin on her forearm and hand pulled unpleasantly. On top of her burn injury, it had been so long since her last one she had forgotten just how much adrenaline crashes sucked.
“Are you alright?” Draco asked softly, placing a light hand to her lower back. Uneasy she fought with the pleasure that action brought; that she was something to be guarded and protected, that she wasn’t alone but had someone to lean on when things became difficult. It was disconcerting for someone who alway found pride in being able to stand on her own.
“Fine,” she sighed, pushing to her feet to head down the hall to her room so she could pack. “Just tired.”
“Do you have somewhere to go tonight?” he asked, following in her wake posting up in the doorway as she continued to her closet, pulling down a small duffel bag. She wished she thought of bringing her beaded purse home from the bottom drawer of her desk.
“I’ll see if I can stay with Gin and Harry though I hate inconveniencing them and the boys.” She winced, spying the clock on her night stand. “It’s already so late. Maybe I’ll just go to a hotel.”
“Or you can stay with me,” Draco offered softly.
Pulling items from her dresser, her head jerked towards him in surprise. “You heard what he said, it might be a few days.”
“That’s fine.” He reassured, then quickly tried to backpedal when he no doubt read the panic in her eyes. “Unless you’d prefer me to book you a room?”
She sank down on the edge of her bed, a shirt she’d picked up forgotten in her hands. “Wouldn’t this paint you in a bad light, moving your girlfriend in so soon after your divorce?”
“Astoria and I’s divorce has been several months in the making. Even before Scorpius was born things were not well. She has not stepped foot in the Manor in over eight months and hadn’t lived there for close to a year. After this attack it would paint me as more galiant than petty for moving you in. Besides, there are currently two unoccupied guest rooms in my home and two dozen in the manor proper. If you stay out of the east wing there is the real possibility that we wouldn’t see each other at all.”
She scrubbed fingertips across the tension brewing along her brow. “New relationship and live in girlfriend in less than a month? And I thought Ron and Lavender moved fast.” Sighing, long and drawn out, she locked eyes with him. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
There was no hesitation. “Positive.”
“Oi, Granger, glad to see you’re not burned to a crisp.” Blaise greeted them as they stepped through the floo.
“Thank you, Zabini.” Hermione turned with a quirk of her eyebrow at Draco. “I thought you said he couldn’t watch Scorpius.”
“He’s not,” Draco said as he juggled a large box and a rolling muggle suitcase. She’d packed everything she’d need for a week, including important documents. Neither one of them had much faith in their particular auror team. “I asked Mimsy to stay late and I forgot to kick him out before I left. Speaking of,” he turned on his friend. “How did you hear of the fire?”
“Pans,” Blaise grinned good naturally, hands tucked in his pocket as he eyed Hermione and the fact they were laden down with her belongings. He smirked knowingly at Draco. “You know she has quite a web of informants,” he said, part informative, part in warning. “She said she got a tip that an Auror team was mobilised because of a fire at one Hermione Jean Granger’s home.”
Draco frowned. “Why didn’t she let me know herself?”
Blaise arched a sculpted eyebrow. “Maybe because you treat your blackberry like an expensive paperweight and it’s collecting dust in some forgotten drawer?”
Behind him Hermione broke in a peal of laughter. Turning, Draco saw tears streamed down her cheeks as she clutched her sides, a cathartic release if he’d ever seen one. She was arresting, one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Even after the hell of a gala and someone trying to break into her home to hurt her, she still found something to laugh over. As if feeling his stare, her eyes flashes up meeting him, flickering over his shoulder to where Blaise stood, before returning.
“What?” she questioned, cheeks pink with embarrassment as she collected herself.
“Nothing.” Blaise's rich voice broke Draco out of his earth shifting revelation that he would do anything to keep that laughter in his life.
Glancing over he saw the knowing look in his friend’s dark eyes but it was softer, fonder, and Draco had to fight every instinct to try and posture his way out of it. Not that it would do any good, they had known each other too long, been through too much together to not see through each other's bluff.
“I’ll leave you two love birds alone,” Blaise said with a shit eating grin and if Draco’s hands weren’t full he’d have hexed him. Sauntering between them to the floo, he called over his shoulder, “don’t be a stranger now, Granger.”
Hermione shifted awkwardly once the sound of flames had died down. “Thanks again. For letting me stay.”
“Not a problem,” he told her. He watched her shift her weight again, rubbing her thumb over the woven texture of her bag strap that ran crosswise over her body, and he jumped back into the role of host. “Here, let me help you to your room.”
He led her to the room she’d stayed in last weekend. It was the bigger of the two guest rooms and she was already familiar with it; he felt it was the safest option. Finding he wanted her close, he didn’t bring up any of the other rooms on the west side of the property. He set down her box and the roller by the closet. “I’m going to go check on Scorp. Would you, uh, would you want to meet me for a nightcap in the kitchen?”
She smiled, some of the tension from Blaise’s teasing melting from her shoulder. “That sounds great.”
Nodding decisively, a smile on his own lips, he left her to settle.
Scorpius was asleep and after thanking Mimsy for staying so late, sent her off to bed. Stopping off quickly at his study to draft an owl, he had snifters of brandy waiting on the large granite island by the time he heard her on the stairs. Grinning over his shoulder he put the finishing touches on what he’d been working on before turning with a flourish to present two servings of chocolate mousse.
It looked absolutely decadent, if he did say so himself, but she still hesitated. “It’s not good to have sugar before bed. It’s bad for your teeth.”
“I wont tell if you wont,” he grinned, offering her a spoon like a dare.
Gryffindor to her core, but Ravenclaw enough to know she was being played, she narrowed her eyes at him before snatching the spoon from his fingers. Her grumbling lasted only until her first bite, then she let loose a moan that sent a skitter of awareness racing down his spine.
Draco choked, quickly taking a swallow of his brandy to clear the thick chocolate. Wholly focused on her dessert she seemed to have no idea how erotic she was switching between slow kitten licks or mouthing thin layers from her spoon.
Watching her was a case study in self-control, one he was on the verge of failing even after she scraped the last smear of chocolate from the bowl. “That was delicious.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Giving a final lick to the back or her spoon before resting it back in the glass ramekin she asked, “can I borrow your fireplace? I need to call Harry, let him know what's happening. I also want to see if I can lodge a formal complaint against Bigsby. I doubt it will go anywhere but at least it will be documented.”
He gestured down the hall towards the floo room, giving his consent but unable to meet her eyes as he drew his spoon through his dessert, no longer interested in eating at the reminder of what could have happened to her tonight.
Headed for the front of the house, she paused, turning to face him as she fiddled with the hem of her oversized sweater. “I hope this goes without saying, but I don’t believe you had anything to do with what happened tonight.”
“I might have,” he said, collecting both bowls and taking them to the sink. “We formally went public tonight. That could have made someone angry enough to go after you.”
“That does not make this your fault and the Aurors don’t have the right to cast suspicion on you when you’ve grown from your past mistakes.”
“I-uh,” he cleared his throat, hoping to keep some shred of pride and hide the tears her belief in him brought to his eyes. “Thanks, Granger. That means a lot.”
He heard her bare feet pad quietly down the hall and hung his head. He couldn’t even remember the last time he wasn’t looked at with suspicion when he entered a room and here the little witch was, coming to his defence when it was she who had her sanctuary violated.
Anger rolled through him at the thought of how close someone had gotten to hurting her.
Having no trust that Bigsby would look much farther than Draco as the culprit he had already reached out to set up a meeting with his own private investigator to get to the bottom of it. He needed it handled quickly and efficiently as he couldn’t afford to have the bad press with his parental rights in question. But more than that, he wanted whoever tried to harm Hermione taken care of.
Draco cleaned the kitchen of their midnight snack, not wanting to leave a mess for Mimsy in the morning after all she did for them. Realising his emotions were too volatile to sort out tonight, Draco went to the travelling room, knocking lightly before peeking his head in. She looked up from where she was still on her knees in front of the floo.
“It’s late-- well, early,” Draco told her softly, “and you have that Weasley brunch. You should get some sleep.”
“He’s right, Mione,” Potter’s dismembered head said from the flames. “I’ll see you there and we can go over anything else.”
“Thanks, Harry. Give Gin a kiss from me and don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. Goodnight.” Potter disconnected and the fireplace went dormant.
Draco offered his hand to help her to her feet. “You have everything you need?”
“Yes, you’ve been very accommodating. Thank you,” she said with deep sincerity.
He followed her up the stairs, a light hand on the small of her back, depositing her outside her bedroom door.
“Sleep well, Granger.”
She grinned rolling her eyes. “Night, Malfoy.” Shaking her head at his ridiculousness she stepped inside and closed the door.
His heart swelled. He wanted to follow her in. Wanted to lay beside her and hold her close. Would she accept him or would she turn him away? The smile she’d given him just before she closed the door made him think it would be the former.
But it was late. They had an emotional and draining night and she was under his protection. It wouldn’t be right.
Sighing, Draco pressed his forehead to the door. He remembered Blaise fishing his cellular from his pocket when they had settled in for one final drink after flooing to his after the gala. He remembered how Blaise had negligently held it to his ear, “yeah, he’s here,” his carefree demeanour hardening as his eyes cut over to Draco sitting beside him. And abrupt, “understood,” before he ended the call. “An auror team has been dispatched to Granger’s place. There's been a fire.”
For five terrifying minutes Draco thought he’d lost her.
In a blind panic he had roared for Mimsy to stay with Scorpius. Spinning on his heel he apparated to the nearest apparition point from her apartment and sprinted the quarter mile to her door. It made him sick just thinking about it. By the time he’d got to her she’d already had things well in hand and there was nothing for him to do.
Except offer her a safe place to stay.
Sighing, he laid a palm on her door, tapping into the magic as master of the house that wove themselves throughout the manor, testing and strengthening the already impenetrably wards.
“Sweet dreams, Hermione,” he whispered before turning to find his own bed.
Notes:
Posting back to back to back. Next chapter will be up tomorrow October 6th @noon ish
how we feeling? Anyone got a new favorite scene?
Chapter 12: Written in the Scars on Our Hearts
Notes:
Shout out to commenters: Casey02, Samanthalouise854, TrillbySkinner
TW: mention of abortion and miscarriage
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunday, October 6th
Draco was having a relaxed morning on the couch reading the Prophet as his son played on the carpet. The publication had done a satisfactory piece on the gala last evening, with a picture of him and Hermione entering the venue front and center with several others of them dancing. They had definitely stolen the show, her golden gown in sharp contrast to the monochrome surroundings. No word on the fire as of yet, which Draco found odd, but he knew it was just a matter of time before someone let something slip; the story was just too good to pass up.
Draco looked up from his paper in time to see Scorpius abandon his blocks and stuffies to crawl at a lightning pace towards the hallway with an excited squeal.
“Well, hello little star,” Hermione greeted just as happy to see the little boy as she bent down to take his son up into her arms with a sincere smile. “Oh, how I missed you.” Kissing his cheek, she snuggled him close.
Draco had heard the floo but had assumed she would have gone up to her room to rest. She had looked wiped out when she’d stumbled through the kitchen that morning to say goodbyes before she left for the Weasley's. The exhaustion hadn’t let up and there was a new tension in her shoulders.
“How was your morning?” he greeted, concern warring with the warmth that filled his chest as he watched his son play with her hair.
“Oh you know, relentless teasing over my new relationship, coupled with mother-hening on several fronts over the excitement from last night,” she said, bouncing Scorp on her hip. “By-the-by, you’ve both been invited to next month's brunch.” She held up one hand as if to forstall him a comment he hadn’t been about to make. “Don’t worry, I’ll make your excuses when the time comes.”
Draco didn’t exactly want to go over to the Weasley's home but he was none too pleased that she was already planning to preemptively exclude him.
When Scorp squirmed, she bent to facilitate the fickle tyke’s bid to freedom and eased him back to the ground. He immediately went back to his toys, having gotten his cuddle fix. Plopping on the couch next to him she let out a weary sigh. “How was your morning? You boys do anything fun?”
“Well,” he said, tabling his annoyance to review at a later date to tease her instead. “We started our morning with some nice oatmeal but since someone taught my son it was fine to eat with his hands it was followed by a bath. An early lunch, since most of breakfast ended up in my son’s hair, was shepherd's pie. This was also followed by a bath.” Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes feeling his own restless night were he’d gotten up twice to check on Scorp and inspect the wards. If he had also paused outside Hermione’s door that was no one's business but his own.
“Maybe he’s bored,” she theorised, hiding a jaw cracking yawn behind a politely raised hand. Snuggling into the arm of the couch, she braced her elbow and angled to face him. “Have you tried giving him the utensil to feed himself?”
“Isn’t he a bit young for that?”
She shrugged lightly, toeing off her flats and tucking her legs underneath her. “Wont know until we try. We can test it at dinner.”
They way she said ‘we’, as if they were a team, as if she had a vested interest in his son’s development, like she cared, had him wanting to crawl over her, press her fully into the couch cushions and snog her silly.
Two things stopped him. One, Draco had real concerns that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop and his son was right there. Two… she was actively falling asleep in front of him.
“Hermione.” No response. “Hermione,” he shook her gently. She grumbled, swotting ineffectively at him. He smiled, oddly besotted with the fact that she felt comfortable enough to doze in front of him while simultaneously not wanting her to get a crick in her neck. “Why don’t you go have a lie down before we go.”
“We’re going somewhere?” she murmured with malcontent, eyes closed but with a small frown line between her brow.
“We have tea with my mother at two.”
That seemed to jolt her back to full consciousness. Her feet were planted back on the floor, her back going ramrod straight anxiety making her voice shrill. “When did this happen?
“We discussed it last night at the Gala. Remember?”
She waved him pushing to her feet as if she needed to put distance between them. “She was just making small talk, that wasn’t actually an invitation.”
He remained seated as if instinctively knowing to give her the space she needed, cornered lions and all that. “I can assure you, it was. She’ll be vastly disappointed if you don’t come.” He decided to sweeten the pot. “You do this for me and I’ll go to your Weasley brunch.”
She looked at him, big brown eyes going wide. “A-are you bribing me?”
He smirked. “Is it working?”
Rolling her eyes she grinned like he’d been hoping for, some of the tension leaving her body. But not all. She nibbled her lip. Seeing her hesitation he went in for the kill. “This is my mother’s way of thanking you for what you are doing for us. It would mean a lot to both of us if you went.”
He watched her crumble. Sighing, she rubbed tiredly at her face. “Fine. When are we leaving again?”
“Two. Go rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you in time to get ready.”
Flapping a hand over her shoulder she shambled from the den.
“Ms. Granger, welcome,” his mother greeted warmly as they stepped out of the floo in the coastal villa. Her mauve tea dress and simple jewellery showed she was making an effort to make Hermione feel comfortable.
“Mother,” Draco greeted fondly, stepping forward, Scorpius in his arms.
“Draco, darling.” She turned, accepting his kiss to her cheek before snatching up Scorp and turning into the doting grandmother. “And my favourite person in the whole world!”
“I’m standing right here,” Draco pouted without heat.
Narcissa smirked. “Imagine how your father feels, taking third. Men,” she said with an exasperated sigh, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Hermione, “they never really grow up.”
Ever the hostess, his mother led them to the small conservatory filled with her prize-winning hot house roses. Father was noticeably absent, which had Draco gritting his teeth at the slight, even as he noticed Hermione’s shoulders relaxing when she realised they would not be having a fourth join them for tea.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Malfoy.” Hemione said politely as they took their seats around the wrought iron tea table.
“Thank you, dear. It suits my purposes and whenever we need a bigger venue we still have the west side of the manor to host in. The Bulstrodes managed to get Samhain this year but we have Yule.”
They chatted idly for a bit. Narcissa asked pleasant questions about Hermione’s work, filling in Draco on the latest rumours, until Scorpius began showing signs that it was time for his nap.
“I’ll go lay him down,” Draco said, standing from the table with his son cradled to his shoulder. “You ladies continue.”
Hermione shot him a panicked look that wilted as she saw Scorp was already half asleep on Draco’s shoulder. He touched a hand to her back, asking silently if she would be okay. She stalwartly nodded her head, though her eyes asked him to hurry back.
Setting up Scorpius in the nursery his mother had insisted on converting from one of the villa’s half dozen bedrooms, he fed his son a bottle and left the muggle ice ring for him to cut his sore gums against as he drifted fully to sleep.
Taking a second, he just stared in wonder at the little boy he had a part in creating, his heart overflowing with love. Humbled and sentimental, Draco pressed a kiss to his son’s brow before tiptoeing out of the room pulling the door shut behind him.
His father was waiting for him in the hall.
“A word,” Lucius growled, turning on his heel.
Rolling his eyes, his father was in a fine mood, Draco followed him into his study. Going full lord of the manor, Lucius slammed the door behind his son with a flick of his wand once he entered.
“Why is that woman in my house?” he demanded harshly, looming behind his desk with the demeanour of an enraged bear.
Draco arched a condescending brow. “Last I checked, this was mother’s house.”
“Don’t mock me, boy,” Lucius seethed. Jabbing his finger against the gleaming mahogany surface, “your mother may have purchased this place but it was with Malfoy galleons.”
“Have you made that distinction known to her?” They both know he hadn't. Every shred of good will that had allowed the Malfoy name to emerge from the quagmire of the second wizarding war, hopelessly mangled but still worth something, was thanks wholly to Nacissa née Black.
Giving his son a hard glare, Lucius slapped a copy of the Prophet on the table, never one to concede when he could redirect the attack.
The date was the same, today, but instead of a vanity piece about the gala, the smoked out ruin of Hermione’s front window was center page. ‘ Feelings Found in the Flames ’ the header proclaimed -- Lord Malfoy takes in Paramour Hermione Granger after arson attempt. Aurors arrived in time to put out the fire and treat Ms. Granger for injuries. Lead detective states they are looking into every angle on who could have committed this heinous crime and ask anyone with information to come forward so they can see Ms Granger safely returned to her home.
Draco frowned, not caring for the description they had linked with Hermione’s name. He was no longer married, so there was no way she could be his paramour. He smirked, now girlfriend…
The continuation of his father’s tantrum pulled him from the thought. “What were you thinking, moving that woman into the Manor!”
“She needed somewhere to stay and I had room,” he mumbled, eyes scanning the article. Draco found himself becoming even more annoyed in how they minimised her to a fearful damsel in distress instead of the competent witch that had saved herself long before the aurors had arrived on scene. He wondered if Bigsby had gone around touting himself as more of a hero then he really was.
“Do you know how people will take you moving a mudblood into the ancestral home? Having that kind of woman around your son? I will not stand for it!” Lucius made his point by slamming his hands down on the desk.
Draco looked upon his father coldly, anger threatening to explode from him but he tamped it down, having promised himself the moment Scorpius was born that he would set a better example for his son than his father had ever set for him. “I’m only going to say this once, father; never call her that again or there will be consequences.”
And Draco had considerable consequences he would rain down. As current head of the Malfoy name, he controlled the vaults which meant he controlled the stipends given out to dependents, of which Lucius was one. And he was also Chairman and acting CEO of the Malfoy Enterprises where his father worked. Gainful employment just happened to be a stipulation of his parole, of which his father still had another five years of.
“Fine,” Lucius snapped, realising he lost the power struggle and hating it. “Muggle-born. You can call it whatever you want but it doesn't change the facts. You need to get her out of the Manor immediately. I’ve managed to bury this story but more will come if the chit stays with you for much longer.”
“Her name is Hermione. You know, the witch that is making it so that you get to see your grandson grow up? Remember that and keep a civil tongue when you speak of her.”
“She’s getting her galleons,” he said dismissively. “Just be careful that she doesn’t get any ideas. Who’s to say she didn’t start the blaze herself? You are being careful, right? You can’t trust them when they say they’re on the potion, always perform your own contraception charm. We don’t need any bastards running around on top of everything else.”
Draco grimaced at the crude term. “If anything were to happen, I’d be sure to do the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Lucius asked, disgusted. “Don’t be absurd. You’ll pay her to get rid of it, of course. Or find someone who will if she doesn’t comply.”
Ice cascaded down Draco’s spine as his vision tunnelled, dread pooling like inky tar in the pit of his stomach. Get rid of it? His child?
Draco stared in horror as he came to the sickening realisation that after all they’d seen, after all this man put him and his mother through, Lucius was still blinded to his pureblood ideals to the point that he would casually order Draco to see to the termination of a baby, his baby, because he somehow saw their mother as inferior. As if they were merely an inconvenience instead of a living, breathing extension of his heart.
For the first time in his life, he looked at his father and saw a stranger.
“I would willingly get down on my knees and grovel,” Draco croaked, voice shaking with fury, “if that was what it took for Hermione to carry a child of mine to term. And you would be lucky to have a woman like her protecting your legacy. The war is over, your side lost. Good fucking riddance. If you want to be a part of the future, I suggest you take your head out of your arse and start looking around because the world will move on without you and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when you end up alone and forgotten.”
“How dare you speak to me that way. I am your father!”
“Let me show you how a real father behaves when someone threatens their family.” Draco pulled his wand, taking a threatening step forward, freezing Lucius where he stood not with a spell but with the promise in his eyes. “If you come near my son, or Hermione-- if you ever even think about harming what is mine, you better hope they send you to Azkaban before I get my hands on you because there will be no place safe for you to hide.”
Before he did something he knew he’d regret, Draco turned and slammed out of the study, uncaring that a fissure of uncontrolled magic blew the door off its hinges. Emotions swirled up in his chest making his hands shake, his breath coming fast, and heat building behind his eyes. He would not cry, he would not--- He gasped, hand clawing at his chest as it felt like his heart was being shredded. The though of someone thinking Scorpius, his son, his reason for living, could somehow be lesser for his parentage, gutted him. That Draco’s own father--
He needed his son. He needed Scorpius. Needed to make sure he was safe.
Draco rushed back down the hall. His son slept on in the crib, rosebud lips nursing the air, peacefully unaware of the horrors of life. Horrors Draco would give anything to shield him from.
Arms feeling empty and heart heavy, Draco bent down and took up his son holding him close. The babe grunted but didn’t awake, trusting that his father was there and would protect him from anything.
Draco had to leave, could no longer abide sharing the same roof as a man so blinded by hate that he would condemn a child of his own blood before they were even born.
Careful not to wake Scorpius, Draco stalked back to the solarium, an awkward air holding the two witches silent.
“Draco,” his mother said with some relief, that folded quickly into a look of concern when she noticed Scorpius was still with him. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re leaving,” Draco’s voice was cold and brusque, emotions teetering between anger and loss. His eyes flashed towards his mother and he almost gave way at the open pain on her face. But he steeled himself, offering a hand to Hermione, the other cradling Scorpius securely to his chest, right above his heart.
Hermione’s eyes searched his, looking for clues to their rapid departure, but she nonetheless took his hand as he pulled her to her feet, looping his arm around her waist as he could somehow shield her from the his father’s bigotry as he steered them in the direction of the floo.
“Draco, what’s happened?” his mother pleaded, chair screeching disjointedly as she clamored to follow them. “Please, son, talk to me.”
Draco shook his head mutely, jaw tight as he ushered his brood in the direction of the floo. At the fireplace, a moment of indecision as he stared at the silver container of floo powder unwilling to allow either of his group out from under his protection. But Hermione, clever, brilliant witch, didn’t leave him to flounder, instead rose to help him, taking a fistful of powder and casting it in the grate.
Working in tandem he called out his home, the place where the wards were deep and strong and answered only to him. The safe haven he had made for his son… and now the woman at his side.
“I’ll have him owl you, Narcissa,” Hermione called over her shoulder as he dragged her into the burning flames though she went easily and willingly. “Just wait for his owl.”
Whatever reply his mother made was swallowed up in their departure.
Stepping through he locked down the floo. Tapping into the wards he strengthened them and cutting access to everyone that wasn’t already inside with a simple flick of his wrist. Dropping his wand he pulled Hermione close again, burying his face in her shoulder.
“Draco,” she said, concern in her voice as her arms came up to wrap around his back. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m sorry,” he gasped against the smooth skin of her throat. “I’m so sorry.” He was crying now, sobbing against her like a child.
“It’s okay,” she said, calming fingers stroking through his hair.
He was disgusted with himself, what did he have to cry about after all the pain and suffering he and people like him had put her through. He didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her let alone breathing the same air. “It’s not. I can’t believe I ever believed that bile. It was bullshit!”
Scoripius startled against his father’s shoulder at the loud noise.
“Here, let me take him,” she said, her hands gentle as she scooped Scorpius up and pressed him carefully to her own shoulder. “I'm going to go lay him down. Wait here for me, I’ll be right back.”
He wanted to reach out, bring them back to him, hold them close so that nothing bad could happen to them.
Sensing his hesitance, she laid a hand on his cheek. “Right back,” she promised. Cupping his hand around hers, feeling her touch ground him and sinking into it, he nodded. Smiling, she flexed her fingers in comfort before taking Scorpius up to his room.
Draco felt drained. He hadn't even realise Hermione had returned until she sat down beside him, offering him a tumbler with a finger of whiskey.
“Do you want to talk about what set you off?” she asked, mouthing a pull from her glass.
Mute, Draco tossed back his like it was a shot, hissing at the alcoholic burn.
“Your father,” she guessed.
“He knows you’re staying here.” Draco’s fist tightened around the glass, threatening to shatter it. “He is less than thrilled.”
“Nothing new there.”
“He thinks we’re sleeping together.”
“We’re two consenting adults in what looks like a romantic relationship. It’s a logical conclusion.” She hesitated. “Does that make you … uncomfortable?”
“You are not the problem. Living here is not the problem. People thinking we are intimate is not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“My father,” Draco sneered, voice hoarse with rage. “I thought he had learned! I thought he was better! But he still holds the same beliefs even after all the shit he put us through. How can he have the audacity to say if I were to get you pregnant I should pay ‘to get rid of it’. As if they would mean nothing, as if we were not talking about my child, his grandchild!” Tears choke him as impotent rage filled him once more. “How could he believe the same things after everything?” He turned towards Hermione, eyes fierce. “I would never demand you get rid of our baby. I would never do that to you.”
“I know,” she gathered him close, pressing his head to her shoulder as she petted his hair. “I know.”
He swallowed thickly, the whirlwind of emotions feeling like they were cutting him up inside. It felt like poison and he needed to get it out or he feared it would corrupt him.
“Let it out,” she soothed. “Let it all out.”
Draco broke. Grief, anger, resentment, fear all came pouring out. Towards his father, towards himself, towards the life he could have had but didn’t because of choices outside of his control. He cried for all that he lost.
And through it all, she held him.
“Ahem.”
The dainty cough woke Hermione. Blinking open an eye she saw Mimsy staring down at her, Scorpius nearly the same size sitting on her hip. They both wore similar expressions of confused intrigue.
Feeling the warm weight that covered her shift, she realised why they were so enraptured. Draco was sprawled across her, his head pillowed between her breasts and face inches from hers. She never realised just how delicate his eyelashes were, a slightly more golden silver than the icy blond of his hair.
“Hello, Mimsy,” she said, hoping to keep her embarrassment at being found under the elf’s employer from reaching her voice. “I thought you were going to your brother’s today?”
“I dids, miss. I just returned and realised the young master was awake. Do you wants me to be waking the master, miss?”
“No,” Hermione said softly, hands going of their own accord to brush across Draco’s silky hair once more. “I’ll get up and be with Scorp. Let's see if we can let Draco sleep a bit more. We both had a bit of a rough weekend.”
“Right so, miss.” Mimsy shifted her grip on Scorpius so that she was carrying him one armed and snapped her fingers. Draco’s weight lessened from her as he was levitated in the air and Hermione shimmied to her feet. The wonderful baby didn’t even fuss, still eyeing the two adults curiously as Hermione took him from Mimsy.
“If you want to lay him on the settee?” Hermione directed.
Complying, Mimsy also conjured a pillow and blanket, tucking Draco in comfortably.
“Hello, little Star,” Hermione cooed adoringly at Scorpius as they tipped toed from the travelling room so as not to disturb Draco. “I’m sorry no one was there when you woke up."
“Would you likes me to start dinner, miss?” Mimsy offered, skipping at her heels.
“It’s still your day off,” Hermione said. “But I wouldn’t mind the company in the kitchen. You can tell me how Drofset is liking his internship.”
Getting Scorpius corralled in his highchair with a teething biscuit Hermione spied the morning paper sitting on the edge of the counter and let out a sigh. She was well aware of its contents, having been asked tongue-in-cheek to sign several copies when she’d visited the Weasleys. She hated that her life sometimes resembled a fishbowl. Between the very little sleep she’d managed the night before, the fifth degree from Harry about the fire, the sibling-esque pointed barbs from several fronts on her choice of significant other, compounded when George overheard her telling Ginny of her current living arrangements, and Ron sulking in a corner after she hadn’t accepted his him-hawing apology, brunch had been … difficult. She loved the Weasleys, truly, they were her adoptive family. But the thing about family was they felt they were all entitled to an opinion on one’s life choices.
Mimsy and she chatted as Hermione putzed around the kitchen she was growing relatively familiar with, deciding a quick vegetable soup and cheese toasties would do them all some good. Comfort food, her mother called it. Something hearty and warm and nourishing.
“Something smells good,” Draco said, strolling into the kitchen with a yawn.
“Hello, sleepy head. How are you feeling?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, eyes on the hand Hermione just realised she’d been using to rub at the ache lodged deep in her chest at the memories of her mother. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She dropped her hand to her side and turned back to the stove, stirring the ladle around the pot.
He grunted noncommittally but let it go, for which she was grateful. “What are you making?”
“Soup and toasties. Should be ready in just a minute if you want to take a seat.”
He grabbed the bowls down, a swish of his wand calling forth the spoons and napkins from their storage, before sitting down at the large kitchen island and scooting Scorp’s highchair closer to him.
“And how is my little man? Have any good dreams?” Draco asked his son, to which the baby launched into a long rendition of his sleep stories. She and Draco both asked clarifying questions though they could not understand a single word.
She strained a small bowl of most of its liquid, levitating the soft stewed vegetables and laid it along with a third of a toastie on the tray in front of Scorpius. It only took a few practice runs of wrapping Scorps pudgy, uncoordinated fists around the baby spoon for him to get the hang of feeding himself. Most of it ended up on the tray and his face, and he would definitely be needing a third bath for the day, but it was steady improvement.
“I think your mom is trying to set us up,” Hermione said over a spoonful of soup just to break the strained silence between the two adults.
Draco choked, snatching as his napkin to press to his mouth before he made to big of a mess. Coughing, he glared at her through watery eyes demanding an explanation as he tried to catch his breath.
Back at the villa the Malfoy Matriarch had barely waited for Draco to exit the room before she had pounced.
“I wanted a chance to thank you in person for what you are doing for my family.” Narcissa sat down her fine china tea cup. “I must admit, when Draco told me it was all a ruse, I was shocked.”
Hermione had choked on her own sip of tea, feeling suddenly blind sided. Dabbing her linen napkin to the spill on her white button up, she tried to feign placidity. “Oh?”
Narcissa had nodded with a bemused smile. “During his Hogwarts years, most letters he sent home had some mention of you. ‘Granger’s always in the library reading the books I want.’ ‘Granger got better marks on the charms test than me.’ ‘I beat Granger in potions this quarter!’ You always seemed to be the wand in which he measured himself. He was quite put out at how often you bested him.” She sipped her tea with a mother’s coy smile. “My Dragon has always had excellent taste.”
Hermione shook her head at the memory as she smirked at Draco sitting across from her. “She seems to think you’ve harbored a little crush on me since Hogwarts.”
“She would be mistaken,” Draco said in his most haunty ‘lord of manor’ voice, that was completely ruined by the blush that consumed his entire face. “I thought you were a bossy little swot with too big hair and too little sense.”
“That's a long way off from ‘I admired you’,” she teased.
He shot her a steely eyed glare, knowing she’d trapped him.
Her smile grew broader. It was always enjoyable coming out the victor, though she was humble enough not to gloat. It was the polite thing to do when one was letting you live with them.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, hand half reaching for him across the island.
“Sad. Angry. Hurt.” He raked a hand through his hair, folding both his arms on the counter. “Scorpius wasn’t Astoria and I’s first attempt at a child,” he said, staring down at the floating cauliflower and stewed tomato as if it held all the answers if only he would look deep enough. “There were two others before him that we lost early on. When we found out about Scorpius we didn’t dare get our hopes up. For months we were just waiting for something to happen. I don’t think I took a full breath until I was holding him in my arms. His first cry was the most beautiful thing in the world to me. And for Father to so casually demand that if you and I were to conceive-- just because you-- and I can’t--” he bit down on his knuckle entire body tensing as he tried to keep control over himself.
She didn’t offer any empty words or platitudes. In all honesty Hermione couldn’t even imagine what Draco was going through having already lost two children without even getting the chance to know them. Losing a child had never crossed Hermione’s mind but her heart broke at the though of not having Scorpius or James or Albus, Bill and Fluer’s little Dominique with her personality as big as she was small, or Teddy with his proclivity for mischief, in her life. She found her thoughts going out to Astoria, barely twenty and having had life come knock her down so egregiously. It didn’t make her not a bitch, but it was a pain Hermione wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.
“Not everyone is willing to grow, Draco. It’s hard and frustrating, and believe me I wish it wasn’t the case, but we can only control our own actions. And I’ve stopped trying to make others happy by making myself less. If they don’t like it, that’s on them because nothing I do is going to change their mind.”
“You changed mine,” he said softly, reaching out and taking up her hand, eyes focused intensely on where they lay clasped on the cold marble.
She squeezed his hand in connection. “As flattering as that is, that's not my job. You wanted to change and you did it all on your own, I just happened to be in your orbit as you were doing it. And on that note, you’re on clean-up and I’m off to bed.” Popping up she set her bowl and plate in the sink. “Good night, Malfoys.”
She laid a smacking kiss on Scorpius’s moist cheek and laid a hand on Draco's shoulder as she passed, needing to finish unpacking and get ready for her work week living out of a suitcase.
Notes:
Next Chapter is October 11th. How are they going to taking living with eachother?
Chapter 13: Drinking Wine and Thinking Bliss
Notes:
Comment exsplosion! Thank you FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, TrillbySkinner, Samanthalouise854, meanttobeasleep, Mudblood88, njnsf, Nela129, KiwiMargarita, Samcartersg1, RandomAutisticGirl,
And AceQuiller for checking out my other Dramione oneshot 'Helping Hannds'
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, October 11th
“I’m back,” Hermione called as she stepped through the floo after a whirlwind of a week. As had become her habit, she set her briefcase at the foot of the stairs to take up to her room later.
An excited squawk from Scorpius, followed by, “We’re in the kitchen,” directed Hermione to the den. Scorp was already crawling towards her as fast as his little arms and legs could carry him, his bright grin showing off his new tooth.
“Is that my little star!” she cried, rushing forward to scoop him up and press dozens of kisses to his face as he giggled.
Draco was at the stove putting the finishing touches on something that smelled mouth watering. “How was your day?” he asked, his eyes full of warmth as he looked at her and his son. Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks.
“Good,” she said, getting Scorp loaded in his highchair, wiping his hands with a damp cloth in preparation for dinner as she listened to him babble. “But Merlin am I glad it’s Friday."
The story broke about the fire at her apartment Monday morning, along with her current place of residence. Once more she was served up as the spoils to the news cycle, everyone's eyes on her and whispers at her back. A few of the kinder souls had stopped by her office with their condolences and to ask if there was anything they could do. She had politely declined but it left her with a revolving door of visitors.
With the constant distractions, and her looming deadline to get her centaur legislature filed, Hermione had paid little heed to the rest of her coworkers leaving at the end of the day. She hadn't thought anything of it when she stepped through the Malfoy’s floo at half past six in desperate need of a glass of wine and possibly something of more substance if she could muster the energy to prepare it.
Draco had been in the den playing with Scorpius, the baby was cackling in manic glee as his father continuously teased him by blowing raspberries against his tummy. She greeted them with a tired smile as she made her way towards the kitchen gunning for that wine.
“There’s a plate in the oven if you’re hungry,” he’d said over his shoulder, half distracted with keeping Scorpius entertained.
The comment had caught her completely by surprise. “You made me dinner?”
“I cook most nights, it was no trouble to make extra.”
Peeking in the stove she’d found a plate of meatloaf and brussel sprouts under a stasis charm. Once the charm had been released a fragrant bit of steam wafted from the plate. She realised with a pang that with how late she had been he would have had to recast the charm more than once to keep it hot.
She had stared at the plate for a long time, tears prickling the back of her eyes, unable to remember the last time someone had made her dinner just because they knew she’d be hungry, let alone exerted the effort to keep it warm for her. That changed over the course of the week. Each night, Draco had dinner on the table or in its final stages as she was stepping out from the floo. She made it a priority after that Monday to get off on time and have dinner with her boys.
Tuesday saw Inspector Bigsby stopping by her office with a cadet just out of Hogwarts. While the young auror flirted awkwardly with Natalie, Bigsby asked Hermione the same questions he’d asked her Saturday night, and it was hard to keep the growl out of her voice as she provided him the same answers she’d given then. He eyed her with suspicion, as if it was her fault for not giving him the answers he wanted and instead making him do his job. He asked if it was true she was staying at Malfoy Manor with Draco. When she answered in the affirmative Bigsby had questions if that was the safest choice given his history.
Natalie, Godric bless her, seeing the look of murder in her employer’s eyes had stepped in, with the reminder that a fabricated meeting was about to start. Once she’d dismissed the aurors with false pleasantries, Hermione bought her assistant lunch as a well deserved reward.
The report from Charms had also come in that day in regards to Hermione’s mail. Three batches of laced chocolates (two love potions and one terrifying blood-boiling variety that the auror’s were looking into), a dozen letters with hexes cast on them, and nearly two hundred other parcels that ranged from the average death threats to a lovely drawing of a unicorn done by an eight year old Stella. After being thoroughly cleared, Hermione had hung that one up in her office. Once she’d finished with laws around centaurs, mermaids, veelas, and vampires, Hermione did have plans to begin stronger conservation efforts on the more fauna of the magical beings.
Rita, skeevy little cockroach that she was, had dropped a ‘fluff’ piece on Wednesday highlighting her and Draco’s relationship. It drew even more unwanted attention Hermione’s way, and thus made her the owner of a rather gaudy ruby necklace given to her through the post. Or at least she’d be the owner once the Department of Mysteries extracted the murderous spirit that lived inside. Knowing that their backlog was a few decades long, she wasn’t holding her breath.
During the Weasley Brunch, Lavender had lovingly strong-armed her into a girl’s night. Hermione had been able to bow out of the last one due to having a date with Draco but Lavender was unwilling to hear any new excuses. So that was how she found herself Thursday night surrounded by Ginny, Parvati Patil, George’s wife Angela, and three of Lavender’s work friends brainstorming ideas for the fast approaching wedding.
Apparently during the last meeting the group had been able to narrow things down to a spring/floral theme with rose pink as the main colour focus. Now they were onto accent colours and decorations.
“Why don’t you just wait for spring?” Hermione had asked, snagging a few cuts of cheese from the charcuterie board Molly had sent over, not all that hungery after the lovely risotto Draco had made for dinner but bored.
“I’m not waiting that long to marry the love of my life,” Lavender scoffed, uncharacteristically militaristic in her planning. A sharp deviation in her typical bubbly infatuation, she was almost manic in her need to ensure everything turned out perfect. “This venue is booked out three years in the spring. We only got it now because of a surprise cancellation. The next one wasn’t until August, and it was a Thursday!”
“And Thursdays are bad?” Hermione asked slowly with an upward inflection.
"Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, Saturday for no luck at all." Kathy, one of Lavender’s work friends, recited as if that explained everything.
Hermione was opening her mouth to denounce it as superstition but Ginny was frantically gesturing across her throat to cut her off. In the end she abstained, pouring herself a generous second glass of wine and curling up on the couch while the others huddled around the coffee table like generals drawing up battle plans.
“I think snowfall would look so pretty,” Lavender said, looking over some of her notes, “but that doesn’t go with the theme. Unless you think we can make it pink? But then there would be puddles everywhere because of the need for warming charms.”
“We can use glitter,” Hermione inputted, noshing on a strawberry as she sipped her wine. “We can charm it to have the same effect as a gentle snowfall and we won’t have to worry about soggy tablecloths.”
At the immediate silence, Hermione glanced up startled only to see the whole group had turned and was staring at her. “Is that a bad idea too? I know glitter can get everywhere but it would have a nice effect and I’m sure we can colour match a lot easier than charmed snow.”
“What’s glitter?” Ginny asked.
Hermione paused, caught flat footed by the intrinsic differences between her adolescence and the ones of those around her. “Oh, um…. It’s like very small pieces of plastic that shimmer and sparkle and well… glitter. Though since this is going to be outside I’m going to recommend the biodegradable type so cleaning up won't be such a pain, even though it’s going to be a bit more expensive.”
“How much more expensive?” Lavender was quick to ask, shaking free the page they had been using to itemise and budget.
“I don’t know, maybe around thirty Galleons?” Hermione said.
“A piece!”
“No,” she was quick to reassure, knowing magic could only do so much and their funds were tight, “for several kilos.”
Lavender bit her lip, concerned. “Will that be enough?”
“More than enough.” Hermione was already having nightmares of trying to get it out of her hair. “I’ll pick up some sample packets from muggle London and owl them to you, see if you like them.”
“Thanks Hermione.” Lavender gave her an ecstatic smile before turning back to her war council. “Now food. Catering versus doing it ourselves. Molly said she’d help…”
Thinking about it caused Hermione’s stomach to rumble. “What’s on the menu for tonight?” Hermione asked, handing Scorp his teething ring. The first one had finished cutting but they could already start seeing number two peeking out of the gums.
“Salmon with asparagus and wild rice.” Draco cast her a grin, sliding over a glass of chilled white wine before he turned back to the stove.
Seeing him so at ease in the kitchen, she couldn’t help thinking back to when she had been with Ron. Besides picking up the odd takeout, meal preparation and execution had fallen solely to her. It had been a point of contention in their relationship, her claiming she wasn’t his mother and him weaponizing his incompetence. She’d bought a third set of pans before she’d given up deciding the cost not worth the war. That had spelled the beginning of the end for them. None of her other partners in the last few years had migrated into that level of domesticity.
Sitting down at the table, digging into the restaurant worthy meal, Hermione realised with a pang that when this was all over and done with, she would miss it. Someone to come home to, a warm meal waiting, the laughter of a happy child after a long day's work. Instead of dwelling on things she knew she couldn’t change, she speared a asparagus stem and settled in to enjoy it for as long as she could.
After clearing up from dinner (Hermione insisted because he’d been the one to cook) she settled on the couch next to the father and son. She managed to get in twenty minutes of cuddle time as she and Draco talked about their days until Scorpius decided playing with his toys on the carpet was more fun. Once abandoned, Hermione pulled out a book and Draco flipped on the plasma tv, keeping the volume low in respect of her reading as he checked up on the London Stock Exchange for a few minutes before changing it to a National Geographic episode on the rainforest and settling in.
Prepared for a quiet night, it then came as a shock that at a quarter to eight they heard the floo activate and a voice bellow from the front of the house, “Draco, where are you mate?”
Hermione’s eyes cut up away from her book to lock in the direction of the sound before flickering back to meet Draco’s. “Is that Zabini?”
Draco, who had deserted her to sit on the floor rolling a ball with Scorpius, frowned. “I’ll go see what he wants.” Picking up his son he gained his feet.
Tucking away her book Hermione rose to follow.
It wasn’t just Zabini, but also Theodore Nott, another Slytherin whom she hadn’t seen in person for several years. Seeing her trailing behind Draco, Nott offered her a friendly smile.
“Blaise, Theo, to what do I owe the surprise?” Draco asked, more than a little suspicious.
“There’s my little nephew,” Zabini cried joyfully, completely ignoring Draco, to scoop Scorp from his father’s arms, the transfer a bit stilted but Draco completed it without fuss. “My man, I didn’t get to see you last time ‘cause you were sleeping. You remember me, don’t you? You remember uncle Blaise?” Scorp stared at him as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or not, arching his body away from the unfamiliar man.
“It’s been six months Blaise. He goes a week without seeing his Grandmother and we have to spend ten minutes re-introducing her.”
“And you think I’m less important than Aunt Cissy?”
“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” Draco said, scooping his son back when Scorp reached for him. “Again, I ask you, why are you both here? Is everything alright?”
“Peachy. We’re just all in town and Pans suggested drinks. She’s getting us a table at that new place across the river and sent us to come fetch you. So come on, hop to. Put on some real trousers so we can meet her there.”
“I can’t just leave,” Draco tried to dissuade. “Who’ll watch my son?”
“Oh, right. Reckon they won't let him in the pub on account of him being too young.”
“I can watch him,” Hermione offered, remembering how close he said he was with his friends and that they didn’t get to see each other often.
Draco turned towards her, his surprise evident. “Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up any of your plans.”
“Positive,” she smiled, pulling her cardigan closer around her body. “I was just going to read. I’m sure Scorp would be thrilled to help. I’ll just go up to my room and have a bit of a cuddle before I put him to bed.”
“She has her own room?” Zabini flexed his manicured brows. “Losing your touch there, old man?”
“I’m three months younger than you,” Draco groused.
“But you have a kid. That automatically ages you, like, ten years.”
Hermione tried to back track without trying to seem like that was what she was doing. “Draco has been the perfect gentleman and wanted me to feel like I had my own space.” Stepping into Draco she pressed a kiss just to the right of his lips, something chaste and unhurried as if they did it all the time, as she snagged Scorp from his grasp. “Go. Have fun with your friends, you deserve it.”
“Right,” he said breathlessly, shaking his head and finally managing to tear his eyes away from her. “I’ll just go change then.”
“Thanks for taking him out,” Hermione said to Zabini and Nott once Draco had disappeared up the stairs, settling the baby on her hip. “He’s been cooped up for a bit, it’s good for him to be with friends.”
“We’ll be sure to bring him back in one piece.” Nott said, sharing a look with Zabini that made her highly suspicious. She didn’t comment as Draco bounded back down the stairs shrugging on his coat, looking unfairly attractive for it only taking him a few minutes to get ready.
“I won’t be out late. Just a drink or two.” He told her, stepping close to press a kiss to Scorpius’s scalp.
“Have fun. Don’t forget your scarf.” Hermione saw them off through the floo room. Catching her eye, Zabini leaned in to say something in Draco’s ear, causing silver to flash back to where she held Scorp in the doorway. Blushing, he shoved Zabini towards the fireplace. Laughing Zabini disappeared in a roar of green, followed by a smirking Nott.
“Good night, Granger. I’ll be quiet coming in,” Draco said.
“Night. Be safe.”
Looking like he wanted to say something else, he shook his head, smiled and called out the destination of the Leaky.
She looked down at Scorp in her arms, who looked up from watching his father depart to grin adoringly up at her. “Dah?” he questions, more inflection than word.
“Da-da will be back later.”
“Mmmmm,” he said poking at her cheek
“That’s right, it’s just Mi and Scorpius. Can you say, ‘Score-pee-us’?”
“Gi-gi-waz.”
“Such a big boy!” She praised with a kiss on the cheek. “So, what do you say, little star? You, me, a book, and cuddles?”
He gurgled and clapped his hands in agreement.
“What took you so long?” Pansy demanded, a white blazer perched on her bare shoulders as she sat at a private booth in the bustling club, holding her drink regally as she watched them approach. “I could have sworn you would have brought Granger.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Not really her scene,” he said, slipping into the booth beside her as Blaise and Theo took the opposite side. “She offered to watch Scorpius for me instead. It’s the only reason I could make it on such short notice.”
“Ah, right, the Sprog. Forgot you have to take him into account when making plans. Merlin, I’m never having children.” She shuttered, before gesturing to the bar for them to bring the drinks she’d ordered over.
“But they’re so cute!” Blaise gushed, nodding his thanks to the waiter as he took up one of the proffered tumblers. “You should have seen him. Big o’ blues and the most cherub cheeks. Another twenty years and I’m going to have some steep competition from him.”
“Has he grown into his face?” Pansy asked. “Because he looked like one of those shrunken heads from Knockturn last time I saw him.”
“He was five days old, Pans, takes them a minute to plump out. And I have it on good authority that he looks just like me.” Draco turned to Blaise with wounded pride. “Am I not worthy of being your competition?”
Blaise scoffed. “You’re a serial monogamist. I’m going to teach him how to play the field.”
“That just reinforced my reasons as to why you can’t babysit.” Draco scowled. “And I’m free now, I could give you a run for your money.”
“No, you’re not. You’re dating the Golden Girl,” Theo threw in. “It’s all over the papers.”
“Oh right,” Draco said morose, forgetting he had neglected to tell his friends that he and Granger were not actually dating. Sucking back a shot of his drink, he debated coming clean.
The three Slytherins glanced at each other before eyeing the fourth of their team.
“Is there trouble in paradise already?” Blaise teased, leaning in close. “Think I got a shot with her? I wasn’t lying before, Granger is fit.”
Draco’s head came up, locking Blaise in a hard glare, hand subconsciously clenching around his empty glass, all thoughts of letting them know he and Hermione were unattached, evaporating. “You stay away from her. She’s way too good for you.”
“Drake, I’m wounded,” Blaise clasped a hand to his chest, always so dramatic.
“Still don’t like to share, I see.” Pansy said, eyeing him over the rim of her martini glass.
“Malfoy’s don’t share.” Draco downed another shot, turning to Theo, the only one of their group who hadn’t made fun of him yet. “How was Brazil? Find that potion ingredient you were looking for to complete your mastery?”
They spent the next two hours catching up, eventually including Pansy and Blaise once they stop being prats. Being a father and therefore not drinking as heavily as he once did, had obliterated Draco’s alcohol tolerance. After losing track of how many drinks his friends had pushed into his hands, he was feeling loose and relaxed.
“Grangers amazing, guys,” Draco slurred, head resting on the high back of the booth, staring up at the strobing lights as the live sound mixer kept people on the dance floor. “She’s so good with Scorp and he just adores her. Goes right up to her and cuddles into her. Merlin, I wanna cuddle into her. She looks so soft and she has the absolute best smile.”
“So, what’s it like being with the Brightest Witch of our Age? Does she drive you barmy quoting statistics in bed?” Blaise jeered.
Draco threw one of the little half straws at him. “Stop being such an insufferable wanker. There’s more to a woman than what she does in the sack. She’s absolutely brilliant. Like, I knew she was smart, but we can talk about anything. We once spent a whole hour discussing the merits of dried versus fresh moonflower. And she totally saved my arse last month with the Richardson issue. Did you know she took muggle university classes along with her N.E.W.Ts eighth year?”
“What I’m getting from this is she does quote statistics but closeted swot that you are, you like it,” Blaise said.
Draco tossed up his hands. “That’s it, I’m done talking to you guys about this.”
“Promise?” Pasny rolled her eyes as Theo grinned on.
“I don’t know why-- Merlin’s beard when did it get to be ten o’clock,” Draco gasped, having caught the time on his watch as he reached for his glass. “I have to get home.” Shuffling out of the booth, he caught himself on the edge of the table as the room spun with lights and sound.
“Whoa there,” Blaise steadied him. “You alright there, mate?”
“What were in those drinks?”
Pansy shrugged. “Doubles.”
“Bloody hell.” He braced his legs wide as he threaded his scarf around his neck. “Hey Pans? Can you rig something for Granger to wear to Samhain? She’ll look fucking killer in anything but this one is more traditional and I don’t want people to turn their nose up at her. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Pansy arched a sharply manicured brow at him.
“Please?” he asked softly. He wasn’t begging because he was a Malfoy, but it was as close as he ever came.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’ll find something for your lady love. But you owe me.”
Half falling and only just able to save himself, he bent forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
Draco didn’t remember half the journey home. Theo had followed him out as they staggered their way through muggle London to a quiet enough alley to summon the Knight Bus, both way too intoxicated to apparate. It was one of the drawbacks to meeting in a muggle establishment to drink. The upside, and the reason they continued and probably always would, being the safety that came with anonymity. They didn’t have to check their drinks for poison, or worry about being hexed or accosted for wanting to have a night out.
It did make it a bitch to get home though.
“Hey, Drake?”
Draco turned to Theo who sat beside him on the rolling cot, staring off in the distance as the Knight bus breezed through the unsuspecting muggles at a dizzying pace. “Yeah?”
“Are you happy?”
“What?”
“Are you happy?” He asked again, slightly louder, as if it was the volume Draco was having a hard time understanding and not the seemingly out of nowhere question.
Draco frowned. “Where is this coming from?”
A shrug. “Curious.”
“I -- I don’t know.” Draco sat with the question for a minute, really thinking about it. “Happy for me is hard because it comes with its share of guilt over the things I’ve done.” He stared at his hands, trying hard not to think of the blood, while he did not spill, still stained them. “But for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like I’m drowning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m miles away from shore, but I’m no longer actively being held underwater.” He clenched his fist, staring at the signet ring that rested on his knuckle, his thoughts turning to his son. “And now I have something to fight for. Scorpius is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I want to do better for him but he also makes me want to do better for myself. I would go through everything all of it over again, if it meant I got to be his father.
“I have so much joy in my heart that happiness can’t be far behind and I’m going to work on finding it because my son deserves nothing less.” He turned back to Theo. “Does that make sense?”
Theo grinned the way only one truly drunk could. “No.”
They burst out laughing.
The Knight Bus dropped them outside the Leaky and they parted ways with a wave, Theo trotting off to the flat he was letting in Diagon Alley and Draco inside to use the floo.
He stepped through the flames into his home, the trip from the pub just long enough for him to start to feel the effect of the alcohol leaving his body and regret it. He would definitely be needing a strong hangover draught in the morning. Checking the wards he made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water to try and stave off what he could -- and almost shat his pants when something shifted on his couch.
“Bloody hell.” Clutching his chest he went to investigate. Hermione was spread out on the couch, a book laid open on her chest, as a silenced tv cast shifting lights on her face.
“Granger?” he shook her gently, very mindful of her wand holster in case she startled awake. “Wake up.”
She roused slowly, cracking open her eyes, seeing him and offering a sleepy smile. “Have fun?” she mumbled, eyes closing again.
“I did. But come on, it’s late, let's get you up to bed.”
She yawned, shifting her body into an abridged stretch, before finally easing up in a sitting position.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he told her as he trailed her up the stairs, a hand braced on her hip as she seemed to be still half asleep and the last thing they needed was a trip to Mungo's in the middle of the night.
“Just wanted to make sure you made it home safe. I would have worried,” she said with a smile over her shoulder as they gained the landing.
Not so drunk that he didn’t know what he was doing but enough not to be bothered by it, Draco leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. When she didn’t pull back, his hand trailed up her spine and into her hair to deepen it. One second. Two. Ten. Want burning with lust, mixing with desire, and it would be so easy to take her to bed…
But it was late. And he had been drinking. So he eased back just enough to stop. They stood for an extended heartbeat, each waiting for what the other would do.
“Good night, Hermione.” He breathed against her lips, staring down into her deep brown eyes as she stared back.
“Good night,” she whispered breathless.
Using the last of his self control, Draco forced himself to step back and go around her. He didn’t look back as he knew if he did he would take her to bed.
As inebriated and lust addled as he was he knew the potential consequences would be too costly, even for him.
Notes:
Would this be considered a slow burn? Because I feel like they've been burning this whole time but at the 50k word mark and we are just getting the first 'real' (sure Jannet) kiss...
Let me know what you think of the chapter and any other tag recommendations
Next chapter Oct 12 -- will try to get it in before I head off to work @8am but may not be until noon
Chapter 14: A World of Despair(your only concern)
Notes:
Title comes from P!nk 'Stupid Girl'
Thank you Mudblood88, RandomAutisticGirl, Mima, BeauxT, TrillbySkinner, Samanthalouise854, misslittlepsycho24 for your comments <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saturday , October 12th
Hermione sat at the kitchen island, eyeing Draco over the rim of her tea cup. His back was to her as he washed the dishes the muggle way, something Hermione realised with a pang, he did with some frequency and she wondered if it was just because she was there.
Breakfast had been perfectly mundane. Draco had made omelettes. They took turns helping Scorp navigate eating with a spoon. He even filled her in on what his friends were doing when she asked. And never once did either of them bring up the kiss.
On one hand she was relieved. She had fretted late into the night that the kiss, so much more carnal then the comparatively chaste ones they had shared prior mostly for the benefit of keeping the charade up, would lead to awkwardness in the morning. Ruminating on his reaction. On her reaction. On the situation as a whole. What would she say to him if the kiss meant something? What to say if the kiss meant nothing? She really didn’t have time for the emotional entanglement the sorta kiss would call into question, especially with so many other things up in the air.
But he didn’t say anything.
And that … annoyed Hermione.
Had he been more inebriated then she had originally thought and didn’t remember it happening?
Sensing her eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder with a grin and Hermione felt her heart thud. “Something amiss?” he questioned.
“No,” she said quickly, turning back to her tea. And it was nothing. If he didn’t remember the kiss, that was fine. Two of her top five kisses came from the man she was in a sham relationship with and he couldn’t recall half of them. That was fine.
Lost in her own grumblings, a loud pop from beside her caused Hermione to jump, spilling tea down the front of her blouse.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, miss!” Mimsy cried, snapping a flannel into existence and dabbing at the spill.
“Not your fault,,” Hermione soothed, taking the rag from her and continuing the cleaning. “What is it you needed?”
“There’s mail for you, miss.” Mimsy went up on tiptoes to slide a thick envelope on the counter. It bore both the Ministry seal along with that of the Aurors.
Great, another complication.
Sighing, she tapped the packet with her wand, the seal charmed to her signature only, and pulled free the auror report. The longer she read the more the kiss faded from her mind in the face of real issues.
“Is it about your flat?” Draco questioned from his place at the sink.
“Yes. From what the report lays out, it’s currently uninhabitable. The entire front end was burned out and there’s a gaping hole to the outside.” Hermione buried her head in her hands. She was so tired of this shit. She had thought after the war everything would be smooth sailing, that she’d used up her quota of ‘bad things’ happening to her and yet…
Picking back up the parchment, her eyes roamed over it, as if by some miracle it would say something different then what had been on the page mere minutes before. “Because it took so long for the aurors to complete their initial investigation and that so many muggles have seen the damage at this point due to its location, repair by magical means is not being authorised. Which means I have to petition the department of Muggle Relations to have a cover report so I can submit it to my renter’s insurance and pray that they don’t fight it and they can find someone to do the work this time of year.”
Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat back in her chair, cold grief settling over her. “Maybe I should see about getting out of my lease early and trying to find another place. It’s up in February anyway and after all this it’s probably a good idea to move. But it’s so hard to find a decent apartment during the winter months. But it would still be at a month until I can get back in, which means getting a hotel.”
“Why would you need a hotel?” Draco asked, apparently having listened to her argue with herself.
She blinked at him, confused. “It’s not like I can stay here for a whole month. You’ve already been more than generous letting me stay the week. I can’t keep taking advantage of you.”
“It’s not taking advantage if I’m offering. I have the room. Besides, the only reason you’re in this mess is because of me.”
“You are not responsible for other people’s actions.”
“Says the woman posing as my girlfriend because of a rumour.” He turned to her, posting up against the counter as he dried his hands on a kitchen towel.
“That was completely different, I was the one to tell the little white lie.” She blushed hotly. “Besides, I’m getting something out of that too.”
“Ah yes, sticking it to your ex and friends that you can catch a man. I do make excellent arm candy,” he teased lightly. “But that really doesn’t even out you helping me keep my son.” He tossed the towel to the side, folding his arms and giving her a level look. “Why not make it official? Drop your lease and move in here.”
She huffed. “Be serious.”
“I am,” he said easily.
Her jaw worked as she tried to form a reply. “This whole thing is only supposed to last another five months. Moving in was never a part of the plan.”
“Plans change. Five months still puts it longer than your current lease. Plenty of time to find a better place to your liking. It’s more secure than a hotel, an issue I would have with you returning to your old place regardless until the aurors can catch whoever did it. At least here I can guarantee your safety for the duration.”
“But are you sure? This is a big commitment.”
The monitoring spell chimed, advising them that Scoripius needed attention.
“Positive. Break your lease,” he tells her as he left the kitchen to attend to his son.
As she sat alone contemplating what her next move should be, she was alarmed when a large owl with dark colouring swept into the kitchen to land on the granite island infront of her.
“How in merlin’s name did you get in here?” she demanded, having never had an owl fly into her house without being invited. And even then, rarely.
It clicked its beak at her, large dark eyes staring at her intently.
Not one to back down from a challenge, and refusing to be intimidated by a bloody bird , she never broke eye contact. “Draco,” she called, “There’s an owl!”
“What’s wrong?” He skipped into the kitchen, Scorp in his arms. “Oh, that’s just Aphrodite, she’s Pansy’s.”
“What’s it doing in the house?”
“Must be urgent.” Setting Scorp on the ground he reached for the message wrapped around the bird's leg with a silver ribbon. The bird hopped out of the way, nipping at Draco’s fingers. “Hey!”
The creature let out an airy hiss, fluffing up its feathers, before bouncing closer to Hermione, offering its leg in an insolent manner as it kept a watchful eye on Draco.
“I guess it’s for me.” Setting aside her cup, she reached out for the ribbon fastening the message. “Why would Parkinson be sending me--” A sharp pulling sensation cut her off as a small bell came free with the ribbon, tinkling once as she was shunted from Malfoy Manor against her will.
She appeared in an unfamiliar room.
Landing with jarring force Hermione stumbled but rolled with it, springing back to her feet in a defensive crouch. Flicking her wand to her hand she cast a strong protego with a snarl on her lips for whoever dared to abduct her.
Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin Socialite and raging bitch of their Hogwarts years, had the gall to arch a perfectly manicured brow and eye Hermione as if she was an especially derelict puppy. She sat poised and perfect at a gilded table in a tastefully appointed room that, if the quick glance out one of the half dozen floor to ceiling windows could be believed, was in the heart of Paris.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” Hermione challenged.
“Draco asked me for a favour, this is the only day I have free.”
“You can’t just portkey someone without their consent, Parkinson, that’s kidnapping!”
“Relax, you’re fine.” Parkinson elegantly slouched in her chair, arms folded, rolling her eyes. “Merlin, you’re more dramatic than Draco.”
“Send. Me. Back. NOW. ”
“The portkey will reactivate at noon and send you back. Sit,” she said with the same emphasis one would use with a dog, pointing with a limp wrist at the chair across from her.
Hermione stared her down mutinously.
The pureblood priss sighed, breaking the caustic silence. “Look, I don't have a lot of time, so let’s get this over quickly: I don’t like you.”
“That sentiment is most definitely reciprocated,” Hermione growled through clenched teeth.
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way,” she raised her voice slightly, calling to the air, “Odè, we’ll take tea now.”
A little house elf in black tailored jeans and a cardigan with a Chanel emblem popped into the room with a full service on a silver tray.
“I’m not staying for tea,” Hermione said. “You’re going to send me back right now and I’ll maybe think about not involving the aurors.” Not that she held much faith in them at the moment, but the threat was there.
“What are your plans for Samhain?” Parkinson completely railroaded over her as she poured herself a cup of tea.
Hermione stared at her in disbelief.
“You know Samhain? The biggest night of the wizarding world? Any of this ringing a bell?” She blew gently over the steaming liquid before taking a dainty sip.
“Yes, I know what Samhain is,” Hermione hissed, pressing at the throbbing point on her temple that threatened to turn into a headache as she questioned her life choices.
“Good. Then what will you be wearing? Because it was cute and all, you wearing gold to the Black’N-White, but that’s not going to fly this time.”
“First off,” Hermione said, planting her fists on her hips, “Draco didn’t tell me the dress code so that’s on him. Second, the ball is still three weeks out. What is with you purebloods and clothes?”
“I know you don’t care about fashion, it’s clear in the way you dress,” Parks eyed her up and down with a faint grimace, “but as Draco’s partner, that’s not going to cut it. To Society clothes are a language: colour, cut, and designers are tones; events statements.” Hermione had known Parkinson ran a well known fashion line, Promenade de Park, from seeing it in Witch Weekly, but that just seemed excessive.
Hermione’s nose wrinkled. “That’s so wasteful.”
“Everyone needs to eat, and the fashion industry is a gluttonous beast.” She pulled out a pink day planner. “Now, we’re already so late to the game but we must persevere.” She eyed Hermione critically. “You’re a size eight so we’ll have to get a bit creative. Strip so we can get your measurements. Odè!”
The little house elf appeared, quill and sketchpad ready.
Hermione stubbornly folded her arms, cocking her hip and giving Parkinson a deadly glare.
“People would kill to be dressed by me,” Parkinson said.
“Oh, I’m thinking of murder alright.” It appeared that Hermione would need to find her own way home. It was the weekend so the likelihood of her being able to get an international floo were slim but if all else failed she’d just go home the muggle way, though six hours of travel was not how she envisioned spending her Saturday.
“You ungrateful brat,” Parkinson sneered, rising on her stiletto heels, as Hermione eyed her carefully, grip shifting on her wand which she had yet to stow away. “Do you want to be a laughing stock by showing up wearing a fashion faux pas?”
“Let them laugh.”
“Then what about Draco? How you appear in public affects him, too!”
Hermione grinned coldly. “The only reason Draco is with me is to be seen in public.”
“Mistress,” Odè chimed in, seemingly unconcerned by the tension sparking between the two witches. “There is a guest trying to get through the wards.”
“Finally,” Pansy huffed, throwing up her hands. “Go show him in. He sure took his sweet time.”
Odè popped away and seconds later’s Draco’s voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. He sounded angry. “Pansy, what in Salazar’s name were you thinking! You can’t just kidnap people with portkeys, let alone HERMIONE FUCKING GRANGER!”
His loud voice almost drowned out his racing footsteps on the stairs as he launched himself into the room. Seeing Hermione, he sagged in relief, quickly going over to her as he gathered her in his arms. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” she said tightly, wanting nothing more than to sag against Draco but refusing to show any hint of weakness in front of the sociopathic fashion designer. “Can we go home now?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. When I asked for her help, I didn’t think she’d do this. I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going?” Parkinson demanded as Draco bundled Hermione towards the door, never once releasing her from his side. “We’re not done yet. You’re the one to ask me to do this, Draco, and we only have two and a half weeks until the Ball. I’m good, but I’m not a blasted miracle worker!”
“Pansy, enough!” Draco boomed, giving her a hard stare.
Parkinson drew up short, looking arrested at his harsh tone. Her gaze darted between the couple, slowly coming to realise something more was wrong as it came to rest on Hermione, who could feel herself on the verge of panic.
Parkenson didn’t follow as Draco swept them out of the townhouse into a bustling upscale street.
Hermione lasted a block before her shaking got so bad her legs refused to hold her and her sight was blinded by hot tears. Being taken somewhere against her will brought back stark memories of one of the worst days of her life. Without a word, Draco tucked them in an alley, wrapping a secure arm around her waist and pressing her face to his shoulder as she fully broke down, sobbing into his chest.
“Hey, I’m here,” Draco’s voice pulled her from those memories, his hold grounding her as he breathed soothing words against her temple. “I’ve got you, your safe. Shu, shu.”
It took several minutes for her to collect herself, easing back from Draco and wiping her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”
“You have nothing to apologise for.” His hand came up to cradle her face, a thumb dancing across her cheek to catch a missed tear. His silver eyes were soft and concerned. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Yes,” she said with a deep breath, willing it to be true. “It’s just” -- flashes of being on the run during seventh year, popping into one place only to immediately need to flee to another. That terrible night when they were caught by snatchers and forced to side-along to an unknown location. Bellatrix -- Hermione quickly slammed the door shut on those thoughts, knowing they would just send her back into a spiral -- “memories.”
“I’m sorry for Pansy. I’ll have a word with her.”
“It’s not her,” she tried to reassure, not wanting to cause any tension between friends. “It’s just,” she offered a pained smile, “This is the second time I thought I was somewhere safe and let my guard down. I’m more annoyed with myself than angry at her. I should have known better.”
“You were safe. There are very few with access to the Manor grounds, no one I don’t trust implicitly. None of them would have been a danger to you.”
“No one like your father?” She felt guilty at his forlorn expression. She immediately softened, covering her eyes with a hand, the headache that had been brewing was brought on full force because of her crying jag. She felt bruised both inside and out and wanted nothing more than to lay in a dark room for a year and a day. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s your home and you have every right to let who ever you want--”
“My father has been blocked from the wards since last week. He needs special permission to come through. I will be adding Pansy and her familiar to that list so there is no chance of this happening again.”
“Draco, that’s unnecessary--”
“I promised you safety, Hermione, and a Malfoy always keeps his promises.”
Burying her head in her hands she sighed, too tired to talk him out of his unnecessary chivalry, when a realisation hit. “Wait, where’s Scorpius?”
“With my mother,” Draco said, as she allowed him to lead her back to the main road. “I used the floo connection at the villa to get to France. Left him with her to make the two apparitions necessary to cover the distance. I’m sorry it took so long.”
“You jumped over three hundred kilometers back to back?” Hermione demanded aghast, taking hold of his arm to steady him in case he became faint. Most wixen’s apparition distance was capped at around forty to fifty kilometers unless they were extremely familiar with the place they were using a destination or they stayed to known apparition points. It wasn't unheard of to travel such a distance but it was taxing and doing it twice in a row...
He laid a gentling hand over hers to calm her. “I’m fine.”
“It was reckless. What were you thinking? You know how dangerous it is to jump like that! You could have splinched yourself.”
“I had to get to you,” he said, moving his hand to cup her face once more. “I may not know all your fears but being taken some place against your will seems pretty close to the top of the list. Second only to someone taking your will.”
She closed her eyes, breathing through her unspoken fear, smelling parchment, baby powder, and mint, and being comforted by it as she nuzzled against his touch. “Lets get Scorp.”
Draco was woken by a shimmer in the wards.
Something had disturbed the charms on the south side of the house.
Pushing up in bed, he grabbed his wand as he went to investigate. His first stop was Scorpius’s room, where his son slept peacefully in his cot. Creeping further down the hall the door to Hermione’s room was open. A glance inside showed her bed a mess of disturbed sheets but nothing else that pointed to anything sinister.
Moving like a wraith in his own home he went down stairs, checking things as he went. The front door was still shut and warded, the floo cold and locked, lights off, windows sealed. Testing the magic of the house he followed it to where the break throbbed in warning; the back door.
Hermione sat in one of the patio chairs, legs drawn up to her chest as she stared up at the stars, nearly invisible with the low moon light. No longer concerned but still cautious, Draco stepped out into the chill October night, noticing the temperature had dropped enough for him to see his breath in the crisp air, before he wordlessly cast a warming charm.
Having heard the door open, she tensed, jerking her head in his direction as he noticed her wand clasped tightly in her hand. Silently he crossed the patio, taking the seat across from her. They didn’t talk, didn’t even look at eachother, instead staring out into the darkness at the expansive lawns and gardens and the forest beyond that, stars keeping the stoic vigil with them.
He gave her until his warming charm faded before breaking the silence. “I have some dreamless sleep.”
“No.” Her voice, soft as it was, cracked, and the thought that she’d screamed herself horse in her nightmares gutted him.
“Muggle sleeping pills?”
Her gaze was surprised but she shook her head.
“Tea with a calming draught?”
She sighed, slumping back against the wrought iron, staring up at the sky, the faint light painting her skin blue and darkening her sad eyes to black. Rolling her neck along the crest of the chair she managed to turn her head just enough to cast him a wain smile. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Groaning as she gained her feet, her body protesting the cold air and stiff muscles. Draco quickly went to her side, reaching to lay a hand to her lower back, but she flinched back from him. Draco withdrew quickly, caught off guard by her reaction, only just now realising how long it had been since the last time she had done that with him. He didn’t press, instead giving her space as they made their way back inside to their rooms.
“Good night,” she whispered to the darkness, voice frail.
Unable to leave it like that, Draco put a hand to her door before she could shut it, flushed and embarrassed by how vulnerable he felt. “If you need anything, let me know.” He told her, eyes serious and unwilling to look away from hers. “I mean it, Hermione. Anything.”
For a second it looked like she was going to speak … but in the end she nodded once and closed the door.
Draco stood there for a long minute, biting his lip against his rash ideas of bargain into his room, wrapping her in his arms, and demanding she talk to him to get whatever poison was trapped inside her out.
But in the end he was still too much of a fucking coward.
As the days passed, Draco only grew more concerned with Hermione’s state of health. He knew she wasn’t sleeping well, but each time he asked she would wave him off. She was withdrawn, staying down stairs just long enough to push food around her plate before disappearing up to her room.
It appeared he wasn’t the only one to notice as Boy wonder waylaid him as Draco was stepping into a meeting at the Ministry, red faced and irate. “Oy, what did you do to Hermione?”
“Did something happen to Granger? Is she okay?” Draco demanded. A few weeks ago she’d told him in passing about the increase of threatening mail she’d been receiving, but had promised she’d already taken the appropriate actions. Had something slipped by?
“I knew you'd hurt her,” Potter blithed on, drawing people’s eyes. “I swear to Merlin--”
Draco cut him off. “As delightful as it would be to stand her and be threatened by an auror within the Ministry’s walls, I don’t have time for your cocky nepotism. What happened to Hermione?”
“Nepotism? That’s rich coming from someone lik--”
“Potter!” Draco snapped sharply. “What is going on? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know!” He pouted, folding his arms. “She won’t tell me. Kicked me out of her office and told me I was making a fuss. But her eyes are sad again, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. I told her she could come stay with Gin and I but she declined. Now tell me what you did to her?!”
“I had a lapse in judgement,” he said, guilt weighing on him for his hand in Pansy’s actions. “It won’t happen again.”
“If you’re not going to treat her right, Malfoy, I wont allow you to stay around her.”
Draco looked down his nose and Potter. “And you think you have the authority to ‘allow’ Hermione anything? Personally, I’d be bloody terrified to attempt it.”
Potter flushed, eyes wide as he stammered that that wasn’t what he meant.
“I understand that there is no love lost between us, but I care about Hermione and I swear to you I would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting and you need to go back to whatever it is you do.”
His meeting went well, the Ministry agreeing for a three year extension to their contract with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and Malfoy industries research division. After a successful trial year the collaboration had come up with a potions formula to ease those suffering with the lingering effects of Cruciatus. Trials had started back in June and were showing promising results and distribution was scheduled for early February. He was proud in his people’s accomplishments but the entirety of the negotiations Draco couldn’t pull his thoughts away from Hermione, so as soon as the meeting adjourned he packed his things and told the others from his office to go on ahead, breaking off to head for Care and Magical Creatures.
“Natalie,” he greeted the receptionist. “Is she in?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” she squeeked, her blunt American accent at odds with her stammering meekness. “But she said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Has she eaten?” Draco asked.
She bit her lip, looking uncertain, before hesitantly shaking her head.
“I’ll take care of it. Does she have anything pressing this afternoon?”
“A unit meeting she asked me to sub in for at three fifteen.”
“If we’re not back by the time you need to leave it means I’ve managed to convince her to head home to rest.”
“And I’ll set up an out of office reply. If you can get her to lock her bottom drawer? She typically does it whenever she leaves the office but she set extras when she goes home at night and I would hate for her to think of a reason that would force her to return.” She said surprisingly quick on the upswing, and Draco now realised why Hermione liked the young woman so much, even though her personality was a tad annoying with how timid she was.
His shrewd gaze took her in again. “You wouldn’t by chance be one of those American Slytherins I’ve heard about? The storm griffins?”
“Thunderbirds,” she said, her smile taking on a bit more daring. “And no. Though we are both snakes. My house was the Horned Serpent which people have likened to Hogwarts' Ravenclaws, though it is not a one-to-one comparison. I learned early that it was better to get the boulder to move where you wanted then try to move the boulder yourself.”
“How long is this transfer with the Ministry?”
“Six months. I go back December 20th.”
With a snap of his fingers a small rectangle of black cardstock with silver script appeared in his hand and he passed it to the girl. “If you are interested in returning to England, this line goes to my personal assistant Elenor.” Giving her no time to reply Draco pushed through Hermione’s door, closing it behind him and casting a silencing charm in case he ended up needing to needle her to lance her apathy.
“Who--” her head shot up, a glare threatening the poor sod that disturbed her before spying him and falling back in on herself. “Oh, it’s you. Did you need something?”
Potter was right, she did look tired. A greyness that was totally foreign to her warmer complexion, eyes smudged, shoulders bowed and body stiff as if she were in pain.
“Potter waylaid me in the hall stating I was being derelict in my duty. Turns out he was right. Grab your coat, I’m taking you to lunch.”
“It's already one thirty.”
“And yet you still haven’t eaten.”
“I have a meeting--”
“That isn’t until after three and you were already sending Natalie.”
Her glare returned. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”
“Always,” he admitted readily. “Coat please. Now do you want the fish cart or that little cafe with the scones?”
She sighed long and hard but she did gather up the pages she was working on and drop them in the bottom drawer of her desk.
He tipped closer, attempting to reach for the drawer. “What are you working on?”
“Notes for my next bill,” she said, slapping his hand away and waving him off so she could stand. She pulled the wand from her sleeve and Draco heard the inner mechanisms of the desks fall into place with a low hum of magic. He hid a grin as he helped her with her coat.
Draco talked her into a chicken club to go along with her tea and scone, mincing through a cup of soup so she wasn’t eating alone.
“Thank you for lunch,” she said, pushing away her cleared plate. “I should be getting back to the office.”
“Or,” he slid a small vial of purple liquid across the table to her.
She furrowed her brow, her hands deftly tucking themselves under the table. “I told you I don’t want that.”
“You're not sleeping. This is the first meal I’ve seen you finish since Saturday's breakfast. People are concerned. I’m concerned.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you're not.”
“I don’t need this from you,” she hissed, slamming to her feet.
“You clearly need to hear it from someone,” Draco snarled back. “Brightest Witch of Her Age, burying her head in the sand instead of facing things head on.”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through!”
“Then tell me!”
Notes:
Next chapter is October 15th ~noonish
Let me know if there are any typos or if something reads oddly and I will see if I can tweek it, please and thank you.
Question of the week: favorite line, or the line that just stays with you. It can be in any media or fandom or fic. Bonus points if you feel like sharing why.
I have sooo many so I'll narrow it down to two.
The last line of manacled by senlinyu (if you know, you know. no spoilers)
and
*the silken weight of milk-fat on her tongue* from a Reylo fic 'take this weight (shared is halved)' by
lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora). I like scrappy feral Rey coupled with wifeman Ben/Kylo and this line comes a handful of chapters in, and it's Ben watching Rey make coffee and it's just a little point of him observing and just deep down knowing her and why she would love/crave/indulge in milk in her coffee and in obsurving her vows to do everything in his powers to make sure she has milk(an allegory for sustenance(love,food, comfort, indulgence) or security] at least how I read it and everything that comes before and after that line :P It's just really good, guy
Chapter 15: I'm Scared That There Ain't a Cure
Notes:
Thanks misslittlepsycho24, TrillbySkinner, Samanthalouise854, meanttobeasleep, KiwiMargarita, AEdmo13, RandomAutisticGirl, Mudblood88, Chestnut1992, FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, Samcartersg1 for all the lovely lovely comments.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tuesday, October 15th
“Then tell me!”
Hermione looked into Draco’s silver eyes, anger, despair, rage, sadness, concern. So much concern. And suddenly it was too much. Shaking her head mutely, feeling acidic tears spill down her cheeks, she pulled away from him. Gathering up her coat she left the cafe, ignoring his calls of her name. Aimless she travelled the streets, just letting her feet wander as she tried to keep her mind from spiralling, remembering, breaking.
She was stronger than this, she raged, feeling sobs build in her chest.
She was stronger than this, she despaired, feeling cold and numb creep up and make her limbs heavy.
She wasn’t sure how long she walked, the sky growing dark as clouds rolled in promising another storm, but she found herself in front of her flat. The smell of burnt wood still clung to everything. Someone had plywooded and tarped the front window. Inside was dark and cave-like without the natural light, the power cut in case the wiring was damaged and caused another fire. That was what the muggle report stated for the cause of the flames; faulty wiring. Not an arson attempt.
No, a murder attempt, she realised with grim certainty as she survived the extensive damage with the detached eye of someone who had seen far too much destruction in their life.
The floor groaned in warning as she made to step in the living room. She hoped Mrs. Peakerson’s apartment below Hermione’s had remained intact. Most of the books closer to the window were ash, the ones that survived heavily damaged by her liberal use of the fire extinguisher. The couch was half consumed, looking like a rotting corpse that scavengers had been at. The matching armchair a mouldering mound, the lamp a melted pool of slag. Blackened scar marks licked across the walls and ceiling, reaching all the way to the kitchen. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t realised how close it had gotten to raging out of control.
Despite the fire damage the rooms were cold enough to send shivers up her spine. Casting and recasting warming charms did nothing to ward off the chill of what was once her home. As she was cleaning out the rancid food from the fridge she’d neglected to remember for the last week and a half, Hermione realised she could never live here again. She would never feel safe. Even now the creak of the wind butting against the outside made her tense.
Looking for something to take off the edge, Hermione pulled down the half bottle of whiskey from the top cabinet. Retreating to her bedroom she proceeded to ply herself with enough alcohol to silence her brain’s broken record recountings of events that should be left buried and forgotten. It worked well enough to get a few hours of sleep until a brightly lit, ghostly stag bayed her back to consciousness.
“Moine,” Harry’s voice filled the space of her bedroom through the spectral creature. “Malfoy floo called in a panic demanding to know if you were here. I told him to eat slugs but Ginny’s worried. Please let us know where you are and I’ll come get you.”
Having delivered its message the stag faded leaving Hermione alone in the darkened room. Taking stock, she realised her body was tight with cold, joints aching as she shifted to a seated position. The change in elevation caused her head to throb and stomach to roll in the beginning stages of a nasty hangover.
Groaning, she buried her head in her hands. Freeing her wand she negligently cast a return patronus to Harry telling him she was safe and not to worry, only for a pathetic wisp to stutter from her wand, quickly fading. Hermione stared in shock, her breath speeding up as she panickly tried to cast it again only for it to fizzle out.
Fighting hysterics, her magic had never not come to her when she needed it, Hermione sat up fully, bracing her feet on the icy floor. Holding her wand in front of her, all but resting against her forehead, as she controlled her breathing and tried to think happy thoughts.
The memory of her family taking her to the beach when she was seven, the one she used when she cast her first ever patronus and had taken to falling back on for years. Her mother smiling, telling her not to get too far ahead -- interlaced with the memory of Hermione holding her want to the back of Jean Granger’s head and taking away all the memories of her only child.
Hermione swallowed down bile, her mind bringing back that day like a too eager puppy.
Her father showing her a tide pool and pointing out an otter clamming in the calm surf -- Wendell Wilkins looking at her blankly when she’d introduced herself after finding them when she’d gone searching in Australia after the war.
Not her parents then, something else, anything else. What still brought her joy?
Harry; her brother. Meeting for the first time on the Hogwarts express -- her life in constant danger, each year getting closer and closer to death -- the chess board, the basilisk, the tournament -- until it surrounded them both with no escape --
But we did escape, she reminded herself forcefully, teeth gritted. She fought to build up the spell and not give into the despair that hovered over her like a miasma.
They did escape, they made it through: memories of Harry and Ginny’s wedding, him learning he was going to be a father, then passing his son, precious little James Sirius into her arms and naming her godmother. The work they put in to make the world a better place for children like him, Albus, Dominique, Teddy and…
Memories of little Scorpius bloomed in her mind. His happy squeal whenever she got in from work. His babbles and grunts as he tried to figure everything out. His excitement for food time, for bath time, or book time but never for bedtime, always fighting to stay awake just a little bit longer so enraptured with life he didn’t want to miss a second.
With the scent of fresh laundry and baby powder wafting around her as she extended her arm and performed the careful rotation of her wrist, a warmth suffusing her until a spectral otter burst to life before her chittering happily.
“Hello, luv,” she cooed, tears cutting warm tracks down her cheeks as she lovingly stroked the bit of magic across the head. “I have a message for you.”
She stepped through the fireplace and shook off the floo dust that stubbornly clung to her.
“Hermione?” She looked up to see a shirtless Draco rush into the room, taking her by the shoulders, eyes wild and hair looking fondly reminiscent of Harry’s messy mop. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?”
Gathering her courage she questioned softly, “Draco, what are we doing?”
Confusion lightened his eyes, a deep furrow between his brows. “What do you mean, what are we doing?”
Her tongue peeked out to wet suddenly dry lips and she watched as his eyes were quickly drawn to the movement. Hermione felt her confidence bolster. “You kissed me the night you went drinking. Then the next day you offer me your home and travel almost three hundred miles to come find me and I just want to understand where were stand. Fake dating is one thing, being seen by the press, but this feels … different. And with the contract-- I need us to be on the same page.”
“Same page?” he echoed, eyes searching hers.
“Yes! What do you want? Where do we stand?” she cried.
His hand flexed against her shoulders. “My son’s safety and wellbeing has, and always will be, my top priority.”
She took a deep breath absorbing the rejection. “Alright--”
“And despite that,” he said, one hand releasing her shoulder to travel up to tenderly remove a curl from her eyes before cupping her cheek, “I want …. more.”
“More what?” Her eyes couldn’t help being drawn to his lips, flashes of their previous kiss making her feel warm.
“Just more. Whatever you’ll give me.”
“The contract--”
“This is outside the contract. We can keep to only that, if that is what you wish.” He swallowed. “I will not do anything that could jeopardise my son. If you feel like us being imitate would do that--
“No,” she said hurriedly.
“No?” His shoulders sagged.
“I mean yes.”
He blinked in confusion. “Yes?”
She growled, it taking everything in her not to stomp her foot. “Yes, I want more as well. No, this won’t jeopardise Scorpius. If whatever this is doesn’t work between us, I want you to know I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“I know,” he said softly, eyes never once leaving hers, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin along her jaw leaving a wash of sensation. “Seeing you with him, how much you care and love him… It’s the only reason I’m even entertaining this, no matter how much I have wanted you.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“For now … bed.”
“Bed?” She asked, slightly shocked by his line of thinking but not wholly against it. Intrigued actually, as her eyes traced up the sharp lines of his chest.
A final lingering touch and he was stepping back, bringing space between them but he did keep hold of her hands. “You’ve had a troubling couple of days and I think it would be best for you to have proper rest before we commit to anything else. Can I please bring you some dreamless sleep?”
Oh, he meant to sleep sleep. Looking down, she fiddled with the thick signet ring on his finger. “I don’t like taking dreamless. After the war, I grew … dependent, needing to take larger and larger doses to get any relief. I once put myself in a coma for three days but even that wasn’t enough to break my addiction. I was finally able to stop after a dose gave me sleep paralysis and left me trapped in my nightmares for twelve hours.”
He went silent, absorbing that. “Are the muggle pills the same?” he asked cautiously
“I don’t know, I’m just not willing to trade one addiction for another. Besides, I don't need them. The dreams are manageable, it’s only when something happens that makes the memories return that I have … problems.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured, taking a step back from him, breaking his hold to instead wrap her arms around her waist.
“Honesty, if you’d be so kind,” he chided softly, looking like he wanted to reach out to her but respected her need for space.
Hermione hesitated, feeling vulnerable and raw. She hugged herself tighter. “No,” she whispered shamefaced.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Before he had finished speaking she was already shaking her head. “It’s just something I need to take care of myself.”
Draco frowned but didn’t press further. “It’s late. Why don’t you take a shower to at least try to relax.”
“Are you going to come up to bed too?”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
Nodding, she left him standing in the floo room. Deciding to follow his advice she stripped, turning the shower to its highest setting. Stepping in she let the hot water cascade over her but it did nothing to dispel the lingering chill that seemed to have made its home in her bones.
Pulling her wand from where it was anchored in her hair, uncaring when her curls fell and got soaked by the spray, she recalled last week when she helped Draco give Scorpius a bath.
Draco in joggers and bare feet, kneeling at the edge of the tub as he supported his son’s back with one hand while running a soaped cloth over him with the other, narrating and chatting with him all the while. Scorpius thought it was the funniest thing to slap his hands in the water as hard as he could, causing water to slash up and douse his father. Draco tried to grab his hands to stop him, but the slippery baby proved to be too great a feat, eluding him at every turn only to get a face full of water for his efforts. In the end the room and their persons were completely sopping but they were all roaring with laughter.
Smiling at the memory, she spoke the spell to bring her otter once more leaping forth. Cooing it dashed through the water in pure delight twirling and diving as it brought with it warmth tingling along her skin.
As her tears came, she tipped her head back to the shower and let them mix with the stream.
Enveloped in the fluffy spa-like robe that has since been hanging in the bathroom unused since she moved in as she carefully dried her hair, she was surprised by the knock at the door. Opening it, Draco thrust out a mug for her.
“Warm milk with camomile and honey. Not a potion or a pill but should be soothing enough. I hope it helps.”
“Oh, um, thank you.”
With a nod and an about-face, he left her there holding the mug.
The drink was soothing and warm in a way not unlike the patronus charm, but also distinctly its own, sinking deep into her stomach and warming her from the inside. She wasn’t sure if it was the drink or pure exhaustion but when she did finally find rest her dreams were of warm sheets and a baby’s laughter.
Draco stared down at the paper laying on his desk wanting to pull his hair out by the root.
Trouble in Paradise the article was titled. Ex-death eater, Draco Malfoy, and golden girl herself, Hermione Granger, were seen having a verbal altercation yesterday afternoon that culminated in Ms.Granger walking away leaving Mr. Malfoy staring after her with a forlorn expression. When reached out to for comment, neither party replied. Could this mean the end of the newest ‘It’ couple after a few short weeks!?
He dropped his head in his hands with a growl. The jackals had wasted no time in plastering an intimate moment for all of wizarding Britain to see and now he would have to control the narrative. He fucking hated this! With the preliminary hearing for his custody case scheduled for November 19th Draco had to keep up on appearances. That meant dragging Hermione out to play ‘happy couple’. He didn’t want to, knowing her dislike of the media circus and how fragile she was right not, but he had to make sure nothing could ever happen to Scorpius. His son’s safety had to come first but he felt sick forcing Hermione into more falsity when they just agreed to try for something more between them.
A soft knock at his door followed by his assistant, Elenor Morris, an older Muggle-born witch in her early fifties, poking her head in the door kept him from wallowing for too long. “Lord Malfoy, Ms. Parkinson to see you.”
For a second he debated denying Pansy entrance. His anger had not abated in the four days since she’d used their closeness to kidnap someone from under his roof. But she had taken the initiative to come to him, meaning something was weighing on her heavy enough to seek him out.
He nodded his consent for her to be shown in.
She had dressed to impress. Her signature warm toned white with tasteful gold jewellery. A demure silk skirt and a cropped jacket with soft lines. Each article subtly meant to invoke damsel like qualities, down to the ribbon in her half pulled back hair and low heeled sandals even though it hovered at around 5°c outside.
“Why has Aphrodite returned my last two messages unread,” she demanded upon entering, striking a pose with her hand on her hip. Never defend when you can attack, the slytherin way.
“I've blocked your familiar from the wards.” Draco sat back in his chair, keeping his gaze level. “Along with your person, which I’m sure you are aware of since you're here.”
“So you’re just going to ignore me now?” Pansy challenged hotly, throwing her head back and crossing her arms in such a way as to accentuate her breasts. He was sure it was just muscle memory instead of a true ploy at feminine wiles as they had long settled into sibling-esk platonics.
It was a good facade, completely perfect as is proper for any lady of a noble house. However, Draco had known her since she was four and could see the disparaging way she almost seemed to try to hug herself, her eyes not quite meeting his.
“I was giving myself time to cool off.” Draco sighed, wondering just what song and dance he would be aparty to.
“It was a joke,” she defended, going so far as to shrug, though it looked forced and sharp, out of touch with her typically carefully crafted emotes.
Draco felt his blood boil but kept himself carefully reined in, control and artifice hallmarks of a good slytherin and easy to fall back to when dealing with others of their kind. “She has had nightmares every night since you pulled your little stunt.”
She blanched, recalling her own nightmares when she had been called before the Dark Lord and who she had turned to for comfort, but her tone remained light and dismissive. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“I can tell you from first hand experience that at one point during the war she was captured by Snatchers. Do you know how they transport prisoners?” He let the question sit longer than necessary in the silence. Pansy shifted awkwardly in her ridiculous shoes. “That’s right, portkey. Were my lovely Aunt Bella and Fenrir fucking Greyback were waiting.” Draco swallowed down the bile rising in this throat, Hermione’s screams echoing around him like a ghost he wished never had to be created. But they did, and they would haunt him and Granger for the rest of their lives. “She almost died that night, Pansy, and you fucking portkeyed her a as a ‘joke’.”
“I-- I didn’t know.” She looked so meek, and even after all this time he wasn’t sure if she was truly remorseful or if he was just buying into her facade and seeing what he wanted to see.
“Unbeknownst to you or not, what you did was cruel no matter the context. That you would do something like that to someone under my care, that you would use our connection to betray me, is unacceptable.”
She flinched imperceptibly.
Never one to raise a hand to a woman in anger, his disappointment cut her. He knew she would have preferred that he slap her, always more willing to endure physical pain than emotional. It was why she kept herself so cut off from others, sequestering herself in Paris with her fashion line to keep her busy. Clothes had never hurt her and Draco would have preferred not to hurt her now, but he needed her to understand just what she had done and that this was a line he would allow noone to cross.
“I was just trying to protect you.” she whispered brokenly, arms wrapped around her middle as if she were seconds away from collapsing. “I didn’t want you to be hurt again by someone who would baulk at the first hurdle.”
He refused to be softened by her broken dove act. “I don’t need the jealous ex or the vindictive little sister butting their nose in my relationship with Hermione.”
“So you would choose her over me?”
“I’m not choosing, I am laying out very clear boundaries and telling you not to cross them. Have no doubt if she had pulled a similar stunt, she would not be getting such leniency. If you pull this kind of shit again--”
“I won’t,” she quickly broke in. “I promise. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the only one you need to apologise to.”
She looked stricken but nodded her head, eyes still down cast.
“I love you, Pansy,” he told her seriously, hating that she was hurting but firm in his convictions, “but I can not allow you to stay in my life if you put those I care about at risk. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’ll -- I’ll do better. Will you, will you lift the wards?”
“After you apologise I will have a conversation with Hermione. If I can convince her to move in, she will be staying with me for a while and deserves to feel safe in her own home.”
“I understand,” she said wilted. “I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. I’ll see myself out.” Giving a very correct nod, she turned, head high but shoulders bowed, and walked out of his office.
Notes:
Next chapter is looking like October 26th.
A little fic for you're wait: Counterpoint by setissma. A dragons of pern AU (I have no info on Pern series and author did a really good job on no making me feel lost in what was happening)
What is some of ya'lls Hobbies? I'm a reader/writer, jack-of(most)trades crafter(little bit of sewing, resin making, painting, paper mache, ect) and D&D nerd.
Chapter 16: You Are Fucking Perfect to Me
Notes:
Thank you defying_gravity88, FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, Samcartersg1, Alexalotl, AliasRositaJ, RandomAutisticGirl, Casey02, TrillbySkinner, meanttobeasleep, Mudblood88, Chestnut1992, Samanthalouise854, misslittlepsycho24 for the comments! <3 <3 <3
cw -- there do be 👉 👌 ahead
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione officially moved in October 19th. It would be a lie to say the incident with Parkenson hadn’t made her strongly reevaluate her options, but after spending several days getting bids for what it would take for repairs on the front of the flat, with none able to start until the last week of November, some all the way through the other side of the New Year, she knew it was the most prudent option. Even still, she nearly talked herself out of it a dozen times.
The article on their ‘fight’ necessitated another very public date, something they had cut down on after the gala partly as a safety concern but mostly because with them living in the same place they hadn’t really felt the need to put forth the effort. That just seemed to rev up the common folk more and they were chomping at the bit and blowing out of proportion every little bit of news. The thought of having to constantly cater to that was exhausting and had Hermione looking into other accommodations. The pickings had been slim. Draco, ever the gentleman, came with her to scope out a few of the available flats, showing his disdain of the severely lacking accommodations with pointed stares and pain grimaces.
With nothing in her price range worth a damn and the thought of it becoming publicly known she was living out of a hotel, she’d mounted the proverbial broom and accepted his offer. The move itself was simple, if emotionally taxing with most of her living-room being unsalvageable and over half her books damaged beyond repair. It had taken all of two hours to have everything packed and extra furniture and extraneous items placed in a storage room on the west side of the manor. She had the final walk through and handed over the keys to the landlord before midafternoon.
They had gone on a total of a dozen dates thus far, living together for two weeks, and it was getting to the point where she was beginning to be able to read his tells. He didn’t like sliced raw tomato, hated mushrooms and olives, and down right refused to eat a pickle. He drank one cup of coffee, black, first thing in the morning then switched to tea, earl grey with cream and sugar or green with honey, for the rest of the day. Like how he would pinch the bridge of his nose when he was tired. Or the chill that came into his eyes when he was displeased with something. Both had become less present since they first started spending time together. He smiled more, and laughed. Come to think of it, so did she.
That wasn't the only change between them. Hermione enjoyed sex and, as long as it was safe and consensual, she found no problem in engaging in it regularly. It had just been some time as her previous ‘dates’ had left quite a lot to be desired. With Draco the desire was real but she hadn’t wanted to complicate things needlessly. But now….
“So this ‘more’ you were talking about,” Hermione asked, giving him a sultry look as she half lounged across the island perched on a barstool, chin delicately resting on her palm. They’d put Scorp to bed over an hour ago and were enjoying a nightcap and conversation before following suit, as had become their routine. “What does that entail?”
“Oh, um,” Draco blinked, clearing his throat and swallowing thickly. “Whatever you want it to mean.”
“So if I said I was looking for a little stress relief, and maybe, possibly, wanted to thank you for having the floo to my office linked to the Manor… ?”
“I’d say lead the way.”
Grinning deviously, Hermione took his hand, guiding him around the island as she stood, leading the way out of the kitchen and up stairs. Hesitating slightly as she debated going to her room or his, Draco took point, pulling her farther down the hall until they entered the master suite.
Using their hold on each other, Hermione slowly pulled until he was flush against her. Placing his hands on her hips, she followed the line of his arms up to his shoulders, tangling her fingers in the hair of his nape, she looked up into her eyes, arousal making her pant. “So, are we really doing this?”
“Merlin, yes.” Then his mouth was on hers. Clothes were discarded as they touched every inch their hands could reach.
She gasped, breaking apart just enough to shuck off her shirt. “I don’t like being restrained. At all. And no pressure on my throat or wrists. Also, my nipples are very sensitive so no prolonged playing.” She said, reaching back to plait her hair, looking at him expectantly.
It took him a minute to reply, eyes locked on her tits, as if trying to remember his sexual preferences, causing Hermione to wonder how long it had been since his last time. "My neck is an erogenous zone for me. Please don't try to kiss my scars to make them better. It's not going to work and I'm self-conscious about them.”
“Ditto,” she said tying off the braid and tossing it over her shoulder standing there with her chin up and hands on her hips.
Ever the gentleman, Draco’s eyes wander down her curves slowly, heating her blood to inferno levels, ending at her feet.
“You painted your toes,” he observed mildly.
“Didn't take you to have a foot fetish," she laughed, sashaying to the end of the bed and crawling on.
He followed her like a bad stone, erection bobbing with each step. "I most certainly do not.”
She walked to the centre of the bed on her knees, feeling his eyes locked on the globe of her arse. "The eye fuck is nice and all but I want the real thing.” Pulling her wand free she cast the contraceptive charm against her lower belly, feeling the tingle of the spell take effect as she slipped her want back in the holster on her forearm.
“I-- uh--” he cleared his throat, cheeks pinkening. “I haven’t been with a witch since about a month after my son was conceived. I probably won’t … last long.”
Smiling, she held out a hand to him. “I’ll let you make it up to me.”
“Fuck, that was good,” she said, trying to get her breath to regulate and heart to slow down even though she was blissed out of her mind. Still having just enough control of her body, she tilted her head to side eye him. “I thought you said you had no stamina.”
“Didn’t,” he puffed beside her. “Wanted you to come first.”
“Well I came second,” she hummed contently, “and third and forth.”
“Ladies first,” he slurred. ”Gentleman.”
She giggled into her pillow. “ ‘M not complaining.”
Blinking out of a light doze, she had gathered herself and scooted from underneath the blanket into the chilled air
Draco’s even breathing from beside her broke and he scooted up against the headboard. “Where are you going?” he croaked, running a hand through his hair. Hermione’s palm itched, wanting to bury back in it herself.
“My room. Good God! It’s freezing,” Hermione gasped, dancing on tip-toes to keep her bare feet off the floor as much as possible as she retrieved her underwear and slipped them on. “And you complain about me not using magic appropriately. Don't you know any warming charms?”
“I sleep better in the cold.” He shrugged lazily as he watched her, one arm folded behind his head, the other not quite reaching for her, sheet haphazardly thrown across his hips. “You know the bed has a warming charm? You could just... stay.”
She paused, forearms resting on the down comforter, hair a riot of curls around her naked shoulders from his equally exploring hands. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”
“Positive.” His eyes never left hers.
Her heart sang. “Okay.”
Saturday, October 26th
In Scorpius’s princely room, Hermione and the young boy were sitting on the ground reading a book of fables when a knock caused her to look up. Draco stood in the doorway, half leaned against the wall, with a dopey grin on his face as he watched them.
An expertly tailored navy suit moulded to his shoulders and chest, he looked good enough to take a bite out of. His hair was styled back, leaving his sharp cheekbones on prominent display, mercurial eyes shining with such hidden depths, plush lips… that were moving?
“Pardon?” she questioned, blushing, blinking from her day dream when she realised he was speaking to her.
He grinned as if he knew exactly where her mind had gone and was quite pleased by the fact. “I said, I need to pop into the office for a few hours and wanted to know if you could watch Scorp. If not, I can bring him to my mothers.”
“I can watch him,” she reassured. “But I have the dress fitting with the girls at eleven.”
“I’ll try to be back by then. If not, we can have Mimsy watch him for just that little bit until I get home.”
Home. Hermione was not willing to examine quite yet the rush she got at hearing him say that. They weren’t even officially dating, still dancing around this ‘more’ business. “Or I could just take him with.”
He gave her a funny little look, at the same time confused, soft, and awed. Pushing off from the wall as he strolled over until he was standing directly over them. “You want to take my son to your ex-boyfriend’s fiance’s dress fitting?”
She grinned mischievously up at him. “If I have a baby with me they won’t make me try on as many dresses.”
“So you’re using my son for your own gain.” He bent in half to smack a kiss to her lips. “Devious witch.”
She smiled dreamily as he pulled away.
Scorp was all smiles for his father, babbling as he slapped the book in her lap.
“Yeah, buddy, I see that. Are you enjoying reading with ‘Mione?” Draco asked his son.
They agreed on the shortened nickname for her. When she had told him that all James had managed of her name at three years old was ‘me-me’, he had felt it was his duty to one up Harry in this regard. She wasn’t hopeful of Scorp learning it while she was still here as it was still significantly harder than the majority of toddler words but Draco was bound and determined to make it stick.
“We should be home by one,” Hermione said to Draco as he made to leave, dissuading Scorp from eating the book by moving it farther away from him. “Want to have lunch in the arboretum?”
He winked over his shoulder. “It’s a date.”
While not part of the bridal party itself Lavender had wanted to include Hermione in all the goings on. That included finding a dress for the happy occasion. With the rise of muggle fashion after the war, the group, including the actual bridal party, Lavender's mother and younger sister, had all gathered in a bridal shop in London that catered to both magical and mundane clientele.
Just like Hermione had predicted, everyone was absolutely infatuated with Scorpius. Always his father’s son, her little star was lapping up the attention. Making introductions and making sure he was comfortable, Hermione left him in Ginny’s capable hands to quickly browse the inventory.
Parvati, as Lavender’s maid of honour, was chosen to wear sage green where everyone else was requested to to stay to the more pastel side of pink. Sorting through a section of dresses that fit the colour criteria, Hermione was more than a little confused when Lavender saddled up next to her, thinking she would have been whisked away for her own fitting.
“How do you date a man with a baby?” Lavender said the last word like it was a curse she didn’t want her mother to hear her say. She even checked over her shoulder.
Hermione blinked at her in confusion. Was she being serious? “Well, you date a man who happens to have a baby. Those are two separate relationships, Lavender.”
“I know that. But how do you guys, you know--” She honest to runes made a loose fist with one hand and inserted her pointer finger of her other hand.
Hermione said the first thing that came to her head, “well, not infront of Scorpius.”
“But aren’t you worried that he has super seed,” Lavender whispered, half pulling free a jewelled nightmare of a dress, contemplating but ultimately slipping it back on the rack, much to Hermione’s silent relief. “What if he gets you pregnant?”
“That hasn’t been a concern of mine.” Hermione bit her lip not sure if the emotion she was feeling would lead to her laughing or crying. Not for the first time the glaring discrepancies in Hogwarts curriculum became apparent. She was getting her friend a whole set of sexual educational literature as a wedding gift. And condoms.
“But what about all the other stuff, aren’t you worried he’s going to think of you as his mother?’
“No more so then I’m worried that James or Albie are going to think me as their mother.”
“But this is different, Ginny is still in the picture. Word on the wind is that Draco is trying to make it so that Astoria has no access to Scorpius. Are you ready for that kind of commitment? Because honestly, I don’t think I would be. Living with another woman’s child, it would always feel terrible, like I was a replacement.”
The topic of Astoria came up very rarely. Draco didn’t necessarily cut off all conversation, but it was like knowingly pressing on a deep bruise, no matter how careful or gently you tried to handle it, it still brought on pain. The reason for the divorce was their own and Hermione knew to the bottom of her heart Draco would never do anything without Scorpius’s best interests at heart, he loved that little boy more than anything and would sooner avada himself then choose to cause him pain. If there was a reason Draco didn’t want Astoria around their son it was a valid one.
“I went into this knowing he had a child but we’ve been dating for a short while. When Draco and I decide to break up, we agreed to do everything in our power to make the transition as painless as possible for Scorpius.”
“But how--”
“Hermione, big man needs a diaper change!” Ginny interrupted them, calling from the large couch in the try on section where she was sitting and entertaining Scorpius.
Quickly excusing herself from Lavender she went to scoop up the baby. “Did someone go poopy?” she kissed razberries to his cheeks as he giggled. “Perfect save, little star.” Asking one of the attendants the location of the bathroom she took him to get cleaned up.
“Are you hungry for lunch? What do you want?” she cooed at him to keep him distracted as she worked quickly to get him changed. “Do you want some apples? Can you say ‘ap-pull’? What about some pasta? Paw-st-uh? You liked the pasta last night, didn’t you?” He grinned up at her, showing off his two fully erupted bottom teeth, as she smiled back at him. Clipping his onesie back in place, she tugged up his little pants. “There we go, all done.”
He clapped his hands. “Du dun.”
“When did you get to be so smart?” She asked, picking him up she cuddled him close, breathing in the warm scent of baby powder and formula. She remembered when James and Teddy had reached certain milestones, first tooth, first words, first steps, and she remembered how over the moon happy Harry and Ginny had been. And Hermione had been excited too, just not in the same way, not in the way she felt as she watched, day after day, as Scorpius grew and learned how to interact with the world, her utter amazement at how he started to gain rudimentary understanding of things.
With one final kiss to his temple, she hiked him on her hip and exited the bathroom. With their source of entertainment gone, the other women had wandered off throughout the shop in search of their own dresses. Spying Ginny she came up alongside her, making sure to keep Scorp far enough from the racks so he couldn’t grab at or ruin anything. He was at the stage where everything went into his mouth.
“Have you ever seen anything so adorable?” Ginny demanded, gushing over a flower girl dress in miniature, with three yards of frills and a headband to match.
Hermione smiled, rocking Scorp on her hips. “If you get that for James he’s going to throw a fit. He’s already mad enough about having his hair long.” Having older cousins was a blessing and a curse, James and Teddy having banded together in thinking anything perceived as feminine was gross.
“I wasn’t thinking about James,” she said, eyes wishful.
Hermione looked at her, looked at the dress, then back at her and her eyes widened. “Ginny, are you…”
“Fuck,” she hissed dabbing at her eyes. “Now I owe Harry ten galleons. He said I’d do something to give it away. You can’t tell Lav,” she sniffled. “We’re waiting until after the wedding to announce.”
“My lips are sealed,” she promised, wrapping her friend into a tight hug. “But I am so happy for you both.”
“Maybe you won’t be far behind.” Ginny gave a brilliant smile, pinching Scorpius’s toes, as the baby bashfully curled into Hermione’s shoulder. “Malfoy makes a cute kid. Can you imagine his colouring with your curls? To die for.”
And suddenly Hermione could -- A little girl, angelic with white blonde ringlets down to her waist. A little boy that inherited her brown eyes and light dusting of freckles -- and she couldn’t breathe.
“Hermione? Hermione!” Ginny’s voice sounded like it was coming from a distant room. “Shit, here. Give me Scorpius.” The baby’s weight was lifted from her arms and she instinctively reached out to reclaim it. “It’s okay, I have him. Take a seat.” Her butt touched cold tile and a hand on her shoulder guided her head between her knees. “Deep breaths, everything is fine.”
Blinking, Hermione came back to herself. “Shit, Ginny, don’t do that!” she growled.
Ginny awkwardly patted her back. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t think baby talk would send you into a full panic attack.”
Hermione knocked her hand away, finding the touch unsettling. “You just can’t leave well enough alone. It’s hardly been a fucking month and you want me to start having babies with him? I just -- whatcha -- Give me Scorpius. I’m leaving. I just-- why -- I can’t,” she huffed, snatching Scorpius back. Stopping off with Lavender who was trying on a huge wedding cake of a dress, she said goodbyes to the bride, making the excuse that Scorpious needed his lunch before slipping out.
Hearing the floo go off, Draco greeted them coming down the stairs as they stepped through the doorway. “Welcome back guys, how was the-- what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, wordlessly passing Scorpius off to him as she made to continue up the stairs, but he caught her hand. “Hey, talk to me. Are you okay? Did the dress fitting not go well? Did Lavender try to put you in something hideous?”
“No,” she sighed, feeling drained. “Lavender was fine. It was just ---” she trailed off at a loss. How did you tell your friends-with-benefits that your other friend thought they would make beautiful babies and it caused you to have a panic attack?
“Come on," he gently prompted, a slight tug on her hand to get her to follow him. “Mimsy has lunch on the table.”
He set Scorpius in his high chair, giving him a few apple slivers to start with, causing Hermione to grin, before serving the tea for them. He set out two little biscuits on her saucer.
“I like these,” Hermione said, taking a second bite and savouring the buttery flavour and crisp crumb on her tongue.
“I’ll make sure Mimsy knows to pick up more.”
“The first of the month is coming up. We never really got around to discussing this, but what are you looking at for me to pay for rent?” Hermione asked serving herself some of the well prepared food.
“Pay?” he questioned
“Of course. I wont be able to afford what this place is worth but I could do a hundred and fifty galliens a month.”
Swallowing quickly, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, sitting up. “What would I ask you to pay when I invited you?”
“You’re already doing me a huge favour in letting me stay. I’m not going to be a freeloader on top of that.”
“Your rent was already calculated in the contract you signed. I’m not now making you pay because you were burned out of your home, Hermione. What kind of monster do you take me for?”
“It’s not being a monster to expect a roommate to contribute,” she argued. “Now, how much are utilities?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Honestly,” she huffed derisively. “What does the bill say?”
“I don’t know. It goes straight to Gringotts and the funds are pulled from my accounts. Even after all the reparations were paid out I have enough money for Scorpius’s great grandchildren to never work a day in their lives. And why would I charge you forty galleons more than you were paying for the flat when you have just a room here?”
“This comes with the use of a whole house, not to mention the acres outdoors. In all honesty, market value for just saying here is way out of my price range, Mr. Silverspoon.”
“You’re actually saving me money by moving in as it’s not going towards your rent. So we can just call it a wash?”
“No. I was going to pay you back for the rent after the contract ended.”
“Ah, the whole spirit vs the letter. How slytherin.”
She gave him an unamused glare. “I’ll get you the one-fifty on the fifth of each month. Let me know what the increase is on utilities and I’ll cover that as well.”
“Now that you’ve suitably tried to deflect, do you want to talk about what got you worked up? Were the dresses really that bad?”
Hermione sighed. “I was having a good time and then Lavender had to bring up the baby talk. And then Ginny had to bring up the baby talk. And it just ... freaked me out.”
“'Baby talk'?”
“You know, the whole ‘when are you going to settle down and have kids’ talk.”
“Oh, I thought that was a typical breakfast conversation. Must be a pureblood thing.” He shrugged, unbothered, using his fork and knife to compose the perfect bite. “Do you not want children?”
He asked as if only to be polite while they were on the topic instead of the somewhat barbed accusation that usually accompanied those words. And instead of setting her on the defencive she answered honestly, if a bit wishfully “I do. But not right now. I still have so many things I want to accomplish, dreams to see to fruition, laws that need to pass. I’m not ready to give that up yet.”
He paused in his eating to look at her as if she sprouted two heads. “Who said anything about giving something up?”
“Oh, um….” Early on in her and Ron’s relationship, when they had still been on the high of surviving the war and enamored with each other, they had talked about kids. About how she would quit work and stay home with them and he would be promoted in the auror ranks. When she told him she wasn’t planning on being a stay at home mother, he said that was just how it was done in the wizarding world. She could go back part-time when the kids were a bit older and then find something full-time once they all went off to Hogwarts. When he started talking about having four or five or six kids, she’d been mentally calculating that she would be nearly forty when she could go back and all her dreams of having a career would be nearly nonexistent. “Well, wouldn’t I have too? Children should come first.”
“Putting them first doesn’t mean putting yourself last, Hermione. You are capable of actualizing your dreams and being a great mother. Look how good you are with Scorpius. He absolutely adores you.”
“But that’s different, he’s your son, you take care of the majority of his needs. When it’s my own child, it would be my responsibility all the time. Constantly. For everything.”
“We’ll if you don’t find the right partner, I guess, but I highly doubt you would choose someone who would dump everything on you like that. Look at me, single dad for the last ten months who runs a successful company. Why couldn't you do the same?
“I never thought of it that way. I always felt like people would think I’m a bad mother if I wanted to go immediately back to work.”
“Do you think I’m a bad father?”
“No. Of course not. You’re wonderful with Scorpius. But it’s different with women. We’re supposed to stay at home and tend the children.”
“Then what about Ginevra Potter, do you think less of her because she’s a quidditch player?”
“No--”
“Then why can’t you afford the same understanding for yourself? Parenthood isn’t an all or nothing. Yes, it does shift your priorities, but it’s a balancing act. Would I’d rather roll around on the floor with my son than attend a board meeting with some of my investors? More than anything. But I’d also happily bury myself in financial reports if it got me out of having to change one of Scorps' absolutely noxious diapers. Truly, the amount of shite that comes out of that little gremlin is inhuman.”
Hermione laughed remembering Draco returning from a diaper change more than a little green.
“If motherhood is what you want to do, do it. If you want to wait, wait. But don’t stack someone else’s expectations against you and feel like you’re not worthy. You are amazing and when the day comes, you’ll make a wonderful mother.”
Overcome with emotion, Hermione grabbed one of the rolls on the table and chucked it at him with all her might.
It bounced off his shoulder, much to his astonishment. “What the hell, Granger? I was trying to be nice!”
“You made me cry, you fucking arsehole!” She sobbed, hiding her face behind her napkin.
“Ah-ho.” Scorpius chirped happily, slapping his hands down on his highchair.
“Scorpius, no!” Draco cried aghast.
Hermione peeked around her napkin, her jaw dropped in a shocked ‘o’.
Scorp just laughed, picking one of his apple pieces and throwing it, poorly, in his father’s general direction.
There was a beat of stunned silence before Hermione could no longer contain herself and howled with laughter.
Draco turned his scowl on her. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. He never used to act like this until you showed up. I told you you were a bad influence.”
Once they put Scorpius down for his nap, Hermione apologised to Draco by showing him just how bad an influence she could be. Thoroughly wearing themselves out they fell into a light doze themselves. And if Hermione dreamed of curly haired infants, she didn’t remember it when she woke up.
Notes:
Almost titled this chapter 'Done looking for the critics 'cause they're everywhere' -- but couldn't resist the pun ;p maybe next chapter
We are looking at another 8-10 chapters/30k words.
Goal is to have the next chapter up Nov 3rd. Thanks for hanging with me people! ***update Nov 2 -- chapter is taking longer then anticipated, no eta at this time
Chapter 17: Tonight, I’m alright
Notes:
Zarrylover13, TrillbySkinner, Dannie7, RandomAutisticGirl, FluffyMutant, NeheMikkele, Samanthalouise854, KiwiMargarita.
Thank you to those who are sticking with me. This took a lot longer to write then I was exspcting and wanting.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“There’s a, uh, Pansy Parkinson here to see you?” Natalie said, poking her head into her office Tuesday morning.
Hermione felt a whisper of dread crawl up her spine and was immediately furious with herself at letting the nefarious chit have any sway over her emotions. “Tell her I don’t have time to see her,” she told her assistant, eyes hard.
“Oh, um, okay,” Natalie nodded, shutting the door behind her … only to reappear a few minutes later, in a slight panic. “She said she would wait, then conjured a large table. And a mannequin. She appears to be making clothing of some kind? She’s kinda taken over the whole hallway.”
“For the love of Merlin,” Hermione groused, slamming her hands down and storming around Natalie to step into the hall.
Pansy glanced up, pulling some pins from between her lips, her bold lipstick not even smudged as it curled into an overly bright grin. “Ah, Granger. Thank you for making the time to see me.”
Hermione put a hand on her hip. “What do you want, Parkinson?”
“I have something for you.” With a tap of her wand to the sewing table a large cream coloured box appeared, her couture shop name written in silver script across the lid.
Hermione hardly spared it a glance. “I don’t want it. Please leave now. Some people need to work to make a living and you are causing a disturbance.”
Parkinson’s inviting smile cooled. “It is impolite to turn down a gift. Especially when it is an apology.”
“Like I said, I don’t want it,” Hermione dismissed, turning to go back to her office. “See yourself out before I have security called.”
Parkinson grumbled something unflattering behind her before barking something out and a mannequin appeared infront of Hermione blocking her path. Hermione actually felt her jaw drop.
“It’s for Samhain,” Parkinson continued when Hermione could do nothing but stare in awe at the dress. “I had to guess at someone of your measurements, but it should fit.”
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione found herself complimenting, fingers tracing some of the embellishments on the bodice before she forced herself to pull away. “I still don’t want it.”
Shocked silences. Then, “You obnoxious shrew! Can’t you just accept an apology with grace!”
Hermione whirled on her with a snarl. “It’s not a gift or an apology; it’s a bribe. You don’t know the first thing about a genuine apology. Helga’s sakes, you don’t even think you did anything wrong.”
“Of course I know I did something wrong, you morally superior muppet,” Parkenson hissed back. “I’m a bitch not a sociopath! And while it may be a bribe, it is also a peace offering. So will you just accept my apology, please, and we can both get out of eachothers hair.”
Both Hermione and Natalie stared at the other woman with their mouths ajar. The echo of a door closing further down the hallway snapped Hermione out of it. “Come into my office. And clear the walkway, the Ministry is not your personal playground. Nat, if my ten o’clock shows up early let them know I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Leading the way Hermione skirted around to her desk to fall heavily in her chair as Parkinson followed, the mannequin trailing behind. With a wave of her wand, Hermione warded and silenced her office, not wanting another Skeeter incident.
“I forget sometimes,” Parkinson stood in the middle of the room staring at Hermione as if she were something intriguing but not exactly pleasant. “We’re the same age, we both lived through the war, but it was different for you. I was lucky enough that they saw me as too young to bother overly much on. I still lived in fear but it was brought on by helplessness as there was nothing I could do. But yours was failure, wasn’t it? The ‘light side’ put so much responsibility on you and shoved you to the front lines with a bunch of other children. In that regard, I'm not sure which side was better.”
“Draco was sixteen--”
Parkinson interrupted her sharply. “And the exception, not the rule. And everyone knew it was a punishment because of Lucius. How old was the youngest in your self proclaimed ‘Dumbledore's army’?”
“Thirteen,” Hermione felt fingers of guilt curling around her throat at the admission, “but we would have never let them fight.”
“They never should have been asked to!”
They both sat in a strained silence at her outburst.
“Look,” Parkinson said, collecting herself and modulating her tone. “I’m a bitch because it keeps people away and I’m very … protective of those that have managed to worm their way close to me, which makes me even more ruthless. Blaise, Theo, and Draco? Those three are my family even more so than my blood kin and I will do anything to protect them from what I perceive as a threat. And you, Golden Girl, are one of the biggest threats to Draco.”
“I would never do anything to hurt Draco,” Hermione bit back, offended.
“Doesn’t mean he won't end up hurt regardless.” Parkinson’s eyes were that of a snake, cold and lethal, as she stared down Hermione with her arms crossed. “I’m not sorry for what I did because I’d do something similar regardless. But if I’d known you’d react like that I would have gone for ‘normal bitchy’ instead of trying to be over the top in a kind of one-upmanship. It was meant to be an intimidation tactic, forcing you to meet me on my own territory, not malicious. I did not mean to make you relive things that should be left in the past.”
Hermione eyed the other woman critically, intrigued to see genuine sincerity even if it was a bit tone-deaf, so she felt it only fitting to return like for like. “Those things will never be ‘just part of the past’ for me, Parkinson. They will live with me everyday for the rest of my life. Some days that will be easier, others not. In the end it is up to me to cater to my own triggers. Be that as it may, I refuse to have someone around me that does not respect them or my boundaries and instead blatantly violates them for their own petty reasons.”
Parkinson swallowed attempting to school her reaction, though the sheen of her eyes gave her away. “Will you at least allow me to say goodbye to Draco?”
Hermione blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
She scoffed bitterly. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Draco made it very clear that when it comes to me or you, he’d pick you.”
Warmth flooded Hermione at the revelation, but she quickly put that aside when Parkinson narrowed her eyes at what could be considered a gloating grin on her face. “Just because we don’t get along, doesn’t mean I’m not going to make Draco stop seeing you,” Hermione reassured. “He cares about you, deeply, and I … care about him. I would never make him give up his friends. I’m sure that when we need to, we can remain cordial when interacting. For his sake, of course.”
Parkinson stared at her in a manner that made Hermione deeply uncomfortable. Part like she wanted to rip her hair out while cursing her and part like she wanted to weep into her lap and part like she wanted to be sick. “For someone so obnoxiously Gryffindor, you’re such a bleeding heart Hufflepuff.”
“I think you meant to say ‘thank you, Hermione’.”
Parkinson rolled her eyes. “Tame that devil snare on top of your head when you wear my dress. And don’t let him see it until the gala. You can thank me then.”
Draco fiddled with his cufflink as he took final stock of his appearance. Pansy had bullied her way into his office Tuesday with an “I’ve apologised, you can thank me later” and forced on him the costume she had made for Samhain at the Bulstrodes. He could have done without the pair of dragon horns that curled back from the top of his head thinking it too on the nose but over all the fit was superb, with detailing that elevated it from clothing into a work of art.
“Granger, you ready? It’s almost seven,” he called out, settling the back silk dinner jacket that fit like a second skin over his shoulders.
She had commandeered his bathroom three hours ago because she claimed she needed the space. He hadn’t seen her except for the thirty seconds where he knocked on the door to present her with a plate of food, knowing she got grouchy when she was hungry. She’d answered his knock with her hair wrapped in a towel on the top of her head, a thick white robe shielding her body, and half blended moisturiser on her skin. He nearly told her to forget the gala just so he could take her back to bed, but the decision had been taken from his hands, literally, as she’d snatched the plate, a hectic smile of thanks on her lips, and slammed the door shut in his face.
At his words she emerged in a cloud of perfume and soft curls. A spray of golden spikes pinned the hair out of the left side of her face, the rest was left free with small sparkles of light twinkling in the strands. The dress was completely obscured by a black full length cloak with the same silver filigree of his dress robes. Slits were cut so her bare arms could poke free as she fit dangling earrings to her ears. Her eyes and cheeks shimmered with gold.
“You look beautiful,” Draco breathed once he’d gotten his breath back from seeing her.
She offered him a softly amused smile. “You haven’t even seen the dress yet.”
“I don’t need to,” he caught her hand with a wink as he pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I trust Pansy’s choice to be perfectly acceptable.”
She arched a sculpted brow, lips pursing. “But not mine?”
He snorted a laugh, tapping at the earring she just secured, watching it dance and sparkle. “I’m trying to compliment you, witch.”
She batted him away. “You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole.”
He caught her by her obstinate chin and took her lips in a passionate kiss, not letting up until she let out that breathy moan he knew ment she was enjoying herself and melted against him. “Accept the compliment,” he growled against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip and laving it with his tongue, “accept before you have to redo your cosmetics and we’re late.”
“Fine,” she relented, full of fire, stealing her own kiss from his lips. “I accept, but only because I know I look fucking amazing.” A third kiss. “And this is a muggle smudge proof, long lasting lipstick. I like to see you just try and ruin it.”
Fourth kiss. “Bloody brilliant.” Fifth.
Draco felt her lips curl under his. “But if we don’t stop now, we are going to be late.”
Reluctantly he pulled back. “Right, right. Let us be off.”
“Everything good with Scorp?”
“Mimsy has him. She has our cell numbers if anything comes up.”
“I’ll meet you at the floo, I just want to say goodnight to him and show him my dress.”
“Don’t I get to see your dress?” he pouted.
“You can see it at the party with everyone else.” She flounced out of the room with a coquettish wink over her shoulder.
“This is because of my earlier comment, isn’t it.”
“Hey, I just want you to have the opportunity to compliment Pansy on her dress choice. She really is the one who deserves the credit.”
“You’re doing that thing you do where you’re saying something you agree with while still being mad.”
“It’s a tallent,” she simpered, shutting the door behind her with a belied composure. “Hello, little star.” He heard her coo behind the wood. “I have something I wanted to show you. You get to be the first to see.”
There was a moment of pure silence then a delighted babbling shriek.
“You like it? I’m so glad. I like it too. Now we’ll be home late, and you need to go to bed soon. But your dad and I will check in on you when you get back, okay?” The door opened again, cloak back in place, as she backed out of the room. “Good night little star, we love you.”
Purebloods may boast of their regal importance but it was a closely guarded secret that most were even less well off then their common peers. They, as a class, were too secular. Many such families, the Malfoys included, had seen that writing on the wall early, and, while still deadlocked in their grandiose sense of self-importance, knew that new money were the only way to keep their coffers filled.
In a bid to keep from financially going belly up, it became an unspoken understanding that holidays such as Samhain and Yule were moments to appear magnanimous to the lowly rabble and allow them peek at the world they could never hope to elevate themselves to. In a flashy show of opulence, of course. Samhain was always more of a crush, the weather as well as family obligations not as present as it was during Yule time.
His mother was more than a bit miffed that her name had not been drawn for the preferred holiday this year. But as she had hosted eight of the last twenty-two years of Draco’s life, he couldn’t really find it in him to feel bad for her. The Right of Hostess were greatly coveted, and some women spent years situating and ingratiating themselves for just the chance at getting their names put in for the drawings.
While a heavy financial burden for those chosen, the investment typically came back ten fold. As the ability to curate a guest list not just limited to wizarding aristocracy, it allowed for a wider range of networking. Being the first one in on a key investment could mean the difference of keeping afloat another generation or losing the family estate.
As such, anyone-who-was-Anyone, be it from the Ministry or abroad was present, packed like caviar in a tin there inside the Bulstrode’s ballroom.
Draco and Hermione apparated to the front of the Bulstrode Estate, just outside the ward lines, not wanting to deal with the wait trying to floo in would entail. Arm in arm they walked up the expertly lit walk with a dozen or so other couples having the same idea and being familiar enough with the location to utilise it. Human staff were at the door to take wraps and cloaks and Draco nearly swallowed his tongue when Hermione’s dress was finally revealed.
Pansy was a genius and the obscene amount of galleons taken from his account was well worth the final price. The dress itself was breathtaking. A large princess cut that roiled with magic, every step stars and nebulas shimmered throughout the skirt until it looked as if Hermione walked through galaxies. But it was more than that. Pansy had constructed the dress in such a way where instead of overshadowing Hermione’s natural beauty, it captured and enhanced it. In the stunning dress she was even more luminess, the centre of the universe in an ocean of stars.
More than one bloke had claimed her for a dance since their arrival, the latest being the Minister himself while Draco went around being introduced to new individuals and strengthening already made connections.
Through it all Draco’s eyes never strayed far from her.
“Oh, isn’t this sweet,” Ginevra Potter cooed. Draco felt himself blush at having been caught staring, turning to nod a tight greeting to the couple that had just joined him. The née-Weselette wore a slinky red number that managed not to clash with her high ponytailed hair. Potter looked like he needed a brush but the dress robes were of adequate quality. “Potter. Mrs. Potter.”
“It’s still Weasley, actually. Kept the maiden.”
“Ah,” Draco intoned awkwardly, taking a sip from his glass. It was a newer development, brides not taking their husband’s name, and one Draco hadn’t truly formed an opinion on. As the Heir of a prominent wizarding house it had always been the foregone conclusion that his spouse would have his name. It has actually been a point of contention in the divorce proceedings, Astoria having wanted to keep and have the continued use of the Malfoy name. Having spent the last five years trying to bring back the renown of the Malfoy lineage, Draco had vehemently denied the clause in the divorce contract and, though the strong defence of his lawyer, the court had sided with him.
He wondered if Hermione would want to take his name.
Ginevra burst out laughing at the arrested look that was no doubt on his face, though not for the reason she thought. “I’m only joking. You should have seen your face. I jumped ship from that sausage party as quick as I could. Though it hasn’t proven to do any good on this side.” She smiled adoringly up at her husband who had a protective arm curled around her hip. Her hand came up to cover over his where it rested just left of centre. “There's still time to change that.”
“Ah,” Draco said again, taking in the whole scene. “I take it congratulations are in order?”
The couple froze, breaking their mooning to turn wide startled eyes towards him.
“So you’re not sharing the happy news yet.” Draco’s hand tightened around his glass, feeling the awkwardness ramp up another uncomfortable level. “My apologies.”
“How the bloody hell did you know?” Potter barked.
“Did Hermione tell you?” his wife demanded.
“Tell him what?” Hermione asked, sidling up next to them, face lightly flushed from dancing. She slipped his drink from his grasp and tipped it back to steal the ice cube from it.
“Our-” Potter eyed Ginevra's middle pointedly.
Hermione looked affronted. “Of course not.”
“Then how did he know?”
“You’re not exactly subtle,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been all over her all night. And you Gin, you don’t even have a decoy drink. You guys were exactly like this with Ab and Jamie.”
Both had the audacity to blush, self-consciously shifting to put some space between each other as if they hadn’t been married for several years and were a well known affectionate couple.
“Oh, that’s even worse,” Hermione groused. “You two stay here. I’m going to go get some drinks so we can at least pretend to be having a good time. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll go with you.” Draco said quickly, falling into step.
Waiting in the queue that had formed around the bar, Draco used his larger frame to try and open them up some space when a third person stepped on the hem of her dress causing her to stumble. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll just be happy when this night is over,” she grumbled, tucking herself in closer to Draco’s chest.
“Why?” he questioned, resting his arms around her waist and tipping his head down to her ear. “What’s happened?”
“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “Just too many people.”
“Has someone done something?” He asked. He’d tried to keep an eye out for her, introducing her to a few people that dabbled in conservation, but there had been several instances where he had gotten distracted with his own networking.
“Nothing I can’t handle on my own.” Having come to the front of the crush, Hermione stepped away from him, placing her request with one of the four barkeeps for a chardonnay, a sparkling cider, and two champagnes. “All in flutes, if you please.”
Snaking their way back to her friends with drinks in hand, the hair on the back of Draco’s neck stood on end just as his ex-wife stepped into their path.
“Draco.” Astoria had always made a lovely picture and in the skin tight, trumpet style snake green dress she was quite bewitching.
“Astoria,” he said, trying to keep an even tone.
“I was hoping to have a word with you,” she purred.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
He made to step around her, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Alone, if you would be so kind.” She cast contemptuous eyes over to Hermione. “It’s important. Please, Draco.”
“Astoria, if you’re going to be snide it would be better if you sent it through our lawyers.”
“It’s fine, Draco.” Hermione said. “Just go see what she wants.” Wandlessly she summoned the second glass he held to float infront of her. “Come find me when you’re done?”
“Alright,” he said. Hermione was probably right, he might not be too happy with Astoria and how things had progressed to get them to this point, but she was still the mother of his son and if she needed help he would do what he could within reason to help her for Scorpius’s sake. Already feeling drained and he wondered just how big of a mistake he was making. He pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple, “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
Smiling tightly she nodded, turning away to thread her way out of sight. Everything in him told him to follow her, to not get sucked back into whatever Astoria had set up. Instead he led his ex-wife out of the crowded ballroom. Finding an unoccupied parlour wasn’t too hard. Warding and silencing the room, he turned to Astoria. “Now what is so important that you thought it appropriate to interrupt my evening?”
“This has gone on quite long enough. I thought you would come back to your senses but it looks like I have to be the bigger person and save you from yourself.”
Draco blinked. Out of everything that could have come out of her mouth, he had not expected that. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”
“You’ve had your fun but I’m getting sick of these games. I’m willing to take you back," she offered as if it were a magnanimous peace offering. "I’ll even move back into the manner for three months out of the year, but you must stop all of this nonsense.”
“I -wha-- Astoria, we are not getting back together.”
“Of course we are.”
“No,” he said sternly, “we are not. Astoria, our divorce is the best thing that has ever happened to me, second only to my son.”
“Our son!” she yelled, stamping her foot like a toddler being told no. “Scorpius needs a mother! Are you really going to deprive him of a loving and stable home to go play in the mud?”
“Leave Hermione out of this. This is between you and I and we were the furthest thing from stable. We fucking loathed eachother. Separating was and still is the best thing for Scorpius.”
“You can’t keep my son away from me!”
“I told you my criteria for letting you around Scorpius, Astoria,” Draco said seriously, recognizing now she was bordering on one of her manic episodes. “If you are unwilling to meet those terms, that is on you.”
“I don’t need a muggle-loving healer telling me there is something wrong with me!” she screeched at the top of her lungs.
“Astoria, you need help. Please, for the sake of our son, get yourself some help.”
“If you were so concerned about me you would give me back my son! I birthed him, he’s mine!”
Draco went cold. “He’s not an object, he is his own person and can’t be owned. I--” Draco shook his head, taking a step back “--I can’t do this again. I’ll see you in court.”
Every time he thought he’d made it to the other side, something from his past reared it’s fucking head and enlightened him again to just how fucked his childhood had been. Storming out of the parlour Draco’s only thought was getting as far away from his ex-wife and all her erroneous pureblood rhetoric as he could. To claim sovereignty over one’s child, to see them as a puppet, an object, to move and barter and play for ones own machination. As a child Draco’s biggest fear was disappointing his father and bringing shame to the Malfoy name. Now it was turning into his father and having his son turn out to be the small minded little bully Draco had been as a child.
Draco would do all that was in his power to ensure that pompous bigotry of the Malfoy name would not reach another generation. He did not want his son to go through the same crisis-of-self of realising everything he’d been taught was a lie and he was actually the bad guy. His son would be better from day one.
Entering the ballroom once more, he spied Hermione. Seeing her holding court with the Potters, Minister Shacklebolt and several other prominent figures, something loosened in his chest as he was drawn to her like a planet in orbit.
Her smile was radiant when she caught sight of him, but dimmed as she took him in. A wave of guilt threatened to crush him at having also allowed his ex-wife to put a damper on her evening as well. Once he was close enough, her hand came up to cup his cheek in a shockingly intimate display for the public setting. But it was exactly what he needed as he sighed at the feeling of her skin against his.
Hermione’s, “If you all would excuse us, it’s time for Draco and I to go home,” caused Draco to blink open eyes he hadn't realised he’d closed. Without conscious thought he let her draw him away from the group. It wasn’t until the floo was insight that he made a token protest.
“The night isn’t even half done. We can stay a while longer.”
“I’m tired. You’re tired. What I really want to do is just go home and sleep.”
“Sounds perfect.”
As they were changing out of their finery after having had checked in on a sleeping Scorp and letting Mimsy know they were back, Draco asked, “what’s your stance on changing your name when you’re married?”
She came out of the bathroom in a loose fitted long sleeve shirt and long sleep pants, hair piled on top of her head, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. “Wot?”
“Changing your name once married, are you for it or against it?” he questioned, hanging his dress robes in the large walk-in closet and going to his dresser to pull out his sleep clothes in only a pair of boxers.
“Wa' bo you ahsk?” she mumbled around the toothbrush.
“Potter’s wife brought it up tonight and I was just curious what your opinion was.”
She disappeared back into the bathroom and Draco heard her spit, the water running for a second, before she reappeared wiping her mouth with a washcloth, face thoughtful as she posted up against the door jam. “I think it would have to be a conversation I had with my potential spouse. I’ve always been Hermione Granger and my name is important to me because I’ve fought so hard for my place here with that name. And I’ve never been one to write my crushes last names on my note books. Can you imagine? Hermione Weasley, that sounds terrible.”
“Truly revolting,” he deadpanned, crawling into bed.
“Maybe I’ll hyphenate,” she shrugged noncommittally, going back to finishing her evening toilette.
As he curled up with her in his arms, his last thoughts as he followed her rhythmic breathing down into sleep, was that Draco Granger-Malfoy had a certain cadence to it that wasn’t wholly unappealing.
Notes:
Next chapter out sometime. The *rough* outline I have is about 900 words. So fingers crossed for me. If I don't see you before then, Happy Holidays.
Chapter 18: There's A Whole Other Conversation Going On
Notes:
You guys, you guys! The coolest thing just happened. Someone has been making a POD fic out of this story. It is freaking amazing! Please check it out and give her some love! Thank you so so much TrillbySkinner!
podfic by TrillbySkinnerMy thanks also goes out to everyone who has commented: Vinbhat, DarthCupcake, Justfizzy, G1223, noni, Vivid_aly, JadeSedai, orionsBeltt65, Dfkdfc_27, sabmcd94, Euna_bae_nue, FluffyMutant, RandomAutisticGirl, Dannie7, kirmizi, Samanthalouise854, ineedtobookmarkthings905, PurpleCaboose and Tonydancer!
Comments on my other works: masterv24 on Lucky Number 13 and Yeetyi on Broken Little Pieces
Thank you everyone for your kind words and sticking with me for the ride.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, November 1st
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Hermione yelled, body shaking as her eyes scanned the latest headline and accompanying pictures. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting when Draco’s hesitant voice had called her into the kitchen but it had not been this.
Is there a new Mrs. Malfoy on the way? Is she expecting?!
Several leaked photos accompanied the article. The first was from Lav’s gown fitting, where Hermione had just happened to glance at a white gown that had some lace detailing she thought was pretty. Another, from the same day, was of her holding Scorpius up infront of her, presenting the boy to her surrounding friends as they all smiled at him. Him, the little attention puff, was extra adorable as he looked around the group with a smile big enough to show off his new teeth. Coupled with a quote from the bartender at the gala that she’d ordered a non-alcoholic beverage, it told a whole (completely false!) story.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said and he sounded it too. He had a sleepy Scorpius against his shoulder for a few minutes of morning cuddles before work. “I already have my people on it,” he promised, face tight with worry, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying “I’m sorry,” a second time.
Hermione sighed, dropping her head in her hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s the Prophet. I’m just so sick and tired of people assuming I’m constantly up the duff. As if the brightest witch of her age doesn’t know a simple contraception charm or is a strong proponent of family planning.”
“I can make them print a retraction,” he said with authority, handing off Scorpius, who sensing their heightened emotion, was reaching for her.
Scorp snuggled into her, mouthing at the shoulder of her sweater in an offer of comfort. “No, don’t,” she sighed, laying her cheek against the baby’s back and rocking him softly. “It reflects well on us for the upcoming hearing. But maybe we can drop a line of ‘we’re happy but not looking for rings yet’ the next time someone asks for a quote?” Freeing one hand, the other securely around her boy, she tipped the prophet back towards her. “At least the pictures are nice.”
“Do you think I could track down the photographer to get my hands on the proofs?” Draco said, coming up behind her, an arm around her back as he peered down over her shoulder at the picture himself. “I want that one for the baby album," he said, tapping the one with Scorpius.
Hermione barked a laugh, easing back against his solid weight. She wouldn’t mind having a copy for herself when this was all said and done.
Sunday, November 3rd
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Hermione asked, fidgeting, as they both stood on the threshold of the hearth.
“How hard can it be?” Draco said confidently, though Hermione saw him swallow in trepidation. He had an immaculately dressed Scorpius in his arms, his bright blonde hair combed back in a way that melted Hermione's heart.
Right, they could do this. It was just her friends and adoptive wizarding family. They had been there for her for the last decade and they would continue to be there for her long after this ended. There was not reason to be nervous -- except, wasn’t this the first man she’d brought since she and Ron had split? The offer had been extended on multiple occasions in the past but things with whatever man she had been seeing always fizzled long before they reached the ‘relationship’ stage, let alone her even contemplating wanting to bring him to see the people closest to her.
“Hermione?” Draco prompted, resettling a restless Scorpius who had learned that floo travel usually meant something fun and wanted to get to it.
“Right,” she said aloud, taking a deep breath and casting down the floo powder. They stepped through the flames into a sea of redheads. All eyes turned on them as the fire announced their arrival.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m sure you remember Draco,” she said with strained airyness. “Draco, this is everybody. And this,” Hermione stole his son from Draco’s arms, turning to the group with a fond smile, “is Scorpius.”
Ginny was the first to come forward, a welcoming smile for the newcomers. “Hey big man, you remember me?” she gushed to the baby, elbowing Harry hard in the gut for his muttered comment. “I have a son about your age. Do you want to meet him?” And just like that they were swept up in the fold, much to Hermione’s relief.
“Hermione, Ginny,” Molly called after everyone had had a chance to greet each other, the two infants having become immediately enamoured with one another. “Would you both come help me in the kitchen, please?”
“Is there anything I can help with, Mrs. Weasley?” Draco offered, Scorpius in his lap as he facilitated playtime with Albus.
“My word, aren’t you sweet,” Molly said with a pleased motherly smile. “But the girls got it, they know where everything is.”
“Coming mum,” Ginny passed Albus off to Harry who was in the middle of a conversation with George and Charlie. Hermione trailed behind, giving a wide-eyed Draco a commiserative smile as both men were forced to interact to keep the children entertained.
Molly was a kitchen witch through and through but there were a few things even she swore just tasted better when done without the aid of magic. “Ginny, please keep an eye on what's on the stove while I go out to the coop to grab the eggs. Hermione, love, would you start on the orange juice? We have more oranges in the cellar if you run out.”
“Of course, Molly,” Hermione said, going to the cutting board and the mound of oranges waiting for her. She’d felt the silencing wards the second she stepped into the kitchen and knew what was coming.
The door shut firmly behind Molly leaving the two women alone.
Ginny wasted no time at getting on with it, a true Gryffindor through and through. “I told mum we got into it a bit during the dress fitting last week. She wants us to talk it out, especially with what came out in the Prophet this morning.” Ginny turned to look at her with a tight smile. “The irony isn't lost on me that we get in a fight over my comment for you getting pregnant, and then you get ‘outed’ in the papers because you were protecting me.”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Hermione said.
“I know that. You would have my back through anything, just as much as I’d have yours. Because of that, I also know when you’re scared and lashing out. So,” she said, turning back to focusing on stirring the bubble and squeak frying on the stove with a wooden spoon so as not to let it burn, “let's talk about why my comment about you and Draco having kids the other day sent you round the bend.”
Grabbing the first orange, Hermione took up the knife and cut it cleanly in half. “Draco and I had just had sex for the first time a few days before I saw you.”
“Oh?” Ginny prompted, keeping her back to Hermione as she checked the temps on everything.
“I was angry because it felt like you were pushing me to take the next step right when I thought I had just gotten you off my back for the whole dating thing.” Hermione staked half the orange on the juicing spike and twisted. “And just before you started in on me, Lav had questions about what it was like dating someone with a child. How she’d feel like a 'replacement' if she was in the same situation, and 'wasn’t I concerned that Scorpius would see me as his mother'?” she mimicked in Lavender's higher, girlish tone.
Ginny winced. “Well, fuck me. I really made a mess of that one. I’m sorry.”
“I get it, you were excited after just sharing your news. And I’m sorry too, for going off on you like that. You didn’t deserve me to take all my frustrations out on you. Beisdes, you were right; any kid with Draco’s genetics would be fucking adorable.” The second half of the orange followed the same fate as the first. “They’re just not going to be mine.”
“And Draco knows this?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, cutting the next orange. As much as Ginny was down for a fun shag, and had sowed her wild oats when she and Harry had gone on their break, she had always dated Harry with the intention of settling down. In her mind that was the ultimate goal, family and children, and it never seemed to cross her mind that that wasn’t the same for everyone. “He’s got Scorpius to worry about and that is his top priority. We’re still muddling through everything else.”
“He came to the family brunch, so things must be going well, right?” Ginny fished.
Hermione rolled her eyes knowing her friend couldn't see her. “Don’t read too much into it. We made a deal of sorts and he’s just paying his side of it.”
“And what was your side?”
“Tea.” Another citrus was piked. “With his mother.”
There was a beat of stunned silence from Ginny. “How did that go?”
“Fine,” Hermione sighed, stacking the juiced rines in a bowl for later. Molly liked making candied peels out of them for the children.
“Just fine?” Ginny pressed, spelling the plates from the cabinets to line themselves down the table.
“Well,” Hermione hedged, feeling nervous and somewhat a braggart as she said, “Narcissa may have alluded to the fact that little Draco had a crush on me in school.”
“Oh, that’s freaking adorable!” Ginny cackled. “All the staring he did makes a whole lot more sense now.”
“He stared at me in school?” Hermione was shocked into asking.
"To be fair, I thought it was at Harry. And it probably would be considered more of a sneer, but sometimes, if you caught him when no one else was paying attention, it was staring. I thought for the longest time he might have been gay or bi and hiding it.”
Hermione stared off in space, thinking back. “I didn’t notice.”
“Well, he was still a ponce but it is kinda cute now that you’re dating. After all this time, he’s finally caught the girl.” She turned back to the stove, giving the beans another thorough mix. “Speaking of catching the girl, when are we having you guys over for dinner?”
Hermione winced at the heavy handed reminder. She’d ment to reschedule after they had to bow out last time because of the work issue. Then there was the ball, and the fire and moving into together, and getting settled, and then getting settled, and in complete honesty, she’d plum forgot. “Oops,” she offered, chagrin.
Ginny smiled knowingly. “How about Wednesday? Were having my brother and Lav over so Lav and I can go over last minute wedding details before we run out of time to put in an order for flowers.”
“This just all seems so fast. Moving into his place, bring him to family brunch. This is fast, right? Too fast?”
Ginny set down the large cast iron having transferred the steaming foodstuffs into three large bowls that she then magicked to set themselves equidistant down the table. “I can’t answer that for you, babe. If you feel like it’s too fast, choke up on the broom, but if you’re having fun, just enjoy the ride.”
“Brooms are dangerous,” Hermione couldn’t keep from pointing out. “They account for sixteen percent of all St. Mungo’s visits each year. One in three riders will have a serious accident in their life and there is a one in fifteen chance that you will die or be permanently disfigured even with magic.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you come with me to Poppy’s when I broke my wrist in third year,” Ginny grumbled under her breath. “But stop deflecting. Why does it feel like you’re trying to talk yourself out of a relationship with him? Is he not treating you right? Because there are a half dozen men in the other room that would whoop his arse, and nearly as many women. You say the word and he’s not walking out of here.”
“It’s not him, Ginny. Draco is actually really, really great. It’s me. I-” signed a contract “-’m difficult.”
Ginny nearly bent in half, using the stove to brace herself as she laughed hard enough she had to hold her sides. “Oh, Honey, I’ve known this since before my first year. The letters Ron would send home about you. ‘I'm going to bed before either one of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed,” she mocked, nose up in the air as she gasped for breath between giggles, “or worse expelled!’”
“Merlin, when are you going to let me live that down?” Hermione felt a blush burn her checks, as she busied herself getting cups and silverware to their places.
“Never. We love you for it. Now, spill. How is Mr. Ferret-Face himself ‘really, really great’? Is it the sex? It has to be the sex, right?”
“It’s not just the sex.” Hermione threw an orange peel at Ginny’s head, when she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “It’s also -- I don’t know, Gin, we talk. Like, really talk. About everything. He talked me down from the ledge after I came home fuming from the fitting. He didn’t blow me off for being emotional or worrying over nothing, he heard my fears and gave me sound advice. He makes me dinner most nights. And I like spending time with him, he’s … comforting.” Sitting in the warm feeling thinking of Draco and Scorp brought her, she glanced up to see Gin with an ‘I told you so’ grin on her smug face.
“So that does sound really great,” Ginny said. “So what is the problem?”
“It’s been six weeks and I’m already living with him! Ron and I were together for eight months before I even considered that and it took another five before I agreed, and we'd been friends for years at that point!”
Gin shrugged. “Harry and I moved in together right after my graduation.”
She gave her friend a sour look for purposefully being obtuse. “That’s typically what happens with married couples. I still can’t believe you eloped while you were still at Hogwarts.”
“Well, when you know, you know.” Her lips curled in a cat-in-the-cream grin as she crossed her arms and posted up against the counter. “And sometimes, even when you don't want to know and are try to find another answer, you know.” She gave a pointed look that had Hermione looking away. “So, dinner Wednesday?”
Knowing she had just been handled by a pro, Hermione sighed. “Wednesday sounds great. What should we bring?”
Meal time with the Weasleys was an experience. An extra high chair was configured from an ottoman so that Scorpius and Potter’s youngest could keep themselves entertained as the adults wrangled older children into seats around the large dining table. There was a constant chatter as they passed down food or stole it from neighbouring plates, minor altercations as grown siblings reverted to child antics at their parents table that were quickly brushed aside when the actual children acted up. Teasing and ribbing and laughter abound along with a wellspring of love that never seemed to run dry.
It was truly amazing to see such a great big family all converging together and he realised he wanted that for Scorpius. To grow up with brothers and sisters that all laughed and played together. To not be alone as Draco had been as a child.
He caught Hermione fumble a scone being tossed her way out of the corner of his eye and reached out to catch it. Offering it to her, she shot him a thankful smile before scolding the Weasley that threw it. Warmth and gratefulness infused him and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and snog her senseless for sharing her family with him.
“Oi, is that look how you ended up pregnant, Hermione?” One of the Weasleys, Draco was pretty confident it was a twin that had been above them in school, chimed in, though they all looked remarkable similar, cut through the din of the table.
“George Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley screeched in a frazzled censor.
“What?” George gave an innocent look that was completely ruined when he caught Draco’s eye and shot him a mocking wink with a smile that said he was up to no good.
“You know exactly what, mister,” Mrs. Weasley scolded her son harshly. “If Hermione has something to tell us, she can do it in her own time.”
“But, mom, it was in the Prophet, everyone already knows,” George winged, his eyes on Hermione just waiting for her reaction.
“The Prophet,” Hermione snarled, spearing the meddling Weasley with a lethal glare that promised retribution “is a two-bit pile of rubbish and lies. That picture was taken at Lavender's dress fitting and the quote is because I ordered a sparkling cider and they blew it out of proportion. There are a medley of reasons someone might not wish to drink and it’s no ones business but that individual and whoever they decide to share it with!”
“So you’re not pregnant?” Brown asked with a hesitance that denoted real worry.
“No, Lavender,” Hermione sighed, “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh, good,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Because I love the dress you ended up going with and I would have hated for it to have gone to waste.”
“How are plans for the wedding going, Lav?” Ginevra interceded, drawing most of the women’s attention to the topic and diverting the attention of the significant others at the table. He saw Hermione mouth ‘thank you’ that Ginevra accepted with an amused grin.
After the food was eaten, several individuals tried to drum up interest in a pickup game of Quidditch. Based on the surrounding conversation, this seemed to be a common occurrence. Draco was shocked to find himself being invited to join.
“With you here we can let Percy sit out,” Potter said, jerking his thumb in the direction of one of the red haired males.
“You would have my eternal gratitude,” Percy deadpanned as a young girl, Draco was unclear if it was his daughter or a niece, tugging him down to place a plastic muggle tiara with a gaudy fake gem on his head. Sufficiently accessorised, the little girl proceeded to take him by the fingers and drag him to where a small group of other similar aged children were setting up a tea party.
“I would,” Draco said, surprised that he meant it, “but it’s almost time for Scorpius’s morning nap, so we will have to be leaving soon.”
“Oh, stay a while,” Mrs. Weasly, she’d told him to call her Molly, insisted. “We have plenty of beds he can use.”
“Do you want to lay him down with Al?” Ginevra offered. “It’s his nap time, too. Then we can break into teams for the scrummage.”
Draco caught eyes with Hermione, checking with her. Receiving her smile of encouragement, he followed Ginevra up stairs that squeeked to a door down a warped hallway.
“This used to be my room,” she informed, waltzing into a small space that had quidditch memorabilia in every cramped corner. “Mom’s kept all out rooms the same, just encase we stop by."
“How’s Scorpoius at nap times?” she asked conversationally, laying her infant on the small single tucked under the eaves. Kneeling down she pulled a basket from under the bed that held diapers and wipes, offering him one. Draco declined with thanks, having brought up his own compact nappy bag.
“Fairly good,” Draco said, laying out a pad on the floor with a blanket over the top so he could also get Scorpius ready for his nap, “though I’m starting to notice he’s not down as long, maybe only an hour on average when he used to do an hour and a half easily. His afternoon naps haven’t seemed to suffer any.”
“Lucky. Alby here is really good for his naps but James was an absolute nightmare,” she said as he changed her son into a new diaper and buttoned him back into his onesie, trading off the trousers he’d been wearing for a pair of sleep pants. “When he was younger, he’d get so cranky and tired he would do these terrifying micro naps where he’d just conk over no matter what he was doing and be out for ten or fifteen minutes then be up and raring to go before doing it again twenty minutes later. It finally petered out around ten months and we’d manage a two hour nap in the afternoon with a few micros in the morning but let me tell you, I could get nothing done until he transitioned to only afternoon naps.”
Both parents laid their sons on the bed, erecting barriers to keep them from rolling off. As Draco went about casting a temporary version of the monitoring charm, she asked him to show her how to do it too.
Albus drifted off easily. Scorpius, unsure of the new environment, was fussier then usual so Draco spent several extra minutes rubbing his son’s back and whispering a bedtime story until he finally closed his eyes.
“You’re really good with him,” Ginevra observed quietly from the doorway as he tiptoed away from the cot Scorp slept on side-by-side with the Potter boy.
Draco drew himself up. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s my son.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t go all lord of the manor on me when I’m offering you a compliment. I’m just trying to tell you I’ve noticed the change in you, you're not the same little snot from school. If you need help with a letter of character for your custody hearing, we’ve talked, and Harry and I are willing to write one for you.”
It was an offer that was too good to be true. A letter from the Hero of the Wizarding world himself would make anyone sit up and pay attention.
“This is outside of what you have going on with Hermione. But also, if you hurt her, I know the perfect was to make you disappear and not get caught.”
“Aren’t you the wife of an auror?" Draco drawled reproachfully.
Her return grin was just as terrifying as Hermione’s was when she was about to go in for the kill. “Who do you think would be helping me? Now come on, let's see if you can finally beat Harry to the snitch.”
In the field behind the house was a quarter-sized pitch set up with wooden goals that were less than half regulation height. Just shy of a dozen witches and wizards milled around in their street clothes with brooms tucked under arms.
“How are we making teams?” Angelina Jonson asked. Draco remembered playing against her when she was the Gryffindor team captain his fifth year.
“I call Draco,” Ginevra shouted.
“Guess I get Harry,” the Weasley brother with the large scars down his cheek said. Draco thought he remembered people calling him Bill. Potter rolled his eyes but went to stand next to the man.
Wordlessly the stunning part-velee came to stand with the Weselette and him.
“Family rule,” Ginevra explained. “Spouses can’t be on the same team.”
“Angelina,” Bill said.
“Well fuck you too, Brother,” George snarled good-naturedly, trudging to the opposite side from his apparent spouse. He nodded regally to Ginevra, “Sister.”
“Menace,” she returned.
“Rude,” he quipped, turning up his nose.
Ginevra rolled her eyes. “Charlie.”
“Oi, how come I’m always the last one picked?” Ronald grumbled.
“You’re not the last one picked, Ron, Percy is.” Ginevra turned a sheepish look the the other woman trailing behind her youngest brother to the other team. “No offence, Audrey.”
“None taken,” Audrey sighed, waving her off. “Percival is not the most … athletically inclined.”
“Yeah, Ron,” George butted in, mounting his broom. “You’re not picked last because we don’t like you. You’re last by default because we always pick Addy before you, and Percy can’t be on the same team as her.”
“George, stop psyching out your brother when he’s on my team,” Angelina scolded.
George gaped at her innocently. “Is that what I’m doing? How about to make up for it, I catch the snitch for you?”
“How about I catch the snitch and ram it up your arse?” she countered pleasantly.
“Honey, save it for the bedroom, there are innocents around.”
Ignoring the odd form of … flirting? happening around them, Draco turned to the default team captain. “I thought you said I was going to be Seeker?”
“Another house rule: can’t play the position you did in any official capacity. Also, because teams are so small, we’re all Seekers but the snitch is only worth twenty points. Game doesn’t end until we reach two hundred or mom kicks us out.”
“Alright, so what position do you want me?” Draco asked, mounting the borrowed broom and testing its responsiveness. It was old and Draco knew he shouldn’t expect it to do more than keep him in the air.
“Well I was hoping that Charlie would be Beater,” she looked at her brother with a inquiring brow. The large man, a Dragon tamer from Romania if Draco recalled correctly, grunted noncommittally but nonetheless went over to where the Beater bats were resting against the centre most goal post, passing Ronald on the way. “Great, so because I can’t be Chaser, I’ll leave that to you three and be Keeper instead.”
The game was ruthless. Halfway through Draco was greatly rethinking his opinions on having a sibling. The trash-talk being swapped was hair raising. Even the spouses seemed to get into it though nothing held a candle to the Weasleys themselves. He couldn’t believe the mouth Ginevra had on her, but that didn’t mean the brothers pulled any punches.
He’d worked up quite the sweat when he’d just happened to glance down and spy Hermione at the edge of the pitch. She was holding Scorpius and pointing him out in the sky. Watching as his son saw him, he waved down to them.
“Malfoy, look out!” someone, it sounded like Potter, roared from behind him and to the left. Draco only had enough time to watch Hermione’s easy smile drop in terror before a solid weight slammed him full on the back. The older broom, with none of the safety features the newer ones had as standard, lost its connection with him as he fought to breathe, his diaphragm seizing from the trauma as he tipped forward, slipping from the magicked wood and going into free fall.
His first thought was, what's going to happen to Scorpius? followed quickly by, Hermione’s got him, he’ll be fine.
He was still so focused on trying to get his breath back when he hit the dirt that it didn’t occur to him to realise his landing should have hurt more.
The rest of his teammates quickly landed flocking to him like a murder of crows, their panicked voices turning to white noise as his lungs continued to refuse to draw in air. But Hermione’s voice cut through the din. “No, don’t try to move him!”
Her face appeared above him. Scorp was clutched to her chest, his little face bright red as he bellowed his fury in the only way he knew how. Draco tried to reach out to sooth him but nothing seemed to want to work.
“Here, take Scorpius,” Hermione demanded, passing off the crying baby into the first pair of arms in reach, who just happened to belong to a shocked George Weasley. Both hands free her wand danced over him, a diagnostic charm spilling from her lips. Then she did something else and suddenly he could breathe. Sucking in a gulp of air too quickly he started coughing, clutching panicky at her arms as his body spasmed anew.
“You’re okay. I got you,” she soothed, holding his hand tightly and staring down in his eyes. “Just breathe, slowly. Small breaths. Give your lungs a chance to catch up.”
Following her lead he matched his breath to hers until it felt like he wasn’t on the verge of passing out.
“Scorpius?” he croaked as soon as he was able to.
“He’s fine. He’s right here.” She half turned away, he could tell she was drying tears against her shoulder, reaching up to accept the baby the George passed back to her. “See, little star. Daddy's alright. We’re sorry we scared you.”
Seeing his father Scorpius wanted nothing more to do with Hermione, flinging himself with a wail into his father's arms causing Draco to grunt at the sudden weight. “He’s fine,” Draco soothed as Hermione frantically reached for the boy. “I need this just as much as he does.”
She nodded tightly, subtly trying to wipe away her tears before they had a chance to fall.
“Hey,” he caught her hand as she sniffled, “I’m sorry I scared you.”
She bowed her head, shoulders jumping as she swallowed silent sobs.
“We should probably try sitting you up,” Ginevra said, looking as if she hated to break up the touching scene. “Do you think you need Mungo’s?”
“No, I’m fine. Just knocked the wind out of me,” Draco said, accepting Potter's hand and grunting as they got him up-right, one arm bracing Scorpius. He winced at the pain radiating from his back. “What happened?”
“Bludger,” Potter growled. Taken aback, Draco looked up to see him glaring at his friend who was standing at the tail-end of the ring of on-lookers.
“It’s not my fault he wasn’t paying better attention,” Ronald glowered, arms folder. “We were in the middle of a game!”
Draco felt his own anger bubble to the surface but Hermione’s crashed over first.
“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione turned on the man with ferocity that had a few of the others that were standing close flinching back. “You could have really hurt someone and all you can say is it was Draco’s fault? What is wrong with you? I don’t want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology! A real apology too, not one of those stupid Jaffa cakes apologies you send in the post so you don’t have to acknowledge you did something wrong!”
Ronald looked shocked. “But, Mione--”
“I said, SHUT UP!” Hermione boomed, hair crackling, and suddenly the youngest Weasley son could not longer open his mouth, tugging frantically at his lips and jaw to no avail. Turning away she knelt back down beside Draco. “I really think we should go to Mungo’s.”
“Why, doubting your own diagnostics?” Draco said, gaining his feet with her help and the aid of Potter, Scorpius finally petering off to whimpers now that he was in his father’s arms. He was teasing but she nodded seriously, worry darkening her eyes as she carefully braced him on his left side.
“I learned that from a book of field medicine. Every chapter ended with the warning that if you could see a real healer, you should.”
He wrapped his free arm around her waist, not wanting to show just how bad his back was hurting. “Would it make you feel better if I did?”
Biting her lip, she nodded.
“Alright,” he said, hand coming up he cradled her jaw, thumb easing her lip from between her teeth to place a kiss to them. “If you think it’s the right call, who am I to say otherwise.”
It was Monday morning and Hermione was sprawled on his bed, completely was dead to the world.
The healer had said he’d been very lucky to not be more seriously injured, before giving him a dose of skele-gro for the ribs he’d cracked and telling him to take it easy for the next few days to give his body time to rest. Hermione had been a wonderful and doting caretaker, waking up several times in the night to check on him when the healer had advised to keep watch for signs of a concussion from whiplash. After the third time of her waking him up to force him to recite the name of one of his relatives and do a simple maths problem, he decided to show her just how virile he was.
Draco couldn’t help but smile as he brushed one of her curls from her cheek as she lay on her stomach, legs askew and taking up more than her fair share of the mattress. One hand was curled up near her face like a child, mouth half open as she snored softly.
She was beautiful.
On impulse he bent down and laid a kiss on her cheek. His heart lightened when she smiled in her sleep.
A coo from the monitoring charms pulled him from his infatuation. As much as he wanted to lounge away the morning with Hermione in his bed, his son beckoned.
Sliding out of the comforter, making sure not to let any cold air creep in, he slipped on a pair of lounge pants and went to collect his son.
“Good morning, luv. How did you sleep?” He asked as he transferred him to the changing table, keeping up a steady stream of conversation as he got him ready for the day.
By the time he was done Hermione was already in the kitchen making coffee. In only his shirt if the amount of exposed thigh was anything to go on.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, getting Scorp secured in his high chair.
She grunted a half-hearted greeting, blinking open tired eyes as she stared at the still percolating machine.
“Can I interest you in breakfast?” he offered, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and press a kiss to her neck.
She cuddled into him, nearly falling asleep in his arms. “‘O-fee,” she mumbled.
“Well I could use magic but it’ll just turn too bitter to drink. You’d be better off waiting the additional two minutes to let it do its thing.”
She moaned forlornly.
“Here,” he steered her to one of the chairs, “why don’t you sit here and I’ll pour you a cup as soon as it’s ready.”
She nodded mutely, slumping down to pillow her head on her folded arms. In seconds she was out like a light.
Scorpius looked at her in worry. “Dah?”
“She’s alright buddy,” Draco reassured, pulling down a skillet and deciding on making a Greek omelette with spinach.
“Princess,” he tempted, wafting the cup in front of her face. Reaching out she caught the cup, pulling it to herself and taking the first loud sip with her head still on the counter. “If you want to go get ready real quick, I’ll have breakfast for you when you get back.” He got a grunt in reply but little else as she continued to drink her coffee with her eyes closed. “Unless you want to call out today?”
“Can’t,” she whined. “Meetings.”
“Here,” he topped off her cup, before guiding her up and out of the kitchen. “Finish this, jump in the shower, and I’ll have another cup waiting with food.”
Fifteen minutes later show Draco plating omelettes as Mimsy helped Scorp with his, and Hermione returned, looking much more human in a blazer and slacks.
“Perfect timing,” he said, setting an omelette and a new cup of coffee before her. Taking the seat beside her as they tucked in, talking about what was on their agenda that day.
“What do you want for dinner tonight?”
“Anything you pick is great,” she said with a content side, plate scraped clean, as she sipped at her third cup of coffee. “But speaking of dinner, we have plans at Harry and Gin’s this week.”
“I’m sick,” he quickly decided.
She continued blithely, taking up her plate and empty cup and ferrying them to the sink. “We’ll be bringing Scorp.”
“He’s sick, too.”
“It’s Wednesday at 5:30.”
“Hermionneee,” he whined.
“Draaacccooo,” she mocked, turning over her shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him.
“I don’t want to have dinner with the chosen one and the Weaslette. Your friends are a pack of goody two-shoe Gryffindors.”
“Hey, you're dating a goody two-shoe Gryffindor.”
“I know,” he huffed a put upon sigh, “and I forgive you for it.”
“You know what--” whatever scolding he was about to receive was interrupted when an owl tapped insistently at the window that looked out the back lawn. “I thought the owls knew to take mail to your study?”
“They do,” Draco said, dread pooling in his belly. “This must be something that requires an immediate reply.” Pulling his wand he altered the wards just enough to allow the bird to pass through then went to the window to open it. The second Draco’s hand touched the missive, there was a white flash, and the bird was flying away again.
“So, I won’t be able to make Wednesday,” he said staring down at the paper in his hands, emotions on the verge of spiraling out of control.
“Why,” Hermione asked, trying to keep some of the earlier levity but knowing something had just gone really wrong.
He sighed, passing her the thick parchment that bore the Wizengamot seal. “I’ve just been subpoenaed.”
Notes:
Sooo you guys, this chapter has kick my ass and then ended up my second longest chapter to date. I'm not total happy with it but it needed to happen for my to move onto the next things. Still no eta on when this will be finished but I still have about another 10k of snipits and scenes to string together. I'm guesstimating another 4-ish chapters.
Again, please please please check out Trillby's work. She nailed my inflections and there is something so special about being able to *hear* the words you've writen come to life that is just amazing.
podfic by TrillbySkinnerfic rech for this chapter is: Petals by CaityBell -- fae/fairy au. WIP but whats there is really good. do mind the tags for the harsher side of fae.
Chapter 19: Can't You Tell, This Is All Just a Contest
Notes:
So … I’m going to leave a little disclaimer here. This chapter deals with a child custody case and touches on mental health issues and alludes to potential child endangerment. I have limited knowledge on the judicial process for my own county, let alone England or fantasy-wizard England so please take this as nothing more the a desperate author cobblering a plot together.
Than you DoctorYouPromisedMe (doctoryoupromisedme), miyuuri, isisviana, BlackAngelDahlia, Samcartersg1, DarthCupcake, sabmcd94, tealruby, Samanthalouise854, BluePoohSirius, Chiefrunawayarbiter, G1223 who commented ❤
Secret_Bookshelf for their comment on 'Lucky Number 13'
miyuuri, Yeetyi, and Readingtwinmom on Broken Little Pieces,
and Mary1234 on 'The Muggle-born's Pureblood Bodyguard', my other Dramione fics❤Huge thanks again to TrillbySkinner for being the PocFic narrator
❤And another wopping thank you to Michelicious11 who very kindly left me some editing tips along with some wonderful comments. They were much appreciated!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday, November 6th
“All rise for the Honourable Judge Dwerif Hopkins,” the bailiff cried, bringing everyone in the courtroom to their feet.
Draco was a solid presence beside her as he stared resolutely ahead. He had his hand carefully folded before him, his signet ring on prominent display along with the Black family crest winking from a pin at the centre of his tie; a strong nod to his powerful heritage tempered by the muggle suit (from some ridiculously expensive luxury brand of course) that he wore.
The judge, a greying and balding wizard in his late fifties, stepped through a hidden door, his two sizes too large black wizarding robes flowing around him as he took his seat behind the tall wooden pulpit. Seemingly more preoccupied with the inches of documents before him, he waved everyone else down with a negligent sweep of his hand.
Astoria’s lawyer, a clean cut man in finely tailored robes and manicured hair, remained standing. With his film-star smile and cold eyes Hermione had an immediate distrust of the man on top of disliking him on principle. “Your honour?”
Hopkins glanced at the man over the rim of his glasses. “Yes, Mr. Barrclay?”
“Before we get too far into things, we request that the court removed and bar Ms. Granger from these proceedings. This is a personal family matter that Ms. Granger has no part of,” the lawyer said with all the charm of a well-trained thespian. “We ask the court to protect my clients rights to privacy.”
Hermione had known this was going to be an omnishamble the second they’d stepped in the room. Once Astoria had seen she had come with Draco her face had gone white with fury as she turned to hiss something in her attorney’s ear.
“Your Honor,” Kelisa Montgomery, Draco’s no-nonsense lawyer, intreated, gaining her feet. She too wore a muggle power suit, in a deep navy blue with a nod to wizarding fashion being long, conductor-like, coat tails “It would be a detriment to the outcome of this case if Ms. Granger were to be ejected from the proceedings. Ms. Granger may be acting in the capacity of a character witness for my client but she has made it clear to me, and in the written statement provided to the court, that her main concern is for the welfare of the child in question.”
“There is no reason for a character witness to be present at this initial hearing,” Barrclay snipped.
“Just as there is no grounds to exclude her,” Judge Hopkins said neutrally. “Overruled, Mr. Barrclay. Now, without further waste of this court's time, to business. We are here to start the proceedings for an amicable,” the judges eyed both parents over the edge of his glasses in warning before returning to the parchment he was reading from, “custody agreement for one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, Heir apparent of the Malfoy Family and heir presumptive for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Has either party attempted mediation outside the courts?”
“Yes, your honour,” Kelisa said. “Mr. Malfoy has offered the mother an hour supervised visitation a week with the option for gradual increases, including overnights, on the condition she consents to a 30-day psychiatric program, then continues on with a minimum of two therapy sessions a month, and makes a concentrated effort to keep up with any and all treatment plans prescribed.”
“And?” Hopkins prompted.
“The Greengrass' disinclined to cooperate,” Kelisa reported neutrally. At his nod, she retook her seat as he turned his gaze on Astoria.
“And why haven’t you agreed to any of the conditions that Mr. Malfoy has laid out, Mrs. M-- excuse me, Miss Greengrass?”
Astoria’s lawyer subtly motioned for her to stand. As petite and fragile as a little bird she did so, her outfit in a soft blue that added a lustre to her dark hair and made her sapphire eyes prominent even from a distance. “Because there is nothing wrong with me and I will not allow it to be insinuated that there is by people he’s paid off to say I have a problem when there is none.”
“I see. It also says here that you are requesting that the court disregard the Laws of Legacy for this case.” He dropped the stack of parchment he’d been holding, sitting forward to rest his interlocked fingers on top of them. “Please explain why you feel that it is an appropriate ask to make that a law, that has been on the books for the last seven hundred years, be disregarded on your whim?”
“I and my legal counsel feel that the use of those legacy laws would only force my son to remain in a deleterious environment that is not in his best interest.”
“'Deleterious’ in what way, Ms. Greengrass?” Judge Hopkins asked placidly, his attention wholly focused on the woman speaking.
“I and my family do not believe that my ex-husband is a suitable guardian for an impressionable young child, especially during these stages of development where a mothers touch is more necessary. Everyone knows that my ex-husband is a known and marked death eater--”
“Objection,” Kelisa pushed to her feet with the firm denouncement. “My client was absolved of those charges and actually lauded for the steps he took in bringing about the end of the war.”
“Sustained,” the judge said easily, eyes never once looking away from Astoria to the point it made even Hermione shift in her seat. She had no idea how the young woman kept her perfect poise. “Is there anything else, Ms. Greengrass?”
“My ex has already moved his mistress into the same house he shares with my son. I fear what that immoral lifestyle will have on my son’s development with him being presented with it at such a young age.”
“Divorced people are allowed to date,” the judge rebuked. “You can’t demand he abstain from companionship.”
“The timelines of this so-called ‘dating’ are very suspicious,” she said mulishly.
Judge Hopkins raised a grey brow. “And you have proof to substantiate your claims of adultery?”
Astoria opened her mouth but her lawyer quickly interjected, “Not at this time, your honour. Ms. Greengrass is just a mother concerned about an individual that she does not know having unfettered access to her only child.”
“I see. And you, Mr. Barrclay, are there any arguments you and your client have come up with that does not stink of jealousy or petty slander?”
“Mr. Malfoy works a stressful, high-powered job that necessitates frequent travel. It would be in the best interest of the child if he were in a stable environment with a parent that was able to be present.” Barrclay waved a presenting hand, half turning to indicate Astoria. “My client is fully prepared to be a stay at home mother and fully invested in her son’s development so he can take his place as a paremont citizen of our society.”
“And how will you sustain yourself, Ms. Greengrass?”
“I am independently wealthy, sir, and can more than see to my and my son’s needs.”
Papers shuffled. “I see here from your divorce settlement that you are currently receiving twelve-hundred galleon a month in alimony. Do you have any documents showing what you would be requesting for child support from Mr. Malfoy if you were to gain the sole custody you are aiming for?
Both Astoria and her lawyer hesitated, and it was noted by everyone in the room. “We have some preliminary figures drawn up but we’ll want to look at them more closely once things become finalised.”
“I’d like to see them,” the judge demanded amicably.
“Oh, but-- um.” Barrclay winced. “Right.” Digging in his dragon-leather satchel he pulled free several sheets that the judge called forth to him with a wave of his hand.
“‘All medical and school fees to be paid for by the father.’” The judge read aloud. “Along with twenty-three hundred galleons a month and the use of all Malfoy or Black properties. Ms. Greengrass, when was the last time you’ve seen your son?”
“It’s been nearly nine months, your honour.” Her eyes filled with tears, somehow making the blue even bluer. “He’s keeping my son from me, keeping a little boy away from his mother. A child belongs with their mother, not someone play-acting at reform. Please, your honour, please, help me save my son from this awful, awful abusive man. I’m so scared for my little boy.” She clapped a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
Seemingly unmove by the impassioned plea, Judge Hopkins turned to Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, when was the last time you saw your son?”
“This morning, just shy of eleven-thirty. We had lunch together after his morning nap.”
“Do you have lunch with him often?”
“Most days. Up until a few months ago I was working primarily from home so I could be there for the majority of his needs. I’ve been required in the office more frequently as of late but structure my schedule where I’m two days in three days out unless something needs my immediate attention.”
“Who watches him when you are otherwise occupied?”
“I have a live-in house elf, Mimsy, who minds Scorpius when I need her to. On the off days she has other engagements, my mother steps in. We’ve been lucky enough not to need much more than that, but I do plan on hiring a full-time nanny once my paternity accommodations come to an end in February.”
The judge hummed in acknowledgement, making notes on a sheaf of parchment before him. “And why do you feel it appropriate to require Ms. Greengrass to seek counselling before she be allowed to see her son?”
“I wish her to seek help not only so she can be her best for our son, but for herself as well. She was very apathetic for the majority of her pregnancy, sinking into deep depressive episodes interspersed with bouts of mania and explosive outbursts that only seemed to worsen when Scorpius was born. It made me concerned and was the deciding factor for why I filed for divorce.”
“Is there anything specific that makes you not want to have her around her son?”
Draco swallowed thickly. “There was an … incident when Scorpius was about two weeks old.” Sitting beside him, Hermione saw his hand claw into the material of his thigh, though very little of the anger transitioned into his voice or face. “I was in the kitchen making him a bottle while Astoria was in the den. I was in there for maybe five minutes when I heard a thud and a cry.” Here his voice cracked and Hermione found herself subtly reaching out to wrap a hand around his wrist, thumb tracing soothingly over his pulse. “I flew back to the room only to see my son face down on the floor screaming his head off and she's just sitting there staring at him. He was two weeks old and she was just staring at him.” Impotent tears filled his eyes as he stared at the judge, the disbelief that someone could do that to a helpless baby let alone their child clear in his eyes. “The story she told the healers was that he fell, with tears in her eyes and everything, but I couldn't trust her around him after that. That Monday I filed for divorce.”
“He did fall!” Astoria said hotly shoving to her feet, shaking off her lawyer who tried to pull her back down to her seat. “He did fall! You think I pushed him? You think me that much of a heartless cow?! After everything we did for your family you would shame me like that!”
A gavel cracked like thunder, shaking the courtroom and shocking everyone to silence. All eyes reverted back to the judge who just sat there calmly. “I will have order in my court,” he said in a calm tone that nonetheless came across as a scolding. “Mr. Malfoy, did you see Ms. Greengrass push her son?”
His jaw flexed as if he wanted to object but he swallowed it. “No your honour, I did not actually see her put hands on Scorpius.”
“Could he have fallen like she is stating?”
“Then why was she just staring at him?!” Draco barked, incensed.
“I’m not saying you didn’t see what you saw, Mr. Malfoy, I’m saying it might have been an accident and Ms. Greengrass was in a state of shock. I would, however, like you to submit your memories of the event into evidence. They would be collected by a healer trained in the delicacies of the mind and then reviewed for any alterations by a trained auror. Do you have any objections to that?”
Draco's jaw was tight. “No, your honour.”
“Ms. Greengrass, do you have suitable accommodations for an infant?” the judge said scratching a note on the parchment, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. Reflexively she reached out to catch and squeeze Draco’s hand, who clutched her back even tighter though his face remained completely neutral and staring straight ahead.
“No,” Astoria said with breathless excitement, her eyes cutting smugly towards Draco. Hermione fought the sudden urge to launch herself at her with her hands clawed. “But they can be made within the hour.”
“Good. Then I trust it will also prove no issue to schedule an initial Mind Healer session before the end of the week?”
Astoria’s jaw dropped. “But-- but…”
Hopkins steamed rolled over her, reading from his page. “As Mr. Malfoy has been the primary care provider for the last ten months, and with the precedent established by Britain's Legacy Laws, he will continue to remain so with some modifications. Once a week, for the minimum of one hour, Ms. Greengrass will have access to her son in a neutral environment, with supervision. The goal is, based on the healer's initial assessment and any ongoing treatment plan recommended, to increase frequency and duration of time spent until she is reintegrated into her sons life to form a strong family unit.”
“You can’t do that! I don’t need to see a mind healer, I want my son!” Astoria raged. “He has no right to keep him from me, I am his mother!”
“In all actuality, he does, Ms. Greengrass, by both law and action. You could have ended this months ago and agreed to his frankly generous terms. To be transparent, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t give two figs about your animosity towards each other. What I do care about is if that animosity spills over in your interactions with your son. You’re both parents now, it’s time to grow up and start acting like it.”
“Now,” he said, dipping his quill to write, “I am setting an update hearing for December 15th for us to reevaluate the next steps of what this co-parenting arrangement will look like. I strongly encourage you both to follow your parts of the stipulation, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your honour,” they all coursed in a disjointed echo.
“Draco?” Narcissa called as they stepped through the floo, a note of worry in her voice. Draco had asked his mother to come over to watch Scorpus as Minsy took an evening class Wednesday nights and they were not sure if they’d be back before she needed to leave. When Mimsy had offered to skip class that night to be able to stay, Draco would not hear of it.
The click of heels grew closer until Narcissa met them in the hall, Scorpius perched on her hip. “How did it go?”
Seeing them, Scorp let out a glad chirp, reaching out for his father. Draco scooped him up, cuddling him close, laying a kiss to his temple and breathing in his baby scent.
“In our favour, all things considered,” he said, filling his mother in on what had happened.
“At least he’s standing by the legacy laws, so you retaining guardianship should not be an issue,” Narcissa said. They had all migrated to the kitchen, tea cups in front of them as they discussed.
“For now,” Draco said somberly, arms protectively curled around Scorpius who sat in his lap fiddling with the pin on his tie.
“Do you want me to stay?” Narcissa asked, rubbing a light hand over her sons back in a deeply maternal gesture.
Draco patted twice on her hand as it rested on her shoulders. “No, I’ll be fine,” he said with a smile Hermione could tell was strained. “Go tell father the good news before you burst.”
She laid a kiss on Draco’s check which he accepted with good grace. “Good night, my dragon. I’m proud of you.” She leaned down farther to press another kiss to Scorpou’s head. “My precious one.” With a fond smile, she snapped a silver rattle into existence, handing it over to her excited grandchild. Straightening, she shared a warm look with Hermione. “Good night, Miss Granger. Thank you for your hard work.”
“No need to be so formal Nacissa, I’ll walk you out.”
“Is he alright?” Nacissa mouthed once they were out of sight in the floo room.
“Honestly?” Hermione sighed, folding her arms around her middle. “No. But he will be. He gets to keep Scorpius here with him, which has been his biggest concern, so that's a load off. But he’s not keen on having to interact with Astoria.”
Narcissa laid a hand on her wrist, giving it a bolstering squeeze. “You’ll owl if you need anything, right? Either of you?”
“Of course,” Hermione uncupped her elbows to take the other witch’s hand and grip back. “And thank you for watching Scorpius for us.”
“You don’t need to thank me for watching my grandson,” Narcissa tutted good naturedly, folding Hermione into a hug before departing.
With a long sigh, physically willing her muscles to unclench, Hermione made her way back to her boys. “What do you want to do for dinner?” Hermione asked, falling heavily on the couch cushions next to where Draco sprawled, Scorp contently lazing on his broad chest. Narcissa had said he’d only taken a thirty minute nap that afternoon, no doubt being fussy from picking up on everyone’s tension.
“I don’t know. I don’t even want to think, I’m just drained.”
“We can order in,” Hermione offered, tucking herself against the couch arm, shaking her hair out of the way as she rested her check on her knuckles, “I can pop over to muggle London to pick up--” Draco sat up, face keen, eyes far away as he tapped into whatever had tripped his sixth sense.
Hermione found herself also instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes tracked towards the front of the house, silver darkening to pewter as he gently picked Scorpius up and passed him to Hermione. “Someone has tried to get through the wards.”
Hermione was instantly on her feet, Scorp secured on her hip and wand drawn, Draco standing guard in front of them. They stood poised and ready when somewhere deeper in the house an incessant digital chime sounded.
“What is that?” Hermione demanded. “An alarm ward?”
Draco frowned, confused. “I think it’s my cellular.”
Accio’ing it, Draco fumbled with how to answer it until Hermione took it from him, passing off Scorp in the same move.
Hitting the accept button, a loud male voice filled the small speakers. “You fussy wanker. Why the fuck would you block me from the wards? Arsehat! Do you know what it feels like to be shunted off nine hundred year old wards?”
Hermione blinked, taken aback. “Zabini?”
A shocked beat of silence. “Granger!? Ah, shit! You know I didn’t mean it, right? I would never call you a wanker. Or an arsehat? Fuck, I messed this up. Where’s Drake?”
“Right here.” Shaking her head she passed the cellular back.
“What do you want Blaise?” Draco growled. Hermione could tell at least half of his ire was relief.
“I brought food, knobhead. Let us in.”
“Us?”
“Of course us, you insufferable misanthrope,” Nott’s voice spoke over the top of Zabini’s. “Do you really think we’d leave you alone after your custody hearing? Not on your life. Now open the wards. The chicken tikka masala is getting cold and you know how that ruins the flavour.”
Draco looked to her, raising a brow in question.
She shrugged, at least this way they didn’t have to worry about dinner.
“Fine,” Draco huffed into the receiver, “but come through the front door like civilised people.” He clicked off, shaking his head in escaperation.
Not ten seconds later they could hear the front door pop open. “HONEY, I’M HOME!”
“It’s like they were raised by poltergeists. I know he was taught the same as me not to yell in the house,” Draco grumbled as Zabini stepped through the hall into the den.
“Hey, where’s my nephew?” Zabini demanded, strutting into the den.
For his part, Scorpus grunted excitedly wiggling in his father’s arm.
Behind Zabini Nott followed, trailed silently by a third individual.
“Pansy,” Draco addressed, giving Zabini a pointedly sharp look.
Parkinson stood mincingly in the hall as if not really sure of her welcome, and Draco wasn’t doing her any favours. “I brought wine,” she said, holding up the bottle as if presenting a peace offering, eyes hesitant and beseeching. “And a chocolate tart for dessert.”
“Granger does not like chocolate,” he said, staring her down. At his cold tone the other witch's face fell, heartbroken. Zabini and Nott stood awkwardly to the side trying to go unnoticed as the tension ramped up another notch.
Hermione sighed, knowing it was going to be left to her to smooth all the ruffled feathers of the high maintenance group. Stepping forward she took the wine from the woman. “Ignore him. I like chocolate just fine when it comes as an offering instead of a demand. You’re more than welcome to join us.” Snagging the takeout bags from Nott she took everything to the kitchen.
They all stood around another minute, silent, shifting weight from one foot to the other, none willing the be the first to break the caustic silence at that ment they lost what ever power struggle they were playing at.
“Blaise, make yourself useful, get down the place,” Hermione ordered.
He jumped to attention as if she’d shot a stinging hex to his rear. “Yes, dear.”
“Nott, you’re on cutlery and napkins. Parkinson I trust you can handle cups?” Hermione arched a brow at the stunned group as she popped containers of fragrant tikka masala, basmati rice flecked with coriander, foil wrapped tandoori roti, and kachumber salad. “Hop to it before the food gets cold. Draco, would you please get Scorp set up in his highchair and I’ll make him a plate.”
A few pointers and the group was setting the infrequently used dining table, the kitchen island not set up for then three comfortably with the highchair.
“They won’t stay long,” Draco said for her ears alone as he wiped down Scorpius’s hands with a damp cloth. “Just through the meal then I’ll kick them out.”
“Its fine,” she said, scooping the last of the kachumber salad into a large serving bowl. “They’re here for you. Let them stay.”
“But Pansy--”
She turned, laying a hand on his chest to quiet him. “Your concern is appreciated but not needed. She apologised and we’ve come to an understanding.”
“If anyone says anything that you find the least bit offensive tell me and I’ll escort them out.”
“I’m a big girl, I can handle some Slytherin razzing. You should be more concerned about your friends.” He sighed, shoulders deflating, and she chuckled. “If you really wanted a shrieking violet, you should have picked someone else.” Picking up the salad bowl she made for the dining room, Draco with Scorpius in her wake. Spying the three Slytherins sitting around the table, Hermione internally shook her head in wonder. If it ever got back to Ginny that she had dinner with the snakes before she’d brought Draco over to them, she’d never hear the end of it.
Notes:
So don't have a fanfic rec for ya'll this week but I do have a fun bit of media. Just Stab Me Now: When Your Fantasy Heroine Rebels by Jill Bearup
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eEE_pqix1dQ
This is the complete series of youtube shorts (tropes, tropes, subversion of tropes). She just released a book based off it. Super cool, liked it a lot, can't wait to have time to read the book.❤ Thank you to all who are still reading, commenting, and kudoing ❤
Chapter 20: Whats it With You That Makes Me Act Like This?
Notes:
Well, I'm back, one year late but better late then never!!! For those looking for some escapism, welcome
❤️❤️Thank you a trillion times over to Trillbyskinner!! and Michelicious11, Samcartersg1, DoctorYouPromisedMe (doctoryoupromisedme), MythalGivesYouDreams, Dannie7, G1223, Samanthalouise854, Mushroom_s, sabmcd94, swndman, Beth_TauriChick, maryringed, eeekabee, StarGazer11, DandelionDreaming, tiajanyne, orionsBeltt65, Asha (Guest), gumsmiles, Annie_Ridley, bhosutinax, Zoya1416, WLOFallon, voiceless23, junosflame!
❤️0gokyrh7 (Guest), shewritesall on The Muggle-born's Pureblood Bodyguard
❤️shewritesall, treehouses, AshlilyAmberdew, Samanthalouise854, phiauniverse on Lucky Number 13
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday, November 6th
“So, Granger, what do you do for fun? Besides this guy, of course.” Theo said with a shit eating grin, as they all set about filling their plates.
“Theodore!” Draco barked, causing Scorpius to startle. Pansy took the initiative as she was sitting beside him to smack their long time friend upside the head.
“What?” Theo defended hunkering down in his chair. “It’s not like we’re not all adults here.”
“You’re just jealous you’re the only one here that Draco hasn’t taken to bed,” Blaise smirked, pouring everyone a serving of wine, while Theo pouted.
Draco buried his face in his hands, feeling a furious blush burn all the way up to his hairline. “I told you we should have kicked them out.”
Hermione just laughed beside him, handing Scorpius a bit of bread that he happily shoved directly in his mouth. “Our truly phenomenal sex life aside -- sorry Nott,” she said with fake sincerity as the other man pouted, “Draco has given me free reign on the Manor library and I’m reading through a set of early 1600’s field journals of unicorn migrations from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania to Scotland. Did you know…”
Draco watched as Hermione’s infectious pleasure for knowledge permeated his friends. Before they’d cleared their plates the conversation had evolved to a question and answer for all kinds of magical creatures and their humane use in both fashion and potions. Taking their wine to the den the conversation shifted to other more contemporary topics while Scorp started fading, curling trustingly up in Hermione's arms and passing out against her chest.
When she got up announcing to the group she was going to put Scorp to bed, Blaise cornered him in the kitchen when he was refilling everyone’s drinks. “So when’s the wedding? Do I get to be the best man or do Theo and I have to fight for it?”
“What are you going on about? What wedding?” Draco snapped, fed up with his so-called friend’s antics.
“Your's and Granger's of course. Don’t be daft Draco. I’m assured that you’ve already spoken to her father, but what about finding a ring? Cause if not, I volunteer myself, as is only fitting of best man duties, in helping you find the perfect one to convey your feelings. I’m thinking of an eight or nine carat princess cut. I know you can go bigger but Astoria’s twelve carat was an eyesore.”
“There will be no ring and no wedding. This isn’t anything like that.” Feeling morose, Draco unearthed one of the bottles of pinot noir from the small stock he kept on hand in the kitchen, knowing it was one Hermione was partial to and that it would pair well with the tart Pansy brought.
“So, what, your just going to keep shagging her, letting her spend time with your son and heir, and think you’ll be able to walk away in the end? You, serial monogamist, who's been panting after this witch for years and you want me to believe you’ll be alright with not making her yours?”
“I don’t have a lot of options right now,” Draco hissed with a snarl, uncorking the wine to let it breathe. “I have the press breathing down my neck, Greengrass is out for blood, and I’m one wrong move from losing the most important thing in the world to me. I need her. I can’t risk spooking her.”
“And you’re sure she’ll spook?”
“My life is in shambles,” Draco sighed forlorn. “And with our less than stellar history, any sane person would be fleeing to the hills.”
“She’s a Gryffindor,” Pansy sneered, sashaying into the conversation. “They don’t have sanity, just stupid bravery and excessive gumption.”
Draco glared at her menacingly. “I’m still upset with you.”
Pansy winced, switching out her empty glass for one he’d just poured. “I said I was sorry,” she mumbled behind the rim.
“So you have a shared past where you were a prat, and your current situation could be better with the crazy ex-wife and all, but come on, the way you guys look at eachother has to be worth moving past that. You can’t shut up about her and she’s clearly besotted. Also, Scorp seems to adore her.”
“The reason,” Draco enunciated between a tight jaw, “she’s here is because I emotionally manipulated her into signing a contract to give the appearance of a strong unit for my custody case because she facilitated the spreading of a rumour we were dating.”
Both Pansy and Blaise stared at him with the blank faces of individuals used to guarding their every expression being totally blindsided.
“I can’t tell if you are the stupidest bastard alive or the luckiest.” Never one to be left out, Theo joined their little party, shoving his empty glass towards Draco. “Pour me another?”
Draco turned his hard glare on the interloper to the conversation he did not want to be having. “What are you on about?”
“That contract may have been the reason she agreed to everything in the beginning but that is not the reason she’s now living in your house or at this moment putting your spawn to bed.” Theo said, trying to dip a pinky finger into the tart only for Pansy to smack his hand away. “Stop being so mean!” he pouted, shaking out his stinging fingers.
“We’re waiting for Hermione,” Pasny scolded.
“‘Hermione’ is it?” Theo said to the woman with an arched brow. “You better hurry up and confess dear Draky before Pansy beats you to it.”
“What are we confessing?” Hermione asked, reentering the kitchen and coming to stand by Draco’s side. Wordlessly he passed her a glass of the pino, which she accepted with a smile, her hip pressing into his in thanks.
Pansy came in with the save and he was conniving enough to admit it doused a lot of his remaining ire with her. “That my elf Odè makes the best chocolate tart and Draco and I are going to gorge ourselves on it if you don’t save us from ourselves by having a slice.”
“Done and done,” Hermione said with a laugh. She looked up at him, her grin still warm and inviting. “I tell a little lie one time and you have to make sure everyone knows it.”
“Theo’s right, ‘Chocolate’ is Draco’s one true vice,” Blaise mused, eyes pointedly locking on Hermione out of the corner of his eye before smirking at Draco. Only Hermione’s weight resting against him kept Draco from launching himself across the island to pummelle his ‘friend’.
Reading the dark promise in his eyes only caused Blaise's smirk to deepen. Ever the chef, he pulled the tart towards himself and, taking up the pastry knife, asked the group how big a slice they all wanted.
Saturday , November 9th
“She’s late,” Draco barked.
Through his and his ex-wife's lawyers, Draco had set up Judge Hopkins’s mandated meeting at the same park Hermione had introduced him and Scorpius to back in September, deciding that if they had to go out, Scorpius might as well have an enjoyable time. That it was in the muggle world and it would stick in Astoria’s craw was a little bonus he kept to himself. Choosing a quiet little corner, far away from the play park and picnic area so as not to ruin those precious memories, they were shielded from the grey skies under the boughs of an old growth sycamore.
“We have to be here for the hour anyway,” Hermione cooed, eyes only for the baby in her arms as she sway-bounced back and forth.
Draco smiled, his ire cutting in half at her easy soothing presence. “You’re right,” he said after a calming breath.
“I usually am.” Her eyes cut over to him, a cheeky grin curling her lips, and all he wanted to do was sink into her. So he did. Leaning in he kissed her on her pert mouth, her smile beneath his lips and correlating laugh warming him more than the then subtle heading charm he cast to chase away the damp November chill.
Scorpius let out an agitated yowling-chirp, breaking them apart.
“What,” Draco cooed at his son, “am I interrupting your ‘Mione time? Is that it? Does it make you mad when I do this,” Draco pressed another kiss to the witch's lips and they both laughed as Scorpius bawked and not so subtly tried to push his father away. Slipping him from Hermione’s arms he held the boy infront of his face. “Now see here, little star, that’s my witch. I’m a magnanimous father so I have elected to share with you, but make no mistake, she is mine.”
“Da, da, da,” Scorpius chanted with a squeal, slapping his hands on both sides of his fathers face in a not wholly painless way. He’d started saying the word last week and it had yet to not make his heart melt, and Draco would swear the boy knew it too.
“Manipulative little bugger. You’re lucky your cute,” Draco groused, bringing his son in close to kiss his cheek before settling him on his hip. “We’re giving her another fi--”
The witch in question appeared around one of the large tree trunks, trudging across the rain-softened grass in her standard six inch stilettos. “I can’t believe you had me come here when we could have just as easily done this in Diagon.” Her high-pitched screeching covered the short distance easily. “What if I catch a disease?”
The mental gymnastics that allowed his ex-wife to wear a £3000 Dolce & Gabbana wool coat yet sneer at being in a muggle space continued to warp Draco’s mind.
“And why is she here,” his ex snapped, glaring daggers at Hermione, as she posed with a fist on her hip that would have had her pureblood mother scolding her if she’d been present.
Hermione’s light hand on his back had him biting his tongue against a scathing remark. Taking a calming breath he replied with forced civility, “I asked her to come.”
“What, can’t be without your whore for an hour? How base.”
“Careful Astoria,” Hermione chided with a bite. “Your jealousy is showing.”
“ Jealousy!” Astoria hissed, tossing her head. “Of an ill-bred skank like you? Unlikely.”
“Gank!” Scopius interrupted the verbal altercations masterfully.
Astoria’s eyes widened aghast, hand immediately going to the conservative strand of pearls that encircled her lithe throat looking seconds away from committing to a bout of the vapers.
“That’s right Scorpius, ‘Skunk’!” Hermione saved. Beaming brightly, she conjured a small plushie of the black and white creature, that may or may not have held a passing resemblance to the outfit his ex had chosen. Miming nomming noises Hermione held the toy up to nip playfully at his son’s cheeks and hands and the baby squealed in enjoyment, giggling incessantly in Draco's arms.
“I don’t want you touching him,” Astoria growled, bodily pushing herself in front of Hermione, crowding her out of the way.
Draco was appalled by such blatant rudeness, though he wasn’t at all surprised. Hermione just stood there dumbstruck holding the faux-mustelid and Draco wanted to go to her and comfort her but instead found himself shying away as Astoria reached for Scorpius.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, dodging her.
“Really, Draco what does it look like? I’m trying to hold my son.” Focusing on the baby she painted on a socialite smile that had none of the true warmth Hermione’s did just moments before. “Can you say ‘mother’? ‘Muu--th--rrr.’”
“Astoria, stop it.”
“That’s my son, I have a right to hold him.” Astoria stomped her stilettoed foot, magic the only thing keeping it from sinking in the grass.
“This is the first time he’s seen you in months, he doesn’t remember you. Give him some time to adjust.”
“You are being dramatic. Of course he remembers me, I’m his mother.”
“I know this is hard--”
“Give him to me!” Astoria snarled, face turning hateful.
“No!” Any consideration he may have had for Astoria’s plight was quickly squashed by the protective rage that swept through her when the woman continued to insist on reaching out for Scorp even as the baby shied away with a panicked whine. “You are a stranger,” said harshly, fully putting his body between his son and the woman.
He was angry. Angry with her for not only not understanding his son’s social cues but also blatantly and willfully ignoring them. That she felt that she was entitled to hold him just because she wanted to. For not being there for his wonderful little boy and then breezing in demanding that a ten month old cater to her needs instead of the other way around. Angry at himself for not picking a better woman to be his son’s mother.
“Why are you doing this Draco?” Astoria wept, large tears falling delicate from her eyes. “We could have been happy but instead you had to ruin our family.”
“Don’t put this all on me, Astoria.”
“You’re the one that did it! You couldn’t just go have your discreet affair. No, you had to plaster it all over the papers! Do you know how embarrassing that is? This is your fault! All of it!! I hope you rot in purgatory for everything you’ve done!” she screamed, face losing its carefully crafted artifice, turning sharp and spiteful.
Scorpius, already upset by the web of emotions, started wailing.
“We are done here,” Draco said with finality, Scorpius devolving into a full meltdown.
“If you try to leave before my hour is up I’ll go to the judge and tell him you're not keeping up with your side of the orders!”
Anger threatened to boil over. But all that truly mattered was his son and calming him down. “Do what you have to do, Astoria.” He turned and walked away from her.
“Draco!”
He kept going, patting Scorpius’s back and shushing him gently.
“Draco! How dare you walk away from me! Sternuo!”
He flinched, instantly curling his full body around Scorpius to shield his son and locking his body in preparation of pain.
“Protego!” Hermione’s voice barked from right behind him and he heard the hissing crackle as the Astoria’s spell was deflected. “Go,” she said with authoritative urgency, “get Scorpius out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”
Holding his son close, his cries deafening his right ear, Draco spun on his heel and jumped to the safety of the manor. The sudden jolt of apparition made Scorpius inconsolable, his shoulder damning as the vertigo of the travel caused his son to vomit. About ready to call for Mimsy so he could go back for Hermione, the witch in question lightly landed in front of him. Feeling relief like a suddenly deflated balloon he wrapped her in his free arm and pulled her close. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said, hand rubbing up and down as if she was the one soothing him. Pulling back slightly, but still staying in his hold, she turned to sooth Scorpius. “Hey hey, little star. You’re okay. We’re sorry things went this way. That was a lot.” Her eyes peeked up to him. “Do you want me to take him?”
“No. No, I just want to hold you both for a minute.” He sighed into her hair, bouncing Scorpius in his other arm to try and sooth his cries. “We’ll need to contact the aurors. They need to canvas and see if the Statue has been broken. Just what I need, another mark against me.”
“Not a mark against you, a mark against Astoria. She’s the one who let loose the spell. And me, if you want to get technical. You never touched your wand. But it’s moot, regardless.”
“What do you mean?” He asked, finally feeling secure enough that she was unhurt to let her free and turn his whole attention to his crying son.
“I cast a muggle repelling charm around the area when we got there and then a mild area disillusionment charm when Astoria showed up. Coupled with the weather we should be in the clear. I’ll also patronus Harry just to cover all our bases, though I doubt he’d do more than file a report. We went through the same training and he trusts my judgement.”
“Well, that’s one problem down at least. Scorpius, luv, please stop crying,” he begged the screaming child, holding him close to his chest as he swayed, trying to impart peace and comfort and feeling like he was failing miserably.
“Once he calms down, you should reach out to Montgomery and let her know what happend.”
“I--” he sighed, falling exhausted into the cradle of the couch, patting his son’s back who refused to be soothed. “You’re right.”
He heard Hermione rattling around in the kitchen, and felt her presence as she came up behind him. “Hey, little star, let’s try this.” Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as she slipped a spoon with the tiniest bit of what he presumed was chocolate ice cream from the carton in her opposite hand into Scorpius’s wide open screaming mouth. Almost like magic, the boy licked his lips and his eyes changed from closed slits in his red face to open and intrigued, his lips closing as he mouthed the taste.
“You like that? How about we share with daddy?” The spoon appeared in his peripheral, a much larger mound for him, and he opened his lips to accept, letting the richness and cold sit on his tongue. “Now one for ‘Mione. And one more for Scorpius,” she sang, bringing the spoon back closer to his son. Snuggling, he grabbed it from her hands, nomming on the silver. “Yeah, chocolate makes everything better doesn’t it?”
Yes it does, he thought looking up at her warm brown eyes as she bent over the couch back to be closer to them.
Monday, November 11th
Monday morning, noon, his lawyer met him at his home office. Hermione was there, on her lunch break, and Mimsy was feeding Scorpius his lunch while the adults talked.
“We filed an appeal about the visitation citing the incident over the weekend as soon as we got your owl,” Montgomery wasted no time. “But with Ms. Greengrass having also filed a police report, albeit on Sunday, this has become a ‘they said, we said’ and the courts have denied an escalation on getting it before the judge.”
“What does that mean?” Draco demanded from his seat behind his desk. Hermione in a pulled up seat to his right as Montgomery sat across from them both, her briefcase tucked at her feet.
She didn’t waver for a second, relaying succinctly, “it means that the already ordered meetings will continue as is, unchanged until a new order can be made.”
“So I have to put my son in harm's way because my ex-wife is a liar?” he seethed.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she tried to sooth. “I understand you’re upset--”
“‘Upset’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he snarled, slamming his open palm on the desk.
“Draco,” Hermione said evenly, “enough.”
Snarling silently at her, he pushed up from the table to pace to the other end of the room.
Hermione calmly turned back to the lawyer, her level head appreciated at this moment, even as it agitated him. “What do you suggest we do moving forward?”
“For one, I recommend keeping your meetings to the wizarding world so as not to challenge the Statute. You did the right thing immediately reporting the potential breach but it would be ill advised to test those particular boundaries a second time.”
“Understood. Anything else?”
“Have other’s you trust nearby to act as witnesses if the need arises wouldn’t be amiss. Normally I would volunteer, but this Saturday I have a prior engagement and will not be available. However, for the twenty-third--”
“Why wont your be available!” Draco stormed back to the grouping. “You are my lawyer, this is what I pay you for. Rather handsomely, I may add.”
“And per my contract, I keep my evening and weekend hours carefully regulated. They are for emergencies only.”
“What could be more important than making sure my son is safe?” he seethed looming over the woman.
“My son is playing his first quidditch game on Saturday. I promised I’d attended.”
“A child’s quidditch game!” he bellowed, panting like a bull. “You think that is more important than my son!”
She remained even keel, refusing to rise to meet his emotion. “Not more important, but important. If I though my presents alone would cement a positive outcome for this interaction, as loathe as I would to do it, I would disappoint my own child to make sure yours remains safe, make no mistake Mr. Malfoy. But you don’t need me, you need an arbitrary third party to play the numbers game. And as there are limited numbers of firsts I will get with my children, I will be unavailable to you this Saturday.”
Hermione laid a calming hand on Draco’s wrist. “You have children?” she asked.
“Yes, three,” the older woman said with a faint proud maternal smile. “Lewis is thirteen and playing for Hufflepuff. Brandon just started Hogwarts this year. Amandalynn is eight. So yes, Mr. Malfoy, I know just how important it is to keep a child safe, loved, and cared for. It is why I am in family law and why I volunteered to represent you. I understand your anger, I understand you are scared and lashing out, but I am on your side.”
Her hazel eyes kept strong eye contact, poised, and not the least bit intimidated. It was what made her one of the top eight family law lawyers in the British isles and what had Draco choosing her to represent him over his father’s urging to pick one of her male peers.
Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to centre himself. “I apologise for my earlier outburst.”
She nodded regally, accepting the apology without acknowledging it, and it made Draco feel even more like a heel. He made a mental note to have Elenor send a gift basket of quidditch paraphernalia on Saturday as a gift.
“For witnesses, I can reach out to Gin and Harry.” Hermione put forth. “I think it is one of Gin’s off weekends but Harry might have work. If not, we can tag one of the other Weaslys in for an hour. I’d ask George but I’d be afeared on what mayhem he’d unleash. Maybe Percy, as a Ministry Undersecretary? We can meet him and his girls at Fortescue's for ice cream, though it may be a little cold for that.” She looked to him, eyes inquisitive, soliciting his opinion.
“If there is one thing I know about being a parent,” Montgomry said, “it’s that it could be negative fifteen degrees outside and kids will still want ice cream.”
Draco sighed, “why not invite all the Weasley brood? A dozen scoops of ice cream would be a small price to pay to give us the numbers. Maybe seeing that many sugared out children would make Astoria rethink seeking full custody.”
“Trial by fire,” Montomgry grinned, the shadow of the ruthless layer peeking out. “How apropos to the tribulations of parenting.” She stoop picking up her briefcase. “I will keep you abreast on anything from my side of things. Document everything so I can add it to our case notes and if anything happens owl immediately.”
“We will,” Hermione said, accepting her hand to shake, Draco seconding.
Nodding kindly, she used the office floo to get back to her firm.
Draco checked his watch. “You still have twenty minutes before you need to be back. Fancy a bite of lunch with me?”
“What is it?” Hermione asked.
“No idea. Mimsy, the saint, said she’d take care of it. I’m going to be at sixes and sevens when she graduates from Cambridge next year and starts on her doctorate.”
“I’m not sure if I can stomach much right now, but I’ll sit with you all until I have to go back.” She said, leaving first as he motioned for her to take the lead. “And if we're going to ask Harry and Gin, sooner rather than later would be best. Do we want to finally get around to making those dinner plans we’ve been postponing?”
Pushing down his knee jerk reaction to decline, Draco bowed his head in acquiescence. “Might as well get it over with.”
Notes:
Hope all are all safe and well. Breath, sit, and take care of yourselves ❤️❤️❤️
Chapter 21: Na-na-na-na, na-na, na
Notes:
title and chapter inspiration from 'So What' by P!nk
Thank you HRMPendragon, sabmcd94, swndman, CanYouUnzipMe, DandelionDreaming, NeheMikkele, junosflame, StarGazer11, Samanthalouise854, TrillbySkinner, G1223, njnsf, Wailzy, gopackgo12 for still sticking with me after the long hiatus.
Fun fact supplied by CanYouUnzipMe, Lithuania was never a kingdom of Lithuania, it was always a grand duchy. This has since been corrected in chapter 20. Thank you for the history! The world is big and cool
Fun fact though. Because of how calendars work, we are now in the same week cycle as the what was happening back in 2002. So happy Wednesday November 13th to you all and now one to the dinner chapter that I've been putting off for over a year...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday, November 13th
Ginny met them at the floo with Albus on one hip and her fist on the other. “Well it is about time,” she griped with a playful grin at Hermione.
Hermione responded with a roll of her eyes as she came in to kiss her friend’s cheek, then bending lower to brush one against her pseudo-nephew's head. “Hello, sweetpea. How have you been? You remember Scorpius from Nanna’s, right?”
Scorpius squeed excitedly, pumping his leg’s in his father’s arms, reaching out both hands towards Albus. Always down for a good time, Albus mirrored him.
“Two peas in a pod. So precious I could just eat him up!” Ginny grinned, eyes full of love. “It’s weird to think that soon they will be in the same year at Hogwarts.”
“Not too soon, hopefully,” Draco drawled, eyes retrospective as he hugged his son close.
Hermione stepped into his side, brushing her hand soothingly down his arm and pressed a quick kiss to his broad shoulder. Thoughts of Hogwarts also brought up less than stellar memories for Hermione and she just hoped that the ten years until the next generation walked their walls would smooth the rougher edges of her anxiety.
“We brought wine,” Hermione said to lighten the mood, waggling the bottles by the crooks of their necks, “and a bottle of cider for those of us not imbibing.”
Ginny raised a brow, eyeing the wine bottle with its hand-inked label and wax sealed cork wantonly. “You didn’t think to bring two so I could have some once I’m no longer confined?”
“As there are less than eight bottles of this vintage remaining in the world, I thought a single bottle was a suitable host gift.” Draco’s bearing was more reserved than was typical for him and Hermione found herself wondering if he was nervous.
“Is it any good? Cause Harry tried to get into this fancy stuff a few years ago, and a lot of it just tasted like bad grapes. I much prefer a bottle or two of good plonk that is at least palatable.”
“It was the label we served for my wedding toast.”
“So it’s the expensive stuff that your rich social acquaintance thought was fancy enough for a celebration? I may just keep that for us and pull out a couple bottles of Surrey Gold we have on hand.” She said, leading them to the kitchen. “Harry!” she hollered into the bowels of the house, “Hermione’s here! She brought the fer-- she brought Draco!” Ginny quickly corrected, sending Hermione’s glare an apologetic wince.
“A’ty Me-Me!” a child’s voice screamed as James came barreling into the den, sans trousers and a shirt only on one arm and half of his head. Harry, looking haggard, rushed out behind him, scooped the little boy up in his arms and immediately disappeared back down the hall, no doubt to finish getting the child dressed for company.
Ginny, a mother who had learned early on when to pick her battles, didn’t even blink an eye. “Dinner still has another twenty minutes. We’re having pot roast.”
“Smells great. Are Ron and Lavender still coming?” Hermione asked, sliding into one of the bar stools in the kitchen and kicking the other out in an offering for Draco.
“Yeah. They were meeting up with some people for after work drinks so they may be a little late.”
“How's the wedding prep going?”
Ginny grimaced. “Maybe don’t bring it up?” she cautioned. “The original wedding party that had the venue apparently worked things out and are wanting the date back. And as the venue hadn’t actually gotten around to refunding their deposit it’s still technically theirs. It’s a whole mess.”
“Oh, no. How’s Ron handling it?” Hermione asked, knowing of his sometimes hair-trigger temper.
“He’s been choking at the cost since the beginning. He tried to suggest that maybe this was a sign that they should elope.”
Hermione winced, remembering the hours of work the woman had put in to make her dream wedding a reality on a shoestring budget and three months' time. “Poor Lav.”
“Yeah, he spent a night in our guest room, but they’ve since worked it out but it’s a bit touchy as they’re waiting for the venue to reach out about their options.”
“If they would like,” Draco broke in stiffly, “I can have one of my people look over the contract they signed with the venue. They did sign a contract, correct?”
Seeing Ginny’s wide eyed stare, Hermione vaguely wondered if her own face matched.
“Unless you think that would be inappropriate?” Draco hedged, silver eyes flitting between the two women.
“No! I mean,” Ginny modulated her voice, subconsciously bouncing Albus as he fussed at her sharp tone, “that would be very helpful, thank you. I’ll test the waters and try to give you an opening over dinner.”
“Speaking of testing the waters--” Hermione started but was interrupted when Harry, with an appropriately dressed James, took that moment to join them.
“Well that was a nightmare,” he grumbled. “How did you ever convince me to have another?”
“How did you convince me to have another?” Ginny said pointedly, shifting her infant son out of the way to rub the still hidden swell of her stomach.
“That one was an accident,” Harry defended hotly, trying to contain a squirming James in his arms as the boy chanted ‘ac’nt, ac’nt’.
“That’s a great thing to say about your daughter,” Ginny said, hand on her free hip as she tossed her hair.
Draco sat tensely beside her, eyes batting back and forth against the other adults. Hermione laid a calming palm to his thigh, so used to the Weasley’s brand of flirt-fighting that it didn’t even phase her anymore. It was when things got quiet that you really had to worry.
“So it is a girl then?” Hermione interrupted, half out of genuine excitement, half to remind the couple that others were present and to keep their courting rituals to themselves.
Ginny turned to her, an incandescent smile brightening her whole face. “Yeah, we just found out. I’m eight weeks as of Sunday.”
“I’m so happy for you both. Have you told anybody else yet?”
“Just my head coach so they can get my replacement lined up. I’m finishing out the half season but come the new year I’ll be grounded by medical.” She sighed, shooting her husband a disgruntled look. “I really wish we would have planned this one better. I hate feeling like I’m abandoning the team.”
Harry came in close to his wife. “Next time,” he promised in a whisper, plying her with a passionate kiss. James, who was still contained in his father’s arms, thought that was the perfect time to let loose the shrillest scream Hermione had heard since they had to repot mandrakes in second year.
Everyone flinched, instinctively going to cover their ears, Draco covering Scorpius’s and just having to grit and bear it.
“James, buddy, enough!” Harry barked. The tiny terror just looked up at him and laughed before doing it again. Harry wrapped his hand around the boy’s mouth, locking the other around his waist and bicep curling him up to blow raspberries on his stomach. The muffled shriek dissolved into giggles. Righting the child, Harry held him up before him to look him in the eyes. “We. Do. Not. Yell. In. The. House!”
“Ouse!” James repeated.
“Right. No yelling.” Harry kissed his cheek before setting him down with a pat on his butt. “Go play.”
With a weary sigh, Harry took the chair next to Draco. “He learned a new game from some of his other cousins while visiting his Nana’s this week. The point of the ‘game’ being to scream as loud as one could for as long as possible in one breath. It’s been a rough few days.”
“Have you tried a silencing charm?” Draco offered helpfully.
“Hm, too paranoid,” Harry said, shifting his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “If I can’t hear him, I don’t know what he’s doing, and it’s typically bad. There was one time he found a hidden passage in the house and got trapped in the wall for an hour. I thought I was about to bloody well lose my mind and had to blast through six different walls to get him out.”
“That was a fun weekend,” Ginny mused dispassionately, passing off their other offspring. “But it did weaken the charm enough that we could get that bigoted old bat off the wall in the entry.”
“Less ‘weakened’ and more ‘the structural integrity of the wall was so compromised that a little less integrity wasn’t that much of a loss’. Speaking of,” Harry turned to Draco, “do you want the living picture of your great aunt? She’s up in the attic because destroying her felt too close to killing her and its not really something you can set out with the bins.”
Draco sighed, shifting Scorpius closer so he could grunt and wave at Albus. “Might as well. I can stick her over in the gallery walk and she can bitch to all the other members of the old guard.
“Itch, Itch!” James popped up beside her, jumping in excitement.
“You have an itch?” Hermione asked, scratching her clawed hand lightly down his back to redirect him. “Here?”
He grinned at her, shaking his head.
“How about here?” She moved onto his head.
Again, he shook his head.
“I know, how about here!” She started to tickle his sides, slipping from her stool to follow him to the ground as he collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“Me-me! Top! Top!”
“Stop?” she repeated, adding an emphasis to the first missing letter. At his nod, Hermione took away her tickling fingers, helping him sit up. “How have you been, luvy? Been good for your mom and dad?”
He shook his head with a half toothed grin. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes reminded her morosely of Sirius and Harry at his most roguishly carefree, but she forced herself to genuinely smile so as not to let ghosts ruin her relationship with the living. “No. Then what have you been?”
“Fun!” he chirped, bouncing on his hands and knees.
“Fun is good. What about brave?”
He nodded his head emphatically.
“And kind?”
“I ‘air wh’ brut’ur,” he said, unearthing one of his toys from under the table to show her.
“You share your toys with your brother? That is very kind. Are you a good big brother?”
“Fun,” he said, drawing out the word as if correcting her as he pretended to walk his dragon toy along the ground.
“Ah, you’re a fun big brother. That’s important, too.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, finding a headless knight on a white horse to do aerial battle with his dragon.
The floo roared announcing new arrivals. Ron entered the kitchen first. “You’ll never believe who we met at the pub,” he said in the boisterous manner of his that let Hermione know he was more than two drinks into his evening.
“Who?” Ginny asked, distracted with popping the cork on a bottle of wine. The one she and Draco brought seemingly already tucked away.
Hermione felt her blood drain from her face as she laid eyes on the man that had followed Ron, Lavender bringing up the rear.
“It’s--”
“Cormac,” Hermione greeted, hiding a grimace as she collected James and stood. She’d made the mistake of going on several dates with Cormac McLaggen in the months after she and Ron had split. The good sex had outweighed his boarish personality until it hadn’t. Luckily within a few weeks he’d been sent out as a liaison to somewhere in North America by his uncle and that had spelled the natural end of their relationship. She did not recall the time fondly and had since found much better bed partners.
“Hiya, Hermione. Long time no see.” The tall blonde with the Casanova smile eyed the child in her arms with a calculating frown. “I didn’t know you had kids. Who's the lucky bloke?”
About to open her mouth to let him know James wasn’t hers, Ron beat her to it with a cruel laugh. “That’s my nephew James, he’s Gin’s and Harry’s. Hermione there doesn’t want any kids. Too busy trying to save the world to want to be tied down by a family.”
Hermione bowed her head, feeling cut to the quick. James, sensing her distress, laid his head on her shoulder and petted her check. For how rambunctious his natural demeanour was, she had yet to meet another child with such an innate sense of empathy. Squeezing him tight, she smacked a kiss to his temple.
“Come on, James,” Ron called. “Come give Unky Won-Won a hug. Aunty Lav and I have a gift for you,” he bribed.
James’s head perked up at the word gift, wrenching around in her arms to stare at Ron. She grinned, charmed by his zeal. “Do you want to go see what it is?” She whispered in his ear. He turned back to look at her, a little furrow between his brow and in decision in his and it broke Hermione’s heart that he thought he needed to stay with her. “I’ll be fine,” she promised him softly, crouching to set him on his feet. “Go see what your uncle has brought you.”
He paused, green eyes, so much like his father’s in shape but more fern than emerald, flickering back and forth to stare deeply into hers. Bringing up his small hand, he touched his palm to her cheek. “Rave.”
Her heart swelled so much she wanted to cry. She copied him, laying her hand on his cheek that was just starting to lose its baby fat, so their connection made a circle. “Kind,” she told him proudly. Turning him by the shoulder, she patted his butt to get him moving forward, “go have fun.”
He grinned, scampering to claim his prize.
Hermione retook her seat beside Draco, who hooked a hand beneath her thigh and the lip of the barstool to drag her closer. “Are you okay?” he asked for her ears alone.
Wordlessly she leaned against him, nodding.
“We can go home if you want to. I don’t mind if your friends don’t like me.”
“It’s fine,” she sighed. “Besides, we still need to ask if Harry and Gin are free this Saturday.”
“If you’re sure.” He looked distinctly frustrated that they couldn’t just storm out but they knew securing Scorpius’s welfare was more important.
“I’m sure.”
Both their heads jerked up as James let loose another one of his almighty screams. “A’ty Me-me, look!” he shouted, rushing over to them, holding out the toy Ron had gifted him to show off.
“Inside voice,” she reminded kindly, tapping a gentle finger to his lips before examining the plushie. “Wow! That looks like an ankylosaurus. After dinner do you want to get your dinosaur books and we can read up on him?”
“Now!” James demanded with a foot stomp.
“After dinner,” Hermione repeated calmly. “Though if you can wait until after dessert, that might be best.”
His eyes glowed with excitement at the mention of sweets. “Roun-e.”
“Mumma made brownies? Mumma’s brownies are the best. Did you help?”
“Taste test.”
“Mumma let you be the taste tester?”
He shook his head with a cheeky grin. “Dadu.”
“Ah, dada let you have a brownie before dinner.”
“Spoon,” he grunted happily.
“And he let you lick the spoon. Was that why he was changing you when we got in?”
He nodded solemnly. “Bath.”
“Yeah,” she commiserated. “But when you make a mess you have to clean it up.”
He let out a sigh as big as his body before using her legs as a ladder to crawl into her lap. “Who dat?” he asked with no reserve, pointed an accusing finger towards Draco that nearly caught him on the nose.
“That’s Draco. Remember you met him the other week at Nana's house?”
“No.”
“Well then, let me reintroduce myself,” Draco said, shifting Scorpius to free up one arm, which he held out to the toddler to shake. “Draco Lucius Malfoy. And this is my son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”
“Like brut’ur.”
“Yes, Scorpius is small like Albus. But can you say your name to finish introducing yourself?”
“James Potter.” They ‘j’ came out sounding closer to a ‘d’, and his last name was very much a garbled afterthought, but him shaking Draco’s hand with a too serious expression made her smile.
“Okay everyone, dinner’s ready.” Ginny called out, lifting the dutch oven by hand so as not to chance a charm faulting at an inopportune time with littlens running afoot.
Hermione slid James to the ground allowing him to skitter away once the roast was safely to the table. “What’s everyone having to drink?” she asked the room at large as she stepped into the kitchen proper to bring down glasses.
“What is there?” Ron asked brusquely from where he stood talking with Cormac, Lavender at his side.
“Water, pumpkin juice, Draco and I brought a cider.”
“Hard?” Ron asked intrigued.
She shook her head, feeling Luna’s earrings shift against her hair. “Standard. But it’s really quite tasty. Perfect balance of sweet and tart. It’s what I’m having.”
“Nah. Harry,” he raised his voice to carry across the room. “You got anything actually worth drinking?”
“We’ve got two bottles of a white, a bottle of mixed red, and half a bottle of Ogden's.” Harry said, situating Albus in his highchair with a bowl of a few mashed carrots and potatoes Ginny had set aside for him.
“Would you be a dear, 'Mione, and pour me a glass of cider?” Ginny called from the dining area where she was getting James settled in his booster. “Sounds refreshing after slaving over a hot stove.”
“Coming up. Anyone else?” she said, pouring two glasses.
“I’ll take an Ogden’s.” Cormac ordered, hands in his pocket, eyes locked on Hermione. She felt the intent lurking in his gaze and it took everything in her not to make a scene at his blatant perusal. She really wished she hadn't decided to wear the carmine silk blouse she’d bought a few months back or had thought to pair it with her low rise muggle jeans. She was thinking of ways on how to ask Ginny for a cardigan without drawing attention when Draco came up beside her, Scorpius in his arms.
“I’ll pour, if you’d like,” he offered, one hand caressing her hip in a proprietary move that typically would have left her more on edge but instead calmed her with the knowledge that he had clocked the other man’s interest and was willing to take point in dealing with it.
“That would be great.” she sighed, taking a calming breath and allowing him to slip the bottle she held in a death grip from her hands.
“Would you get Scorp set up in a highchair?” He passed the baby casually over to her, putting his body between her and Cormac.
“Come on, little star. Let's go eat!” She brought Scorp and the two glasses of cider to the table, wishing they were in fact alcoholic to better cope with the rest of the evening.
Lavender, with her own glass of wine, eyed Hermione's glass of cider with trepidation. “Are you sure your not pregnant?”
Nostrils flaring, Hermione locked hard eyes on Ginny.
Reading that she was about three seconds from reaching system meltdown, Ginny jumped to play interference. “Lav, do you have the contract you signed with the venue? ‘Cause Draco said he’d be willing to have one of his lawyers look it over for any recourse.”
Lavender’s whole face lit up. “Really? That would be fantastic! I’ve been having fits trying to figure out what we can do with the date being so close. I’ve made calls to a dozen other places but everything is booked. At this point we may have to have it at Ron’s mom’s house.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Ginny tried to soothe, rubbing the other witch’s forearm. “Mom still has the tent from Bill and Fleur's wedding. And with the flowers, streamers, and glitter, we can make a right grand showing.”
“But this place had a water fountain,” Lavender pouted, eyes cresting with tears.
James took this inopportune time to throw his head back and scream, hitting a note Hermione would swear had set the crystal to ringing. Albus, always trying to mimic his big brother, let loose his own war cry.
“Boy!” Harry snarled from the head of the table where he was getting Jame’s plate situated. “What did I say about screaming in the house?”
“Sowy, dadu. Fo-g’t.”
The rest of the men joined the table. Ron beside Lavender, Harry at the head, with Ginny to his right, Albus between them. James was catty-corner to Harry’s left besides Hermione. Scorp, in a transfigured brass lamp highchair, sat between her and Draco, who had placed himself as a buffer between Cormac at the foot of the table.
Conversation flowed. Cormac sharing stories of California in the United States where he’s spent the last two and a half years before deciding he’d missed home enough to leave the sunny climate for dreary ol’ Britain. “There are cars everywhere and they drive on the wrong side of the road!”
Lav had two articles set to publish in the next issue of Witch Weakly and the magazine was giving her a two page spread for a tell-all on the behind the scenes of her wedding. Ginny touched on her Harpy training, but kept it vague so as not to tip her hand on her upcoming medical leave or the reason for it. Harry, on the upswing, used that to quickly migrate the topic of conversation to quidditch where it stayed for the majority of dinner, even Draco chiming in.
Hermione mostly sat and listened. Ron was good at getting in pointed digs while inebriated and she wished to preserve the peace at a night out with friends.
“What have you been up to, Golden Girl?” Cormac demanded once there was a lull as everyone finished eating. She had felt his eyes on her constantly throughout the night but had tried adamantly to ignore them but there was not way to do that now without appearing rude.
“Oh, you know,” she hedged, helping Scorpius with his spoon after the fifth time of him dropping it, “this and that.”
“That werewolf bill you passed last year made it all the way across the pond. You have a lot of people very impressed by you,” he purred and it made Hermione’s skin crawl. “Anything else on your agenda I can bring to my uncle’s ear?”
Tiberius Ogden had been a political thorn in her side for as long as Hermione had been with the Ministry. A big game hunter, he saw no use for Creatures beyond sport and saw her as an impudent young girl trying to change things when they were perfectly fine the way they were. She was annoyed with her younger self all over again that she allowed herself to be taken, for however brief a time, with this nepo-baby who only saw those around him as commodities to barter with.
“A’ty Me-Me?” James intercepted before she could let loose her rant.
Taking a deep breath she turned her full attention to the little boy. “Yes, sweetpea?”
“Die-no-sour book?”
Her heart melted. “Yes, the dinosaur book sounds like the perfect thing right now. Why don’t you go get it?”
“O’tay.” Hopping down from his booster, his bare feet made little slapping sounds as he raced for his room, his tread heavy on the stairs.
“Why does he call you aunty?” Ron grumbled into his third glass of whiskey while being here, eyes glassy and words slurred, “you’re not even his real aunt.”
You could hear a pin drop at the table. It took everything in Hermione not to give into the scream that bubbled up through the tightness in her chest. “Ginny, Harry, thank you for dinner but I think it’s time we get home.”
“No.” Harry said, face hard as he stared daggers at Ron. “You told James you’d read to him. You were there with us the day he was born and you held my hand when I told you how scared I was to be a father. You are the only sister I will ever have and your place has been cemented in our family with something much stronger than blood. Ron, I think it’s time you leave.”
“Whut? You’re kicking me out? Me, Harry?” He stared open mouth in disbelief. Turning to his sister, “Ginny, are you going to let him do that?”
Her thunderous face matched her husband. “You have until the count of ten before I bat-bogey hex you so hard you’ll be lucky to have clear nostrils in time for your wedding.”
“So she’s the one that brings the snake but I’m--”
“Eight, seven, six,” Ginny counted down, eyes flashing.
“I can’t believe this.” He threw his napkin on the table and shoved to his feet. “Come on Lavender, let's go.” He stormed out of the dining room.
Lavender shot the table a force smile, apologetic, before scurrying after her fiance.
Cormac broke the awkward silence. “Well dinner was fabulous--”
“Goodnight, McLaggen,” Harry said forcefully.
“Right.” He stood, buttoning his sports coat. “Hermione, if you’d ever like to get coffee--”
Draco growled menacingly from beside her, hand curled around the curve of her waist and eyes predatory as they locked on the other man.
“Goodnight, Cormac.” She replied with finality.
Nodding, he dipped a parting goodbye and headed to the floo.
James scampered back into the room, new dinosaur plushie tucked under his arm and the Big Book Of Dinosaurs held triumphantly above his head. So excited to learn about his new friend he didn't even seem to notice that nearly half the table had emptied while he’d been gone. Climbing back up on his chair he began flipping through pages Hermione had charmed to be unrippable.
“Look, A’ty Me-Me. Dis one, dis one!”
“That's right, sweetheart. That is the same one as your toy,” she said, swallowing back tears at her friend’s -- no, family’s -- passionate defence so as not to alarm the boy. Pulling him and the book closer she began to read. “The ankylosaurus is a genus of armoured dinosaur. Its fossils have been found…”
By the time they’d flooed home, Hermione felt exhausted, emotionally raw, and slightly concussed from all the noise. Glancing over at Draco as they stood there teetering on the edge of the hearth, she was slightly relieved to see he looked much the same.
As if taking the new found silence as his cue, Scorpius who towards the end of the night had gotten invested in Jame’s ‘game’, let out an ear piercing screech that echoed off the walls. As the baby was in Draco’s arms, and mere inches from his ear, this caused Draco to flinch so hard Hermione was sure he’d done himself physical injury.
“Scorpius!” The sharp bite of his father’s voice, unfamiliar in its harshness, brought the tot up short. Big eyes wide, his lower lip trembled, as he threw himself against Draco’s shoulder sobbing. Draco cradled his son close, rubbing his back. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice, luv. I’m sorry. You yelling in my ear hurt. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please stop crying.”
Hermione blew out a hard breath, eyes glazed and feeling a little wild after the stress of the night. “Why don’t you go put him to bed. I’m going to go…” she trailed off dazedly making her way from the travelling room in the direction of the kitchen.
Draco caught up with her several minutes later, sans Scorpius, as she stood braced against the kitchen island, a half-pint of ice cream pressed against her forehead and a spoon dangling from her lips.
“Is there enough for two?” he sighed.
She grunted but pulled open the drawer with her free hand to grab a spoon, handing it over and removing the cold compress enough for Draco to scoop a serving.
“I feel like I’ve gone deaf in my left ear.” Draco said. “How is it, with less than a quarter of the people present, that was more chaotic than the whole of the Burrow brunch?”
“James is … energetic. And having other cousins around helps disperse some of that energy. Not to mention, Nanna’s house has loads of fun things to do outside that aren't as feasible at Grimmauld Place. I remember starting the night thinking how cute it was all the boys got along and now I’m wanting to run to Timbuctoo to never be found again.”
“The joys of parenthood,” Draco murmured drowsily, stealing another bite. “Thinking your child is an angel one minute, then praying for mercy when they reveal that they are actually possessed.”
Holding the carton back to her forehead she laughed mirthlessly.
“I have pain potions if you’d like,” he offered around the spoon, eyeing her carefully.
She waved him off. “It’s just a headache. I wasn’t expecting McLaggen on top of everything else and it left me a bit tense.”
“I take it from the way he was looking at you, there is some history there?”
“Very much a ‘was.’ He was my rebound right after Ron. And most assuredly a mistake. But he was handsome and I was lonely and the sex was … different, so I thought it was better and it took me longer than it should have to wise up.” She buried her face in her cupped hands, “story of my fucking life.”
“How long did it last?”
Hermione sighed, straightening. “Two months. But that was about six weeks longer than it should have. And the worst part was I knew better. But at that point I had gotten so good at ignoring that little voice in the back of my head telling me something was wrong that it just became white noise.”
“Well I can’t help with poor choices, Merlin knows I’ve made too many of my own to try and tout propriety, but I can offer myself to help relieve your tension,” he purred.
She arched an unimpressed brow in his direction, even as she felt a pull of arousal twist through her hips, like a cat waking with a stretch.
Draco held up his hands in faux contrition. “Hey, I was just offering a back massage. It’s your mind that went straight to the gutter."
“A back massage sounds wonderful,” she affirmed, running her tongue teasingly along the back of her spoon, “but I also want an orgasm. You know, for the tension.”
“I do aim to please.” Abandoning the mostly empty container, he grabbed her by the thighs, lifting her to perch on his hips. Her spoon chimed against the tile floor as he carried her towards the stairs.
Notes:
ta-da *jazz hands*
Again, thank you to any and all who comment! Hearing from people how they felt about reading is a nice jolt of dopamine.
also, psa: when I reply to a comment, 99% of the time it means I've manage to post a new chapter. So it is a reward for you too, though sometimes a slow release one.
Good tidings to you and yours ❤️❤️❤️
Chapter 22: A Halo of Patience
Notes:
Hello all and may 2025 serve you well!
Thank you TrillbySkinner, Sayscores, k, pixelsky, RM_Pendragon, musicandmascara, FriendlyNeighborhoodCatDemon, Kentang14, sabmcd94, junosflame, Samanthalouise854, StarGazer11, Bluedove, DandelionDreaming, G1223, CanYouUnzipMe, for the lovely comments!!!
Content warning: chapter contains 10month old with a cold and he is not happy about it. Also learned from google that Brufen is British Ibuprofen
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione drifted awake some time in the wee hours of the morning to see Draco, laying on his stomach, face turned towards her with a slight smile in the moonlight. Listening closely she heard the faint breaths of Scorpius down the hall through the magical monitoring system.
In the stillness she thought back to when Ginny had cornered her as they were putting away leftovers after the disaster of a dinner.
“You really fancy him, don’t you?” Ginny said with a provocative smile.
“What? No. I mean--I guess? I brought him to dinner like you said.”
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“It’s ‘methinks’ and it comes at the end of the sentence,” Hermione growled, hating that everyone had thought it was a right farce once they’d learned the origin of her name to read the works of Shakespeare and then quote lines at her. More often than not, incorrectly.
“You’re deflecting and you only tend to do that when you’re actively ignoring thinking about something. And I feel like it may have something to do with tall, blonde, and pointy and his mini-me over there that you’ve turned to stare at eight times since we entered the kitchen.”
It took everything in Hermione not to turn around and look to where she knew Draco sat in the den with Scorp as he eagerly allowed James to show off other pages in his dinosaur book. She’d made a mental note to get Scorpios one so that father and son could look over it together at home. “I’m not deflecting.”
Ginny shrugged good-naturedly and it set Hermione’s teeth on edge. “I only brought it up because I was staring at my own family when I caught you and you know there isn't anything I wouldn’t do for Harry and the kids. If you’re not ready to acknowledge it yet, I promise not to push. Now, can I send you home with most of the brownies? James has gotten tall enough to get up on the counter and I don’t want him tempted to give himself a sugar coma.”
Family , Hermione thought staring up at the ceiling as she listened to the breathing of her two boys and the quiet. When did they -- not her work, not her friends, or her home -- become the lodestone in which she structured her life? How did they creep in so far and until she didn’t even realise that they were her first thoughts in the morning and the last as she went to sleep?
She glanced back at Draco, some of the longer strands of hair falling into his face making him look youthful and at peace. Were they even dating? Like dating, dating? Thinking back on it, the lines began blurring right around her birthday where there’d started to be a friendliness and an easiness to their interactions. Then she moved in and nothing really had changed. And now they were sleeping together most nights and not just for sex.
She arched lazily to look over her shoulder at the digital clock but instead saw her wand laying there where she had disregarded it without thinking as she had curled up sated next to Draco. Thinking back on it, she couldn’t remember a time since before the war when it wasn’t right on her person. Even in the shower, when she wasn’t using it as an anchor point to keep her hair out of the way and dry, it was within grabbing distance.
Sitting up in bed, she silently grabbed it, tucking it back into the holster and lashing it back to her forearm. Naked she crept from the bed, snagging Draco’s discarded t-shirt as she tipped toed her way from the bedroom.
What did it mean that she was letting her guard down? Did she feel safe? She knew that the manor wards were some of the strongest in England, it was why it had been such a prize for Tom to use it as a base of operations.
Testing herself, she set the wand on the counter while she went to the sink to fill the kettle. Anxiety kept mounting and she found herself checking over her shoulder every few seconds as the water ran, making sure it was still there, eyes roaming the room making sure that no one else was around. Setting the kettle on the hob she crossed her arms, refusing to reach for it, to break, she was stronger than this. It was right there infront of her, a simple summons would have it in her hand in a jiff. The wards were up and they all were safe.
Her palm itched. World shrinking to the wand less than ten feet from her, she jumped startled when the kettle whistled, wincing when she realised she had bitten her thumb nail to the quick. Removing the kettle she made her tea and hoisted herself up on the stool. Taking a careful sip before, like a puppy trained to perform a trick, she snatched up her wand and steadied her breathing.
Tears prickled her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why could she fall asleep without the wand but five minutes just out of reach nearly gives her a panic attack?
“Hermione?” Draco patted out from the darkened hallway, voice rough with sleep. And she felt herself instantly calm. Coming up behind her he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning drowsily against her. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Wordlessly she shook her head, leaning back into his strong chest and warmth.
“Is everything alright?” he asked in a breath against her jaw, his voice at peace with the night.
She hesitated, then nodded.
His hand came up to rub her back comfortingly, thumb digging into the knot of muscle lodge in the middle of her shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Turning she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face against his shoulder and shook her head.
Thursday, November 14th
It was just him and Scorp for the evening as Hermione had volunteered herself for a few hours of overtime. Her centaur bill was coming up for preliminaries and they were in crunch time to get on the ballot for the next year. After a simple but filling dinner of barley and mushroom soup, Draco set them up in the den with coloured letter blocks. While Draco worked on stacking them, or spelling out words to show Scorpius, his son was much more enticed by putting them in his mouth to cut his sore gums. The book Hermione had gotten for him stated it would be a pretty steady constant for the next year until all his teeth fully came in.
They’d only been playing for what felt like a short time when Draco noticed Scorpius was rubbing at his eyes, one of his telling cues that he was fighting sleep. Wondering where the time had gone, Draco glanced over at the clock and was surprised to see that it was just shy of six o’clock instead of closer to his normal bed time of eight. That was odd, Draco had been diligent with his son’s schedule and Scorpius rarely deviated from it, thriving on the constant. “Are you tired, buddy?”
Scorp grunted, doggedly playing with his blocks with one hand while the other rubbed at his eyes and face. Maybe he was in another growing spurt? Or his teeth were bothering him more then Draco had initially though?
“Come on love, time for bed.” Picking up his son, he kissed his cheek as he carried him upstairs to begin their bedtime routine early. Typically happy to splash in the bath as long as Draco would allow him, Scorpius started getting fussy part way through, being extra clingy and not liking water being poured on his head.
“I have to rinse the soap out, Scorp. Be still, almost done,” he tried to soothe but the babe was having none of it, screaming his lungs out red faced. “I know, I know,” Draco commiserated as he ran a washcloth over his son’s body while he worked himself into a full tantrum. “Mean old Daddy.” Pulling his boy from the tub he wrapped him in a towel cradling him to his shoulder as he dried him, patting his back rhythmically in hopes of calming him.
“What’s going on, bud?” Draco questioned against the back of his son’s damp head as he wrapped him in a towel and cast a warming charm to make sure he didn’t catch a chill as they made their way down the hall to his room. “You usually love bath time but now you’d think I was trying to kill you with how you’re carrying on. We just have too much excitement, is that it? Too many new people this week?”
The finally executed dinner plans with the Potters’, much to Draco’s chagrin, had been both better and worse then he’d feared. The food was better than good, company left several things to be desired, and there was one point of the night where Draco thought there was the real possibility of hexes being thrown, but the end of the evening had been relatively enjoyable as they all read about the muggle dinosaurs. They’d even managed to obtain promises from both Potters to stand in as witness for Saturday and see if any of the other Weasley troops could aid. But nothing had been as pleasurable as returning home and helping Hermione relieve her tension. He did give a great back massage, if he did say so himself.
Fighting a self-satisfied grin at the memory, Draco turned his attention back to pacifying his son. “I must say, you did exceptionally well,” Draco praised as he gathered a sleepsuit and a nappy. “Most well behaved child there by leagues. I was afraid Mrs. Potter would make good on her threat and gobble you right up. I’m right proud of you, son, making friends with the Potter boys. It’s a good thing to have friends.”
Scorp calmed enough to stop actively crying as Draco got him in his jammies and settled into bed, but he fussed the whole time. It broke Draco’s heart when he finally quieted, whimpering in his sleep.
Setting the wards, Draco quietly crept from the room, pulling the door closed and bracing his back against it as he buried his face in his hands hating to see his son so distraught. Gathering himself he started heading downstairs but heard stirring in his room as he passed the open door.
Hermione had her back to him, head tilted to the side as she fiddled with removing an earring and setting it in the open jewellery box atop his vanity.
Draco paused, taking her in. They’d just recently stopped maintaining the facade that they slept in separate beds, not seeing the point as Scorpius wasn’t cognizant enough to be aware of the broader connotation and Mimsey was, respectfully, disinterested. Draco found himself basking in the domesticity of knowing her knickers were in his drawers and her jewellery shared the same space as his watch and signet ring.
Catching sight of him in the doorway she smiled, though her eyes and bearing were tired. “Hi. How was your evening?” she asked.
“Scorp was fussy so I put him to bed early,” he said, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck. “I think he missed you.”
She eased back against his hold, arching her neck to give him more room, humming contently at the attention. “Was he the only one who missed me?”
“I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask him,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her throat, before moving away to let her finish getting undressed. “Did you eat?”
“No, I just got in and wanted to change into something comfortable and put my hair up.”
“Did you get what you needed to finished?” He asked taking her blazer from where she tossed it on the edge of the bed and going to the walk-in closet to hang it up.
“About eighty percent. I’ll see how the first part of next week goes before I see if I need to stay late again. I hate that no matter how far ahead I prepare there's always a mad dash before the deadline.” She signed, freeing her hair from the collar of the ratty oversize uni pullover. “How was your day?”
“Getting things organised for our big end of year meeting tomorrow before people start taking off for the holidays. I also get to be the one to tell the board that we have a court date of the Richardson trial of June sixteenth.”
“So far out?” she asked, pulling on thick socks with garish muggle depictions of unicorns. He found it absolutely charming.
“It’s a blue collar crime and international. We’re lucky we’re big enough in the muggle world to throw our weight around to get things moving even that quickly.”
They continued to chat over their respective work projects as Draco reheated the soup he'd put away, unsure when Hermione would be getting home or if she'd simply order in, and made her a cheese toastie when she flashed the puppy eyes.
Hermione was on the couch flipping through channels for something to watch as he was doing the dishes when the wards pinged, signifying Scorp had woken.
“I got him!” Hermione said, popping up before he’d even had a chance to reach to shut off the tap. “I wanted to say goodnight to him anyway.” She disappeared upstairs only to call down to him a few minutes later. The edge of concern in her tone had Draco taking the stairs two at a time.
“What?” he panted, pushing into his son’s room.
She had Scorpius in her arms, her lips pressed to his forehead as he whimpered pitifully into her chest. With uncoordinated movements he kept rubbing at his face, eyes and ears, clearly uncomfortable.
“He’s a bit warm. Might be a fever.”
Draco’s stomach dropped to the floor. “Wh- what do we do? Do we take him to Mungo’s?”
“We can but unless his fever spikes or it stays at 38°C for a day without breaking, these things just typically need to run their course. I know you are worried but keeping him hydrated and trying to cool him down is all they’re going to do at Mungo’s.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have gone to the Potter’s,” he growled, taking him from her arms to hold him close, rocking him and patting his back. “They made him ill!”
“Draco, he would have gotten sick eventually. You can’t keep him cooped up all the time.”
He huffed with a sneer.
She sighed. “I’m going to go make a bottle to tempt him with. I’ll be right back.”
She returned quickly. “Hey, where do you keep your thermometer? I checked both bathrooms but I couldn’t find it.”
“What in the bloody hell is a therm-o-meter?”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that was a muggle item. Uh, it’s a little device that can tell you the temperature of something. Typically glass but they’ve come out with digital ones that are easier to read. I’ll pop off to the town before the shops close and pick one up. Can you think of anything? Saline drops? Snot sucker? He’s rubbing his ears, maybe some Brufen?”
“Why in Merlin's name would you need a snot sucker?”
“Because babies have to learn how to blow their nose and he’s too little to do it on his own right now. Same with the saline drops, it’s to help with mucus breakup.”
“That is revolting.”
“Come now, he must have sneezed on you at least once.”
“Sure, fine. But I’ve never had to suck snot out of his face before.”
“You’re lucky there are tools for it now. It used to be common practice for parents to suck it out with their mouths.”
Draco gagged. “Stop.” He gagged again, stomach heaving. “Stop or I’ll be sick.”
Hermione laughed, turning for the door. “One snot sucker on its way. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“37.8. A low grade fever but a fever nonetheless. So I did end up grabbing a box of infant grade Brufen but, full disclosure, the box states to reach out to the child’s physician before use, so we can give him a small dose to see if it gets him to sleep or we can ride it out until we can owl in the morning. Your call.”
“Why would you put that kind of pressure on me!” Draco seethed, anxiety igniting and coming out as anger.
“No pressure.” Hermione, the bloody annoying understanding, compassionate swot, raised her hands in a placating manner, keeping her tone and demeanor calm. “I just want you to have full awareness of all available information. I do know millions of muggle children have used this product, that my own parents used it with me when I was little, and that Harry and Gin have used it reliably with James with how often the Weasleys pass around illnesses. I just don’t know his medical history and if certain medicines have been noted as preferred over others.”
“He’s never been ill before,” Draco tried to swallow his tears, helplessness giving way to fear in an instant. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It may be a better idea to wait for his pediatrician, so we’ll do that. Until then, we’ll make him as comfortable as possible and try to make him drink so he doesn’t get dehydrated.”
As his fever climbed by decimals so did Scorpius’s fussiness, culminating into a full crying jag as it hovered at 38.3. He hated the strange bulb sucker thing with a fiery passion, screaming his little lungs out until he ran out of air, the two times they used it on him. It was just shy of 11:30 when a little cough made its appearance, and by one am Hermione and him taking turns sitting in a warm steam filled bathroom to help ease the wracking coughs.
“Morgana’s tit, he wont stop crying,” Draco wailed but kept up the rhythmic patting on his son’s back, never faltering as he made his thousandth loop around the child’s room.
“Don’t curse around the baby,” Hermione murmured, sprawled in the rocking chair, eyes closed with her own tears tracing down her face as she was in a place past exhaustion. She blinked them open, dabbing her cheeks with the cuff of her sweater as she sat forward. “Here, give him to me. We’ll try the bottle again.”
Draco held Scorpius away from her, reaching out a hand instead. “Give me the bottle. You go rest.”
She frowned, eyes narrowing in annoyance. “I’m not the one who has a meeting in the morning that can’t be missed.”
“Precisely. You sleep now because if he’s still like this tomorrow I’ll need you to stay with him. At least for the morning,” he limited knowing how big of an ask it was to have her take off work, especially since she had just done overtime to catch up, but knowing both he and Scorpius would be more comfortable with her watching him.
“Of course,” she said without hesitation and Draco felt himself calm as his burden was lessened. “But what about you?”
“I’ll down a few pepper-ups to make it through, then crash after.” It took another twenty minutes but he finally convinced her to get a few hours of sleep, drafting a letter for Draco to send when he went in so her assistance would owl over things she could work on at home while she kept an eye on Scorpius.
By the time he got back at lunch, the meeting frustratingly and unnecessarily long, Scorpius’s fever had broken and he was eating some oatmeal.
“Your doctor’s owl came in an hour after you flooed out saying it was safe to give him Brufen,” Hermione said. “He said he’d have replied sooner but he had to staff with an associate as he wasn’t well versed in muggle medicine.”
Draco picked Scorp up and kissed his forehead. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“Dah,” he cooed, patting Draco’s face and nomming with an open mouth against his jaw. He was fussy and his afternoon nap ran long but there were no lasting effects.
Until Draco woke up the next morning feeling like something a Kneazle shite out.
Notes:
Please let me know how you liked the chapter /or/ how your Holidays were. My sister had a baby a few months back so it was a lot of baby firsts that were super cute!
Prosperity and safety to you all!
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